Page 45 of Broken Vows

I heave out of the deep seat, trying not to wince, and follow Stephano out of Matteo’s office. We ascend the stairs to the second floor, and for the first time, I take in the penthouse apartment with more than just panic. The double-volume living room has massive glass windows and doors that lead out to a big rooftop garden and balcony with breathtaking views. From here,I can see the Boston skyline, whichever part it is, but the solid dark swatch can only be the ocean.

We’re on the landing, and Stephano leads the way past my room.

“This is Carla’s.”

He knocks softly, waits, then opens the door and holds it. I scoot past him to step inside and spot my sister, fast asleep on her side with her back to me. Unscathed. Safe.

I’ll do anything to keep her here, just like this.

But marriage?That never crossed my mind. It’s such an easy, perfect solution. With a difficult, imperfect man. Surely, Stephano Scalera can’t be my only option…but in this case, it’s a choice between the devil you know and the devil you don’t. I have no idea how long we’ll last if we’re out on the streets in Boston. How long it will take for Franco to track us down. Being a Scalera wife will come with top-tier security, and by the look of Matteo’s apartment, it can’t be all bad. There’s money here, and in my experience, you can put up with a lot for an easy life of luxury.

I am such a fucking Mafia princess.

The truth hits me like a bullet to the heart, and I’ve never hated myself more than in this moment. It’s in my freaking blood. I’m going to cave in and break my own vow at the first sign of real danger. I thought I was stronger than this, but I’m no match for Franco Fiore.

The question is whether Stephano or any other Scalera is a match for his level of psychotic. I know so little of Stephano and the rest of his brothers, so I can’t say. My gaze drops to where he’s holding the door, his strong fingers curled over the knob, his skin unmarked with nothing but the last letters of a tattoo peeking out under his rolled-up sleeve. I still feel his touch from this morning. He looked after me in such a gentle, caring way, telling me Franco Fiore wrote his own death warrant on my skin.

The cuts pulse right on cue. I’ve seen what Franco is capable of, and that was the tip of his iceberg. He promised to do more to me once we’re married. I’ve also experienced Stephano Scalera’s slow seduction and the control he had over himself. Now, he rests a hand on my lower back and nudges me out of the room, in the possessive way I’ve always loved. He closes the door with a soft click, but that hand doesn’t move away. Even through my T-shirt, his touch makes my skin tingle with goose bumps as we move down the landing.

Screw my life. The only thing I can think of when I look at him is how he made me come, twice in a row.Without even touching me.Then insinuating I’m a whore and what we did was cheap, wanting only to degrade me.

I step away from his touch as we come to a stop at my bedroom door. “How many brothers do you have?”

He hitches a brow. “We’re five. Used to be six.”

I drop my gaze as I suck my lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. You know what they say. Only the good die young.”

I drag in a slow, deliberate breath, steeling myself.

“Any other takers?” I ask, putting my feelers out.

Stephano searches my face as my question slowly sinks in. His face splits into a smile, and then he laughs—actually laughs—deep from his belly. It transforms his face, making him look even hotter than before. Somewhat naughty, less serious, and more relaxed.

Why must he be so goddamn sexy, and why must my hormones go into overdrive around him?

“Ah, Gigi,” he huffs as he catches his breath. “There’s no chance in hell any of my brothers will step up and be the martyr here.”

Heat spreads over my whole body in indignation.Martyr?That’s taking it a bit too far. “Why is that?”

He shakes his head. “Because they know we met in Cannes andsomethinghappened, even though I told Matteonothinghappened. Matteo and Benedict both saw straight through us earlier tonight. Trust me, my other brothers will read between the lines soon enough and give you a very wide berth.”

“Is that so? Why?”

He raises his hand—hisfilthy Mafia paw—and cups my cheek, his fingertips resting softly on my temple as he traces a line over my bottom lip with his thumb. “Because you’re mine, angel, whether you like it or not.”

His touch is like a drug. Ever since our first encounter, I’ve only wanted more, and then he denied me. God, what a pleasure it would be to have him begging for it, like my body is secretly begging for him now. I hurt everywhere, but I pulse with desire too, which is a dichotomy I never thought possible. I want to lean into his touch, but instead I step away at the exact moment he drops his hand.

“Sleep on it, angel,” he says as he turns toward the staircase. “And give me your answer tomorrow.”

“You haven’t even asked me a question.” I’m even more irritated he thinks I will seriously consider this dumb proposal.

“If you expect me to drop to one knee, don’t hold your breath.”

Ugh!I grunt inwardly. This guy is a total dick. “Just know I’ll be the most horrible wife you’ll ever have.”

He laughs as he starts descending the stairs. “Then I’ll be the best husband you’ll ever have, just to piss on your pity party.”

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