Page 8 of Vow to Me

That’s not how this is gonna go, sorry man.

I chuckle and walk over to the workbench and look at my pretty little utensils, deciding what to use today. I see the pliers, shears, and a small mason jar. An idea flickers in my mind and excitement bubbles up in my veins.

After picking up what I need and handing it to Marco, I stroll over to Marcello and grab a blade from my ankle sheath before cutting his shirt open in one quick motion, making him audibly gulp.

You think you can betray us, then call my wife a whore?” I seethe, letting the rage show on my face.

“I-I’m sorry.” He sputters.

“No more fucking talking for you,” I snap and motion for Marco to pass me what I need.

With my hand on his jaw, keeping his mouth open, I grab his tongue with the pliers. He starts thrashing around but I keep a steady hold and using the shears I chop it off before motioning for Marco to open the mason jar.

I grin when he holds it out for me before dropping the tongue inside.

“Good.” I nod to myself. “Now to get started.” The sheer terror in his eyes, realizing I’m only just getting started and that I’m not at all going to keep this quick, sends a thrill through me.

Fuck, I love this shit.

I spend the next hour removing fingers, strategically slicing him open in places that won’t let him bleed out too soon and carving off pieces off his skin. All the while our men continue to watch, making sure they keep their expressions stoic.

Marco stands to my left with a look of boredom on his face while Enzo has spent the last hour barring his teeth at a crying Lucian like a wild dog, fucking maniac that he is. Marcello has passed out a couple of times, but Marco gave him a shot of adrenaline, ensuring he stays awake for what’s about to happen next.

Finally, we’re down to the last stages. I intentionally kept his chest and torso free from torture for my plan to work. Grabbing a small knife, I start carving off a strip of skin from his chest, the flesh I’m carving spans from just below his belly button up to his breastbone and is about an inch wide. After detaching the skin, I motion for Marco to pass me the mason jar again.

I wrap the skin around the top of the jar and tie it together.

“Uh, Luca, what the hell are you doing?” Marco asks in confusion, wondering why the hell I’m bothering putting his tongue in a jar in the first place, never mind using his skin as a bow to top it off when we already have our men here to showcase Marcellos's demise.

“Mywife is the reason he’s here, it’s only fair she gets something from her hard work. After all, I owe her a wedding gift, and that gift needed a pretty little bow,” I say with a grin and Enzo barks out a laugh as Marco cringes, probably imagining her reaction. I know she killed Angelo earlier without a second thought, but who the fuck knows how she’ll react to my gift.Ah well, fuck it.

I’m trying to show her I don’t see her as a princess like I implied earlier. Surely, she’ll appreciate that, right?

Once I finish admiring my handiwork, I step back up to Marcello and stare into his empty eyes. Seems he checked out a while ago and is barely hanging on.

“Let this be a lesson not to turn on us,” I announce to the room before taking my knife and slitting the bastard's throat.

“Fucking finally, can I play with mine now?” Enzo whines and I give him a nod. That crazy bastard could be here all night playing with his newest toy, or he could be here five minutes after accidentally killing him.

I do a slow spin around the room, giving each man adon’t fuck with us lookbefore picking up Izzy’s gift and strolling out the room.

I’ve had enough excitement for one day, I think I’ll give her it in the morning.

Chapter Seven

Izzy

Last night, after one of Luca’s guards escorted me up to the apartment, I took the time to look around. I now apparently live in a three-bedroom penthouse apartment, right in the heart of the city. Luckily, the décor consists of black, white and gray. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise, I was never one of those girls who liked girly girl things, I’d rather decorate the walls with blood than flowery wallpaper.

After giving myself a nice little tour around my new home, I found myself a guest room furthest away from my husband's bedroom. I’m aware we’ll have to consummate the marriage at some point, and I’m pretty sure he’s not the type of man to force himself on a woman, but I’d rather somewhat get to know him before I fuck him.

This whole situation is fucking ridiculous, why we’re still buying into the antiquated ways our ancestors ran business I really don’t fucking know. My children certainly won’t be subjected to an arranged marriage if I have anything to say about it, and I’d stab Luca through the hand if he ever tried to force mine.

I've just woken up and I’m aware of his presence before I even open my eyes. I stay still and control my breathing while I wonder just how long my sneaky husband has been watching me sleep.

Giving in, I open my eyes to glare at him. I’m not a morning person, the least he could have done is brought coffee.

“Do you always enjoy watching women sleep?” I ask.

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