Page 31 of Risky Vows

He massages my shoulders and works on the kink at the base of my neck. I lean into his caress, humming.

"Do you have anyone else you want me to get out of your way?" he asks, only half-joking. "Just say the word."

I almost joke about my mom but worry he'll actually do it. I don't want my mother to die, not before she's supposed to. She's disappointed me in many ways, but I still love her, even if her love for me—if one could call it that—is painfully conditional. "I'm good for now."

He kneads my shoulders, and a wave of relief washes over me. I've never been taken care of like this before.

James was attentive, sweet, and kind. But there's something intense about Massimo that can be simultaneously good and bad.

"You're not the worst masseuse," I say.

"My mom used to rub my shoulders when I was little. To calm me down sometimes."

I clear my throat. He never talks about his mother. To be fair, it's not like he reminisces about his childhood much, but I use the opportunity to learn more about him. All I know about Alessandra Gallo is that she died when he was fifteen, murdered by an enemy. Needless to say, those enemies are long gone. My mom said that after Alessandra was killed, her husband took all of his men—including his teenage children—to kill the family who ordered her death. One by one.

"I'm sorry about your mom," I say.

He stops touching me, crossing his arms over the edge of the tub. "How much do you know?"

I turn my head to face him. "That an enemy of your family killed her. Why?"

Specks of burnt gold flick in his brown irises, and his expression hardens. "I was watching her that day. We didn't have the resources we have now. A lot was happening. Backthen, we relied more on drug traffic than we do these days. Anyway. My dad had an emergency and told me to sleep in his room because he had to go out. A couple of men watched our property, but he wanted to train me. As the next in line." Every sentence carries a different layer of emotion. Resentment, sadness, regret.

My heart clenches, and I reach for his hand, but he slides it away. "You were just a teenager."

He looks down at the water. "Yes. Fifteen. I slept on the chaise longue."

"What happened?" My voice can't hide the apprehension crawling inside me. Is that how he's become so protective of me? Because he doesn't want to lose me like he did his mom.Not because he cares for you, a small voice inside me warns. I shut that bitch up. I can't afford to go there now. This conversation isn't about me.

"I fell asleep. I didn't protect her as I should have. I woke up with a loud sound. It was security barging into the room. The killer had gone inside and shot her. If the security hadn't stormed inside, I was next in line." His gaze meets mine again, and an apologetic smile forms on his lips.

I nod, unsure of what to do. "I'm so sorry. But it wasn't your fault."

"Life was weird for a while. I know my dad wanted to forgive me, and maybe he has in his heart. He forbade us to talk about it with anyone outside our family—he didn't want outsiders to know that I failed as the next one in line."

I shake my head and cover his hand with mine; this time, he doesn't move it away. I add some pressure to show him I'm there. "That's not failing."

"I wish it had been different. My mom was a good woman."

If Massimo's mom was good, she was also brave. I'm new to the mafia wife role, but you need to be remarkably strong tomake it on a daily basis. Maybe that's why my mom lost some of her humanity. Being a good woman would have been a weakness for her. In our world, being weak is worse than being dead. "I can see that. You have some of it in you."

He takes my hand to his mouth and kisses it. His expression grows softer, and the atmosphere is much lighter than moments ago. "Let's not go that far."

I chuckle. Who am I to assign character traits? I went from hating the mafia world to being thankful for being married to a mobster—at least when it came to using his skills to avenge my perpetrator. "Okay. We won't."

18

Amara

"Almost there," he says, squeezing my hand.

I look through the window of the limo we've been riding to his father's estate. Three weeks have passed since he killed Ugo.

I’ve been busy, in between secretive phone calls with my mom about my brother's improvement, developing a business plan for my mobile charity massage idea, and also fucking my husband. That has happened a lot.

We've even done anal a few more times, and I've enjoyed it.

My time with Massimo means living inside a bubble and knowing it'll burst one day. What would he do if he knew Alonzo was making strides with his treatment in New York? How will that dynamic change? Will he be more upset at me hiding the truth from him or my brother possibly taking over the family business?

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