Page 63 of Twisted Vows

Fiero approves and chooses my footwear before perching me on the stool in front of the vanity for the hair and makeup artists.

I seethe even as I steal glances at him in the mirror. He chooses a suit and styles his hair with mouthwatering skill. Even though I’ve watched him countless times as we run through our hygiene routines, my heart skips a beat as he turns and meets my gaze in the mirror.

He’s too fucking sexy and he knows it. The devious smirk tilting his lips dampens my panties. I look away and regroup as I study my reflection.

No matter how nice I look or how much I want to believe Seppi isn’t a threat anymore, I can’t marry Fiero as Emma Lanza. Katherine and I won’t survive the war that’s sure to follow.

Without a word, Fiero pays at the front desk and leads me out onto the sidewalk. When he helps me into the passenger seat as though I’m made of glass, I send him a withering glare. He steals a kiss on my forehead before closing the door and settling behind the wheel.

Less than five minutes later, he pulls into a parking garage and leads me into a glass room with four elevators. We ride up to the first floor and emerge in a hallway full of men wearing suits.

Fear ices my spine. I tighten my fingers on my clutch and grit my teeth as Fiero guides me through the crowd of goons with a hand on my lower back.

When dozens of the men walk through the double doors in front of us, I flick an uncertain glance up at Fiero’s face, but his expression tells me nothing. He’s neither over-vigilant nor laid back, so his cues give no hint of what we’re doing.

We step through into a beautiful indoor forest, and even as I feel my eyes widen in surprise, I cannot dampen my reaction. It’s like falling through a portal into another world. New York City may have public outdoor parks, but I’ve never felt safe enough to visit them. It isn’t until this moment that I realize how deprived I am of nature. I’ve always been a city girl. This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

Walls of glass separate the space from the busy city streets, but the layers of canopies and different foliage seem miles away from reality.

Fiero leads me down a set of stairs. My heart pounds in my throat as a simple altar comes into view, but the tinkling sound of water pulls my attention to the right. An elegant fountain ringed with benches sits in the center of the building.

Fiero wraps his powerful fingers around the back of my arm and tugs me toward the altar. I dig my heels into the cobblestone until the straps on my shoes cut into my feet. When my juvenile show proves futile, I send a glare at him and reluctantly follow.

He continues past the altar and tucks me against his side as a burly man approaches him.

“We’re secure, consigliere,” he says to Fiero.

All the blood drains from my face.

Consigliere. Second in command. My husband. Fiero Capito.

To whom?

The double doors open and a tall, thin woman enters before a heavily pregnant woman and her partner—a man whose stature rivals Fiero’s—follow her in. By the tattoos peeking out from the man’s suit and the lethal alertness in his eyes, he’s no doubt mafia. I swallow and look between Fiero and the older man, wondering if this is the boss he serves, because by his bearing alone, the guy at the top of the stairs is definitely a don.

When the stranger lifts the pregnant woman into a cradle hold at the top of the stairs, I jerk in alarm and step forward, ready to call out and demand he stop as years’ worth of injured patients flash through my mind. Working in the emergency room makes me aware of how fragile the human body is, and there are too many horrible outcomes if he trips on the stairs with her in his arms.

Fiero pulls me back against his side, captures my outstretched arm, lifts my wrist to his face, and nips the flesh of my palm in warning. I stare at him in shock as he licks and nibbles my hand, hitting too many erogenous zones for me to breathe.

By the time he releases my hand, the mafia don sets the pregnant lady on her feet at the bottom of the stairs. She smiles at him as though he’s the center of her world.

My heart clenches, and I try to look beyond the man’s terrifying exterior, wondering if I misread him, but when he lifts his head from his wife—the rock on her hand could blind an astronaut in orbit—his eyes become as threatening as the rest ofhim. I look away before he thinks I’m ogling him, but I refuse to lean on Fiero like a coward.

The tall woman with model beauty clears the stairs and walks to the back corner of the fountain. Despite her graceful movements, she shows clear signs of trauma.

I blink and look away when I realize I’ve spent so much time at work I’m analyzing everyone I meet as though they’re patients.

A boy screams Fiero’s name from the top of the steps. An odd sense of abandonment streaks through me as Fiero leaves me behind to catch the kid—who looks to be about eight or nine, maybe ten years old—halfway up the stairs. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and try to fade into the background as another brutal-looking man appears at the top of the stairs.

Uncertainty barrels through me as Fiero and the boy banter back and forth. Does my husband have a son he never told me about?

As they reach the landing, I dismiss the idea. They look nothing alike.

But the boy doesn’t look like the third man either.

Before steam billows from my ears, I shove my disjointed thoughts to the back of my mind and shuffle away as the clearing becomes crowded. My heel catches on the edge of a cobblestone. I squeak and pinwheel, trying to find my balance.

Fiero’s hard features fill my vision. He pulls me upright, plastering our fronts together, and wraps his arms around me.

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