Page 35 of Brutal Vows

A darker look passes between the two men.

“Your mother was never supposed to be there, Gia.” Vitali shakes his head slowly. His shoulders slump, and a deep sigh escapes his lips, resonating from deep within his chest. He drags a weary hand down his face, his palm brushing against the stubble on his chin, lines of exhaustion creasing his forehead.

“What?” Disbelief colors my confusion. “Your father asked for her.”

“No, little deer,” he protests gently, his eyes softening as he takes in my tears.

I’m barely holding it together right now. It’s been years since I’ve been allowed to speak to anyone about the mother I barely remember. The one whose picture I have hidden away so that my father doesn’t find it. He’s never allowed me to ask questions about her to anyone, not even the staff, constantly stating that he refuses to be reminded of her. That is why he removed everything of hers from the house.

Pain in remembering.

Or so I’ve always believed.

“Yes, she was,” I protest, a sob pressing through me. “Otherwise, my father wouldn’t have sent her.”

His eyes soften further as he moves his chair toward me.Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees. “Gia,” he murmurs, my name slipping from his lips on a reluctant sigh. His eyes, heavy with concern, fix on mine. Tension sparks between us, the air thick with unspoken words, as if he knows the revelation he is about to deliver will shatter my world.

“Don’t.” A sob catching in my throat, causing the word to come out as a choke.

“My network of spies is extensive,” he keeps going, but I just want him to stop. To quit talking. “That day?—”

“Stop!”

“The bombing?—”

“Please.” My voice trembles, cracking with desperation. My hands press tightly against my chest as if trying to shield my heart from breaking. My head shakes side to side, refusing to accept the inevitable truth that looms ahead. The horror of the situation hangs heavy in the air, a vile act looming like a storm cloud. The mere thought twists my insides, making my stomach lurch with dread.

“It was your father who planted it, Gia.” Vitali delivers the final blow, unknowingly shattering the thin glass covering what is left of my sanity. “He’s the one who killed your mother.”

Turning my head to the side, I do what any reasonable person would do in this situation.

I vomit.

Eighteen

Last night,the dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room as I gently wrapped my arms around Gia, offering her nothing but comfort. The warmth of her body seemed to seep into my own, a silent assurance in the quiet night. If I am being honest with myself, Gia is the only one I’ve ever had in my bed without any expectations. She’s the first woman to rest her head on my pillow and fall asleep between my sheets. In the past, I’ve always maintained a certain amount of decorum after sex with women, but those usually unfolded in anonymous hotel rooms or within the confines of the women’s own spaces, never in the intimate setting of my own bedroom.

Guilt gnaws at me, a relentless ache, as I recall the way she buried her face against my chest, her body shuddering with each heart-wrenching sob. The fabric of my shirt warm and damp from her tears. My fingers traced gentle, comforting circles on her back. Words of comfort didn’t come to me; they felt hollow and insincere. Instead, I remained silent, offering my steady presence as she poured out her grief. Gradually, her cries subsided, her breathbecoming slow and even until finally, her tears ceased, and her eyelids fluttered, too heavy with fatigue to stay open any longer.

She’s been unusually silent this morning, her lips pressed together in a tight line, a stark contrast to the woman who was a whirlwind of questions just yesterday. The drive to McDonough’s isn’t far, a few blocks down the bustling street. It’s a distance we can easily cover on foot, but given the tense atmosphere surrounding this meeting, we are more secure in the car with its bulletproof windows and reinforced steel frame. I glance at her, noting the way she stares out the window, lost in thought, and decide not to push her to speak, at least not yet. The invisible wall she’s constructed between us seems solid for now, but it won’t stand for long. I’ll dismantle it piece by piece until nothing separates her from me.

“Welcome, gentleman.” We are greeted as we step out of the vehicle into the dimly lit parking garage by Liam Kavanaugh, leader of the Irish Mob here in Seattle. He approaches us with a confident stride, his two sons flanking either side of him. “And lady,” he adds when he sees Gia step out behind me.

“Liam,” I greet warmly, my lips curling into a smile as I step forward to clasp his hand in a firm handshake. “Boys,” I add, turning my attention to the twins, Seamus and Kiernan, who mirror each other in every way. They exchange amused glances, their eyes twinkling with a familiarity built over years of friendly banter. These identical twins, just a decade my junior, have been the target of my playful teasing for as long as I can remember. Ever since I taught one of their defense classes at Elite during their younger days, I’ve relished poking fun at them.

After the rest of the men greet one another in friendlybanter, Liam turns his attention to Gia. “And who might this be?”

When arranging our trip here, I hadn’t given him much information on Gia, just that I’d be bringing along my fiancée. He’d bombarded me with a thousand questions over the phone, all of which I refused to answer until we had everyone together. God knows I hate repeating myself

Resting my hand on her waist, I guide her to stand at my side, giving her a small smile of reassurance. “Liam Kavanaugh, this is Gia Nardoni, my fiancée,” I introduce them. Liam’s brow raises as he stares down at Gia whose jaw is clenched tightly, eyes brimming with discontent. “Gia, this is Liam, head of the Kavanaugh Clan here in Seattle, and his two sons, Seamus and Kiernan.” I make sure to point out who is who, but it isn’t as hard to tell them apart like it used to be.

When she remains silent, I squeeze her waist, my fingers pressing into her side in warning.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Fuck, the dead can show more enthusiasm than her.

Liam chokes back a laugh, his green eyes shining with amusement when he meets my gaze. “Looks like you finally found yourself a fiery spirit.”

Fiery spirit my ass. Stubborn and insolent spirit is more like it.

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