Page 17 of Broken Vows

Fuck. My cock reacts with each inch as my gaze travels lower. This woman?—

She’s made an effort, and it’s a pity because I’m going to throw her out. In one minute flat. I need to throw her out for my own freaking sanity.

“Where’s the live stream?” Matteo asks, but I don’t look in his direction, merely pointing to where the laptop is on a console table.

In my peripheral, I see my brother casually flip the bird at the screen, his personal salute to the Don, then he bends down and throws Tasha over his shoulder.

I bet on the other side of the world the Don is blowing his last few fuses. It doesn’t matter. What’s he actually going to do? Come whip Matteo into shape? He’s bedridden and no longer a match for his sons. Matteo has overruled his instructions aboutArmstrong’s daughter, and even if the Don demands one of our brothers to fix this mess, none of us will turn on Matteo.

The Don’s ship has sailed, and Matteo knows this. For a split second, I see the don Matteo is shaping up to be and it gives me hope for all our fucked-up little souls.

“Let’s get out of here before shit hits the fan,” he says as he heads to the front door.

“Where’re you going?” I ask as I finally break eye contact with Gigi. Tomorrow, we’re getting the hell out of here, and it won’t be soon enough.

“You’ll figure it out,” he calls back.

A riddle. Exactly what I need to top this roadkill auction.

“Thanks for the fuck-up, brother.” Time for the consolation prizes to roll in, but I need to deal with Gigi first. “And for leaving me to deal with this.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

With that empty promise, Matteo strides out of the suite.

I walk over to the laptop and close it. The Don has had his entertainment. He doesn’t need to see how I deal with Gigi Trapani next.

9

GIGI

I feel his gaze on me as I move deeper into the suite. The clap of a laptop being slapped closed sounds in the foyer, and I try not to flinch. I hate how I startle so easily.

Stephano Scalera is pissed off, and I don’t blame him. But he’s met his match tonight.

In the lounge, several tuxedoed men are waiting, their eyes drinking me in. One man is puffing at a cigar, and its sweet smoke ribbons through the air. Whiskey and wine glasses are filled, and a waiter holds out a tray of amuse-bouches to a duo in conversation. They wave him away to look at me.

This dress is a man magnet. A deep cherry red signaling confidence, with a V-neck plunging way below my breasts. The long, fluid skirts caress my legs, and with each step I take, one of them peeks through the high slits aligned with my thighs. It’s sexual in every possible feminine way.

My gaze jumps from one man to the next until I do a double-take. Jean-Michel Baudin. Who would have thought? I feel Stephano’s body as he comes to stand right behind me, so close but without touching me.

“You need to leave,” he whispers, and the words ghost over my neck. “Unless you want to be taken for a prostitute?—”

“No man here is going to think I’m a prostitute.”

“They might not think you’re one, angel, but they’ll treat you like one.”

He comes to stand next to me. He doesn’t touch me, and all I wish is for him to put his hand on the small of my back and lead me away, out of this suite to somewhere else.

“Leave,” he says under his breath. “Or I’ll get a bodyguard to help you along.”

I glance up at him. Even with my heels, he must be a foot taller than me. “You mean you won’t throw me out yourself?”

“Not touching you with my filthy Mafia paws, angel.”

I hit a nerve earlier today, it seems.

“How disappointing.” I pull in a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere. I see one of my clients, and not acknowledging him would be the ultimatefaux pas.”

---