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“You let me go or I’ll swear I will not stop screaming.” Her panic started to hit differently. All she could think about was the tiny, tiny spot on her thigh where the hotness of his tongue had scorched her for one nanosecond before his teeth unraveled the bow of her wedding garter.
She yelled louder and more desperately. She had to get to neutral ground, away from him. He disturbed all her thoughts. She couldn’t think straight. Her skin still burned where he had touched her. Her nipples had started to ache. More wetness seeped into her panties and she could explain none of it at all.
“You’re not going to stop screaming?” he asked softly. It didn’t matter that she was yelling her head off, she heard every word he said. In answer, she screamed louder.
“All right then. Now since those two guys are already happily married, I guess there’s only one use for this.”
He waved the wedding garter around in the air. His intention dawned on her.
“You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t—” She had acted stupidly, naively. “No. Wait. I’ll”
Shaking her head and squirming in the seat, Vivian couldn’t stop him from using the wedding garter as a gag.
When he was done with her, the only sounds that came from her mouth were muffled with fury.
She hated him, whoever the hell he was. He had no idea the havoc he had caused on her delicately laid plans. The lives he had put in grave danger.
And he was now her freaking husband.
It didn’t matter. She was going to kill him the first chance she got.
Chapter Three
“She take you by surprise?”
The question, asked by his brother Silas with a grin on his face, had bothered Elliot Knight more than he cared to admit.
Silas had been referring to the hot bruise on his cheek, courtesy of one Anna Antonelli, who was now his wife. After he had hijacked her wedding, married her instead of the man she had said yes to, and stole her away.
She had not been happy. Hence the bruise.
Elliot glanced at his older brothers, Parker and Silas as they sat around a table in their private jet, heading back to New York. Their business in Greece was not quite concluded but the rest could be handled from the States.
Vengeance had been ingrained in their minds and soaked in their blood from as early as childhood. It was the only way to settle a score. The only way they knew how. Forgiveness did not feature on their trait sheet at all. Their enemies were either killed instantly or lived in torturous agony not knowing when any of the Knight brothers would end their lives.
But when an enemy had boldly stepped a little too close to home and aimed their gun at Parker’s wife, Everleigh at her bakery, they knew they wouldn’t rest until they took down every last soul involved in the attack.
Now they were here.
In exchange for the marriage of his daughter to Silas, Arabelle Davenport’s father had issued them a name when their own investigation had come up empty-handed and they were running out of time trying to restrain Parker from starting a full-out war on every mafia outfit across the globe whether they were foes or friends.
Henry Willis Davenport had given them the name of a mere civilian. Yiannis Ariti. The man who had pulled the trigger that had put Everleigh’s life in danger and that of their unborn child. But it turned out he wasn’t just a misguided civilian.
Peter Kamaras, their father and joint head of the Greek Kamaras mafia, had taken his wife, three young children, and a few elderly relatives and escaped to America when he had locked horns with his brother, Cristo over a line of business that Peter didn’t want to get involved in. Human trafficking. Cristo believed it was a lucrative market and had already made deals with the lowest of low crime lords without consulting the family first.
But their uncle had been devious, not only had he blackmailed members of the family with a voting right, he had also sentenced their father to be executed together with anyone who stood by him.
Peter Kamaras had taken his family and fled, then changed their names. For a while, they had begun to think they were safe until Cristo had found them and put a bullet through their father’s brain. He had died in Parker’s arms.
Elliot might have only been nine years old at the time, Parker sixteen and Silas thirteen, but he remembered every tiny detail of it as if it had happened yesterday.
He memorized the face of their father’s killer. He kept pictures of his uncle Cristo between pages of the books he read.
He obeyed Parker and Silas, he soaked their knowledge and copied their skill.
He excelled at everything and by the time he was fifteen, he never missed a target ever again. When they were ready to take on their uncle after Parker had formed his own mafia outfit with nothing but the single motivation for vengeance, Elliot had asked to be the one to kill Cristo.
Parker and Silas had given him that right.
