Page 77 of Heartless Vows

I place my purse on the counter, pull out the pill pouches I keep tucked in the bottom, and empty one onto my palm. After chucking the pills into my mouth, I turn on the faucet, stick my face in the sink, and swallow the vitamins. Needing a few more sips to clear my mouth of the aftertaste, I hear nothing but rushing water until I turn off the faucet.

Raised masculine voices filter in under the door from the hallway. I zip my purse closed and tuck it over my shoulder before opening the door. Giorgio’s broad back blocks me from seeing his father, but Matteo’s words ring clear in my ears as I turn off the light and step out of the bathroom.

“Camilla is my daughter, so if I tell her to do something, she’d better fucking do it. Same goes for you,mio figlio. I don’t care how boring or simple the Achilles girl is, you’ll marry her without a fuss because I told you to.”

Giorgio steps toward his father, and even with his back to me, the menace wafting off him sends ice down my spine. I reach for him.

A hand closes around my upper arm and yanks me backward. I fall against Narcisco’s wiry body with a surprised squeak.

Giorgio pulls me away from his uncle and shoves me into the bathroom.

“Don’t come out, no matter what you hear. I’ll open the door when it’s safe.”

The solid wood door slams shut. Pitch-black darkness envelopes me. Sounds of violence sneak under the door.

My mind splinters. Ice infects my entire body. I hug my purse to my chest and stumble backward until the wall catches me.

Matteo’s shouting morphs to my aunt’s screams.

I sink to my butt in the darkness with Tristan’s tiny newborn body in my arms. We can’t make a sound. They’ll kill us.

I can’t breathe.

My aunt’s screaming fades to eerie silence. The doorknob turns.

I failed. They heard me. We’re both dead.

Tristan won’t survive because of me.

Light blinds me. My eyes won’t focus. A masculine voice echoes from far away.

I can’t break the ice shielding me from the world. I’d rather stay frozen forever than face the horrors of reality.

Arms wrap around me and lift me from the ground. Warmth seeps into my side. My head throbs.

A deep, rumbling voice sneaks into my bones and begins my thaw. Fragrant heat wraps around me, the smell familiar and comforting. As the ice melts from my flesh, my limbs tingle andburn as though frostbitten, and my surroundings come to me in disjointed, jagged pieces.

“You’re okay, Aurora. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Tristan is safe.”

I know that voice. I trust that voice.

Giorgio Vivaldi.

My husband.

He’s here. He’s holding me. I’m okay. I’m safe. Tristan is safe.

Pain spears up my arms and my fingers ache. My chest heaves as though I ran a marathon. Sounds buzz in my ears.

I blink until Giorgio’s handsome face comes into focus. He strokes my hair and continues murmuring assurances as I slog myself into the present.

“Mio Dio, I’m sorry, Aurora.I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t think beyond getting you away from my uncle, but I should have realized how similar that bathroom was to a closet.”

I blink a few more times before his words make sense.

He closed the door. It was dark and violent. I was alone with my brother.

No. Tristan wasn’t with me.

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