Page 64 of Twisted Vows

“I got you,mia caramellina. You okay?” he asks.

As I swallow my heart and fend off a wave of lightheadedness, I sense all the strangers’ eyes watching us. Embarrassment rushes through me.

“I’m fine. Let me go,” I demand.

He smirks and tucks my hair behind my ear before lowering his lips to my temple and murmuring, “How many times do I have to tell you? I’ll never let you go.”

My insides throb. I curse the thick fabric of his suit since it bars me from scratching him and paste a sickly sweet and thoroughly mocking smile on my face.

“At least once more,consigliere.”

I push as much derision into the title as I can, still reeling from his deceit. It may have been a lie of omission, but it was still a lie. He’s told me absolutely nothing about himself, despite insinuating himself into every aspect of my life.

His smirk stokes the coals burning in my core, but hardness lurks in his eyes.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t want to be consigliere either, but some things are worth protecting.”

He speaks with such intensity my mind needs an extra few seconds to process his words, and by the time I catch up, he twirls me around and throws an arm over my shoulder, pinning me against his side. My head spins at an alarming rate, so I close my eyes and take a deep breath before glaring up at him. He quirks a brow then steps forward and introduces me to the last man who came down the stairs.

“Giorgio Vivaldi, meet my wife, Mia.”

When Giorgio keeps his hands in his pockets, I return his assessing gaze and force my fingers to loosen around my clutch. Giorgio is another man you never want to show your weaknesses to, but when the boy tugs at his arm, softness steals into his eyes as he looks down at him.

“I thoughtZioFiero was chasing your uncle, not getting married.”

The boy sends me a dirty look as he speaks, and the petty part of me wants to stick my tongue out at him and snap that I didn’t want to marry his precious mobster, but this is neitherthe time nor place to air Fiero’s dirty laundry, and arguing with a child is stooping too low.

“Tristan, what happens when someone insults your sister?”

Fiero’s icy tone is the polar opposite of how he greeted the boy mere seconds ago. After a few moments of consideration, Tristan shows wisdom beyond his years when he straightens his spine and squares his shoulders with mine.

“Forgive me,ZiaMia. My name is Tristan andZioFiero is my favorite uncle. I don’t want to share, but if he can still give me lessons after he catches Narciso, then I’ll try to be nice to you.”

Giorgio nudges his shoulder and sends him a glare so full of warning my heart skips a beat in fear for the boy’s safety. But beyond accepting the correction, Tristan shows no signs of trauma or abuse. Surrounded by dangerous mafia men, he seems like a normal rambunctious and chaotic child.

It makes no sense. My father always crushed our spirits when he disciplined us, so we learned how to stay out of the way, but Tristan openly airs his emotions as though no one has ever hit him before.

As Tristan apologizes and offers a slight bow, I glance between Giorgio and Fiero. An entire lifetime of abuse doesn’t crumble in a day, but I’ve known Fiero for weeks now and he’s never once hurt me the way my father or Seppi did. I feel raw and exposed as massive chunks of my defenses fall away.

“Iwillbe nice to you, even if it’s just becauseZioFiero likes you,” Tristan grumbles.

Giorgio settles a hand on the boy’s shoulder but doesn’t squeeze.

“She’s family now, Tristan,” he says.

The proclamation punches me in the gut so hard I’d stumble if it weren’t for Fiero’s arm around me. Longing curls through my ribs and tightens my chest.

After a moment of working through his thoughts, Tristan sighs and rolls his shoulders back before giving me a somber look.

“Give me your phone number before you leave,Zia. I may be little now, but when I get bigger, I’ll protect you and my sister.”

A lump forms in my throat. I don’t know how to respond. He means it with every fiber of his little body.

Fiero slips his hand from my shoulder to my waist and gives me a reassuring squeeze. I clear my throat and banish the sentimental nonsense before elbowing Fiero and thanking Tristan.

When Fiero introduces me to the people across the clearing, I connect the dots. Camilla and Serenity are Giorgio’s sisters. They aren’t here to watch Fiero marry me; they’re here to support Giorgio and his new wife.

As soon as we complete introductions, I glare at Fiero. The jerk made me think it was our wedding when he could have clarified it was someone else’s with a few simple words.

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