Page 24 of Veiled Vows

The man hands me the drink, his fingers brushing against mine. I look up at him, my smile not reaching my eyes. I’m not here for him. I’m here to hurt Salvatore.

“Cheers,” he says, raising his glass.

I clink my glass against his. The sound is sharp, almost violent.

This is just the beginning. Salvatore thinks that I’m his plaything, that he can love me whenever he wants, and push me away when he feels like it. Well, fuck him, not everyone in this life salivates at the breadcrumbs he throws. Tonight, I’m going to make him pay. I want to show Salvatore that I’m not going to fall at his feet just because he decided to love me.

The man next to me leans in closer, placing his hand on my thigh. I cross my legs, trapping his hand between them.

I can’t even recognize myself. It’s ironic, really. Salvatore is clinging to a version of me that’s long gone, a version he broke and molded into a bitch.

He slides his hand higher on my thigh. I don't react, just throw back a shot the bartender put on the table, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of my husband. Just as I finish another drink, I hear shouts outside. A roar of rage cuts through the moans and groans of the club, and a slow smirk spreads across my face. He’s here.

I lock eyes with him as he bulldozes through the crowd, his eyes wild, his jaw clenched. He looks like a predator, and I’m his prey. But tonight, I’m not running.

Salvatore’s gaze burns into me. I press my chest against the man beside me, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper something meaningless. The man turns towards me, driven by his lust. I don’t even know his name, but that doesn’t matter. I kiss him, my tongue playing with his. My eyes remain open, looking straight at Salvatore as I lock lips with this stranger. The kiss is mechanical, devoid of passion

The man gingerly squeezes my left breast, rubbing his thumb against my nipple, but all I can focus on is Salvatore. He lookslike he’s about to explode, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.

Salvatore shoves people out of his way, his eyes never leaving mine. The crowd parts for him, sensing the danger, the barely restrained violence in him.

He’s close now, so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. I break the kiss, pushing the man away, my eyes still focused on Salvatore’s. Yes. Hurt. Hurt like you hurt me.

The man’s hands move down to my ass when Salvatore closes the distance. In an instant, Salvatore pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans and presses it against the stranger’s temple.

The man freezes, his eyes wide with terror, and a tremor runs through him. The entire room falls silent, but no one bats an eye. This place is accustomed to filth, to violence and crimes. And no one utters a word about it outside these walls.

I should feel scared. I should feel guilty. I caused this. But I’m just numb.

The man shakes like a leaf, his gaze darting between me and Salvatore. I don’t feel bad for him. He recognized me the moment I walked in here. He should have known what was coming.

Salvatore’s finger is hovering over the trigger. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes speak volumes. The stranger’s lips quiver, and I leancloser,biting down hard on his lower lip, pulling it between my teeth.

That’s when Salvatore loses his ever-loving mind. With a roar that almost makes my ears bleed, he yanks the man away from me, throwing him to the floor.

The stranger cries out, but it’s cut short as Salvatore drives his shoe into the man’s ribs, over and over, his blows brutal. The sound of breaking bones and wet, choking gasps fill the air. It appears that his favorite form of murder isn’t by the use of a gun.

Blood splatters across the floor, the walls, even my legs. The man’s eyes roll back as Salvatore’s rage consumes him. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate, his fists pounding into the man’s stomach so hard that I think the man will shit his intestines out.

Salvatore carries the man by his hair, lifting his head and slamming it back down on the bar table. Strands of the man’s hair are all over the floor, so is his blood. He’s not just beating him—he’s dismantling him, mutilating him. The man is no longer recognizable.

The stranger’s cries stop, he’s passed out. I don’t know if he’s dead. Salvatore stands over him, looking like a beast, his hands dripping with blood. There’s no remorse in his eyes, no regret—just raw, unbridled possession. It’s like he’s an animal.

I should be horrified. I should be running. But this is exactly what I wanted. To see him lose control. To see him break.

Salvatore grabs my wrist with his bloody hands, baring his teeth at me, looking every bit as insane as I wanted. “You wanted to play with fire,” he growls. “Now you’re going to burn.”

Chapter 14

Salvatore

Ihaul her over my shoulder, kicking and screaming. Passing by the owner of this cesspool, who I know from different events, I lean in, my voice a deadly whisper. "Not one word about this to the press."

He nods quickly, already sweating bullets. "The footage is already erased," he stammers.

I walk a few steps, then turn back, fixing him with a glare. "And never let my wife back in here again. You see her at your door, you fucking call me."

"Understood," he mumbles.

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