Page 8 of Twisted Vows

The corner of his mouth lifts, and I know it wouldn’t feel much different if I were strapped to a rocket. “I have enough keepers. Please don’t kid yourself and think I’ll tolerate one more.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

I see one of his henchmen stride in our direction. “As entertaining as this conversation is, it’s draining my will to live.” He chuckles, a low sound that rumbles through the tension between us. “I’m going to mingle.” I stride away before he can get the last word and feel my heart pounding harder than I’d like to admit.

Unfortunately, there’s no time to dwell. Giovanni Santoro makes his move, swaggering over with all the confidence of a man who’s already won.

“Ari,” he purrs, his hand outstretched. “Dance with me?”

His tone says it’s not a request. The way he looks at me—like I’m something he’s already claimed—sends a shiver down my spine. Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell, but I feel Maxsim’s gaze on my back, so I plaster on a smile and take his hand.

The moment his fingers close around mine, I feel a chill of dread as we glide onto the dance floor. Gio’s hand on my back is possessive, his grip just a touch too tight. He pulls me closer, his breath warm against my ear as he speaks.

“You know, Ari,” he begins, his voice low and confident, “we’d make a powerful couple. My father is already planning how to expand our influence. Once we’re married, we’ll be unstoppable.”

I almost laugh. But the anger hits first. “Is that so?” I reply, forcing my lips into a smile that feels like a snarl.

He doesn’t notice the shift in my mood—too busy with his own delusions. “It’s time someone tamed that wild streak of yours.”

Anger bubbles up and there’s a scene building unless I can somehow control my temper.

Gio’s grip tightens, his hand sliding lower on my back as he maneuvers us into a corner, away from the crowd. Bile rises in my throat. The shift in his demeanor is immediate—less charm, more aggression.

His lips brush my ear, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “You can fight me all you want, but you know how this ends.” His fingers slide across my breast and squeeze with enough force to bruise.

My charming facade shatters like glass, and all that’s left is the cold, calculated rage. How dare he touch me without permission.

I stare at my ring and smile. “You should know better than to touch a Sicilian woman without clear consent.” The blade in my ring clicks free, glinting under the ballroom light as I press it against his neck. A bead of blood forms, but Giovanni’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Never threaten me,” I whisper, my voice as cold as the steel against his skin. Gio’s cocky grin slips as I apply more force. “Do you think my brothers would tolerate such insolence?” His eyes widen just for a second before his arrogance flares.

“You think a little cut will change anything?” He moves closer. “You’ll learn.” Smiling like a wolf, he shoves his mouth against mine

It’s not a kiss—it’s a claim, an ugly, possessive act that makes my skin crawl.

The shock of it almost makes me falter, but I hold my ground, pressing the blade just enough to nick his skin. The taste of blood mingles with the bitterness of his kiss.

With a sharp twist, I pull back, the knife slicing a thin line across his neck as I push him away. He stumbles, shock andsurprise flashing across his face as he touches the wound. It won’t kill him, but the message is clear.

His mask slips, and for a moment, he looks like a boy who’s just realized he’s not invincible.

I don’t give him time to react. I turn on my heel and stride away, leaving him bleeding, his taste still bitter on my lips.

I need air. The ballroom feels suffocating. My heart stutters as I weave through the throng of guests, their laughter and conversation a distant hum in my ears.

Pushing through the double doors and into the hallway, I feel some relief. The air is cooler, quieter. But the silence is deafening. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. My hands tremble, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and see blood. He must have bitten me when he pressed our mouths together.

How did I allow him to get so close?

The facade I’ve built, the one that’s supposed to keep me safe, feels like it’s cracking, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I push off the wall and almost collide with an immovable object. Maxsim. His expression is unreadable, those sharp blue eyes taking in everything—the flushed cheeks, the slight tremor in my hands.

“Gio?” he asks, his voice low, an edge of something I can’t quite place in his tone.

I take the snowy white handkerchief he hands me and dab my lip. “Yes.”

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