Page 72 of Heartless Vows

She nods and fiddles with her engagement ring before meeting my eyes. The yearning in her emerald orbs solidifies my plans for the evening.

She just became fully mine. My lover. My wife. My future. I’m sure as hellnotletting her leave my sight for the next lifetime.

We can’t leave Tristan to her family, but tonight will be the last night she returns home. If it means war between the Vivaldi and Achilles families, I don’t give a shit. As long as Aurora, Tristan, and my sisters are safe, everyone else can eat a bullet.

Or taste my knife.

Fiero parks the car and quirks a brow at me through the rearview mirror.

“Stay in the car and on the premises. We’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say.

Aurora grabs my hand before I step out of the vehicle.

“Wait, why wouldwebe back? I’m not—”

With the door halfway open and one foot on the ground, I lean back toward her and steal a quick kiss. When I pull back and she gives my lips a dreamy look, I chuckle and exit the car. By the time I reach her door, an angry blush colors her cheeks and she glares at me, but when I offer her my hand, she takes it without hesitation.

As I lead her up the stairs, she dons her emotionless mask, and even though I hate losing sight of her honest expressions, I nod my approval. When I interlock our fingers and give her a gentle squeeze, reminding her this is no longer her home, she offers me one last vulnerable smile before battening down the hatches for battle.

Her mother welcomes us at the door. After a polite greeting, she gives Aurora’s new outfit a critical once-over before escorting us to the sitting room. She launches right into updating us on her preparations for our announcement party next week until I pull Aurora’s hand into my lap. My wife’s ring glitters against the dark blue of my jeans, and even without the wedding band, it’s stunning.

Madona stiffens and stops talking, but despite the fury and curiosity in her gaze, she doesn’t ask.

I thank her for taking such great care of us and ask to borrow both of her children for the evening.

She agrees, but she doesn’t have much choice, does she?

“Is that why you’re in such casual attire? You want to take Tristan out to dinner?”

“Yes. He’ll miss our announcement since he’ll be at camp next week, so I thought an outing was appropriate,” I say.

She nods and requests he be back by his curfew, as though she’s a normal mother instead of a cold bitch who locks her children away every night. When the side door opens and Tristan greets the cook, Madona’s entire countenance sours.

I wonder when she last saw her son beyond locking his door. Does she peek into his room before she jams the key into the lock, or does she secure him away from the world without sparing him a glance?

I may have had a fucked up childhood, but no matter how horrible life was, at least I knew I had a mom who had my back even if I was wrong, solely because we were family.

Aurora’s reassuring smile as Tristan peeks into the room soothes the ache in my heart.

Madona calls him in, but after formal greetings, he stands near his sister. For half a second, pure joy shows on his face when his mother announces our dinner plans, but he tucks his enthusiasm away and thanks us all with annoying propriety.

I navigate us out of the conversation and house before we run into any other household members.

Tristan glares at me when I wrap my arm around Aurora’s waist, but when I nudge her elbow, encouraging her to hold his hand, he forgives me and asks where we’re going.

I counter by asking for his top three favorite places to eat, then lob those options to Aurora to make the final decision. When she laughs, all traces of consternation leave Tristan’s face.

I open the rear passenger door and tell Tristan to scoot all the way to the other side so Aurora can sit between us. He approves of the arrangement and nearly launches himself across the seat.

When I introduce him to Fiero, both man and boy size each other up for a moment before Fiero reaches over his shoulder and offers Tristan his hand. After they shake, Tristan lobs an impressive volley of questions at the battle-hardened mafia man, who answers each one without missing a beat, somehow maintaining his normal dry humor while keeping it child appropriate.

Aurora claims Tristan’s attention and gives him my gift. His excitement wriggles deep into my chest. He hooks his watch up to his phone and dons every item except the sunglasses. Even the shoelace trackers go on his sneakers before we reach the restaurant.

We end up eating dinner in a little mom-and-pop diner a few streets away from Tristan’s school. When I usher Aurora to sit in the corner and take the chair beside her, Fiero tucks Tristan into the chair across from her and boxes him in by taking the outer chair.

We must look ridiculous—two tatted, muscular men scowling at anyone who dares glance at the stunning woman and young boy sitting with us—but we can’t let our guards down when so much is at stake.

Tristan becomes more animated as he scarfs down pizza, breadsticks, salad, and pasta. Aurora relaxes and enjoys his antics while picking at her food, but when she seeks my hand under the table, I decide to not press her to eat more. The tears shimmering in her animated emerald eyes stem from joy and wonder, so I ask for a to-go box and save her pizza for later.

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