Page 43 of Twisted Vows

What if this is just a ploy to tie me to him so that when Katherine returns from her trip, he can drag us back to Seppi?

Even though it’s a possibility, my heart immediately dismisses the idea.

Seppi wouldneverlet his brother treat me with such respect, even if it led to my demise.

I’ll just have to make sure Fiero and Katherine never meet. If they do, they’re bound to recognize one another.

I should just tell my sister to leave, but I can’t send her out into the world alone. I can’t ask her to leave while I stay, especially not after she’s finally settled down and planning for the future. I can’t steal her hope and expect her to be okay without me.

I won’t be okay without her.

Fiero nudges me again, yanking me out of my musings. I check the street sign and dig my thumb into his lower back a few inches away from the wound I reopened this morning.

“I thought nurses swore to do no harm or some shit like that?” he says with a tight smile of pain.

The mischievous glint in his eyes warns me to ignore his goading, but I can’t help it. The day has been way too confusing.

“That applies to patients, not husbands.”

The moment the wordhusbandleaves my lips, gravity triples. Even though Mia Rivera is an alias, she’s been my identity for seven years. I built myself from scratch to become her. She is who I want to be.

Fiero Capito is her legal husband. She married a mafia man.

I married my ex-fiancé’s younger brother.

Yet as he strolls down the street with me tucked against his side, a sense of safety falls over me. It’s stupid. He’s the most dangerous man in sight, but I don’t push away from him.

I stay inside the bubble of protection he offers.

Better the enemy you know than the one you don’t, right?

“Say it again,mia moglie,” he demands.

My heart lurches and core throbs as he calls me his wife in Italian. I meet his eyes and lift a brow with as much contempt as I can muster and respond as though admonishing a child.

“No.”

His gaze drops to my lips. My nipples pebble. He glances at my chest and smirks. I follow his eyes.

Damn him. Damn this dress.

I need a bra.

He curls his arm tighter around me and teases his fingers along the inside of my arm,oh so closeto brushing the outer swell of my breast.

When we turn onto a new block, a gust of wind slaps us in the face. I squeak as it catches my skirt.

Fiero’s reflexes are quicker than mine. He reaches across our fronts and pushes my skirt down before I flash the entire city, but his hand cupped over my sex sends humiliation and need thrumming through me. I stagger to a stop and meet his eyes.

The crowd parts and gives us a wide berth, one or two people giving us second glances. I can’t say I blame them. Fiero emanates lethality with his knowing eyes, sharp dress, and tattoos.

When he curls his fingers deeper between my legs, I shift my nails closer to his wound and harden my expression.

“Move. Your. Hand.”

When wicked delight tugs his lips upward, I realize I chose the wrong words.

He pinches my nipple between his knuckles and pushes the tip of his middle finger into my pussy, trapping my panties and skirt inside. I shudder and grab his wrist, dangerously close to an orgasm. The cotton fabric pulls tight over my clit. I worry there’ll be a visible wet patch when he moves his hand away.

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