Page 90 of Brutal Vows

“No. Next time, remind me to condom up, princess,” he whispers as he rolls off me. “Let me deal with this.”

He disappears into the en suite, only to step out with tissues a second later.

There won’t be a baby…but what if there were? It wouldn’t be out of wedlock, which Papa would never have approved of. I wouldn’t need to hide it. It would be in the safety of a marriage with this man, safety I hadn’t bargained on. This man could openly be the father…we’d be a real family.

It’s only sinking in now that everything with Dimitri always revolved around control. Over me. Over my position on the board in relation to where he wanted me in the game he was playing. His little pawn. I was in love, but he used me. I wasn’t really safe with him, even if I played by his rules. Dimitri didn’t even allow me an opinion. I’ve known this for a long time, but this fact hits me anew again, raw and unfiltered as Luca tenderly wipes me clean. There’s just something in his gentle care that constricts my throat and melts my heart.

“Why are you so stressed out about a condom?” I murmur as he splays his hand over my stomach and traces my stretch marks with his thumb, not as if he would erase them, but as if he is in awe.

“I don’t want to trap you, Milana, not like my mom was trapped. You said it yourself: babies become collateral. I don’t want to—” He breaks off.

I reach out to stall him, to whisper that he isn’t the type of man who’d use a child like that, but his hand has travelled up to my face, and he is cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my kiss-swollen lips.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “But I don’t want to make it harder than it’s already going to be. Maybe with time, we can find a way to separate.”

“Shush,” I whisper, not wanting to hear it. Not after the intimacy we just shared. He’s two steps ahead, planning how to extricate us from this mess. He doesn’t want to trap me, to lock me in with his baby. His playbook is so different from Dimitri’s, I need a mental adjustment.

Plus, we’re not even properly in this mess yet. Russia awaits.

But that’s beside the point. He has already trapped me. Not through Annushka—Zoe—or anything that makes this arranged marriage planned and horrible, but he has managed to conquer a part of me I vowed never to hand over to a man again.

I’m just not ready to admit it yet.

43

LUCA

I read over my last message chain with Stephano again, my body tensing up with every mile we close in on Italy.

Steph: The Lake Como house is yours when you come back. All the Trapanis will be in London for some art auctions, and the staff is on leave. I’ll meet up with them on the yacht in Sicily for a week afterwards, to give you more time, depending on what happens.

Fuck. Depending on what happens. Stephano is also expecting the worst. Once we worked through the to-do list, we tackled the risk-list and then had to face the reality of having too many risks out of our control to count.

Me: At least you say when and not if.

That was my response in the moment, trying to keep things light with all the snark I can muster in a text message. But fuck my life. Both Steph and Benedict concluded this could end up as a suicide mission. Meticulous as always, Benedict forced me to write farewell letters to Matteo and Dominic, so he won’t have to please explain if we don’t come back.

Steph: You have two weeks. Don’t make me send out a search party.

I plan to be dead before that happens. Won’t be needed.

Steph: Fuck, Luca. REAL FUCKING TALK. Are you ready to kill the woman you’re in love with to save her from the worst? To kill her baby? If it comes to that? TO PROTECT THEM? As a last resort?

The visual is too vivid.

I don’t respond.

Now his last words to me are the blade to my neck, sharp and cold. Menacing.

Sketching worst-case scenarios in my head isn’t helpful, but fuck, I pray it won’t come to that. But what if it does?

I stare at Milana, still asleep next to me. I wish she was in my arms, but somewhere during the night, we shifted, each into our own space. Falling asleep as we did, limbs weaved together, as close as we could get, wasn’t something I’d ever done with a woman before.

All I want is more. All I want is to hold her again. One last time, to pull her to me. We’re landing soon and there won’t be time, which is probably for the best. She’s so deep under my skin, after crawling into me from mere photos and one lone video, where a desire sprouted like a small seed, but now, she has wound her way around and grown roots straight into my heart.

Killing her will kill me. It’s as simple as that.

And after last night, it’s as if she’s ferreted out every last empty space inside me and slotted right in, completing me.