Page 51 of Brutal Vows

Liam smirks, his eyes narrowing, seeing right through my bullshit. “I’m not able to read expressions like my son-in-law can,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. “But I know a bald-faced lie when I see it.” His words cut through the vivid daydream festering in my mind.

“Plus,” he continues, “did you consider that Gia won’t have anyone once you’re done tearing through Italy? She’s never been on her own before and doesn’t have her ownmoney. She’s never worked a day in her life. How do you think she’s going to fare out in the world alone?”

His words are like a douse of cold water. I hadn’t thought about any of that.

“I’ll make sure she is taken care of,” I assure him. “A home. Money. Whatever she requires.”

Liam gives me a knowing smile, his gaze steady, but he doesn’t press the issue further. Instead, he shifts the topic.

“How has everything been running in Miami? My sons are biting at the bit to expand, and they’ve been wanting to make a deal with you—join operations.”

Liam’s sons own Clover, the club we are meeting in now. It was their first legitimate venture, and since its opening, it has become one of the most sought-after spots in the city. Liam occasionally lends a hand, but he usually stays behind the scenes, stepping in only when necessary.

I manage several clubs in Miami and its neighboring areas. Those venues serve as perfect fronts for laundering money, allowing me to pay my men through legitimate channels, making them appear as tax-paying, law-abiding citizens. If there’s one thing my organization will never be caught in, it’s tax fraud.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with our dealings in the Underground, I’d be happy to invest with them,” I tell him. “If they’re planning to use it as a front, then Adrian and Kenzo have to be involved too. We don’t handle anything in the Underground without each other.”

In our world of illegitimate business, we’re a seamless unit. All revenue is divided among our three corporations, while our legitimate ventures are our personal gold mines. But ninety percent of the time even our legal businesses are intertwined. When one of us prospers, we all prosper. That’s the way it’s always been.

Liam grins, his eyes glinting with understanding, and nods. “I’ll have them reach out to you when everything’s settled.”

“I look forward to it,” I reply, returning his smile with a confident one of my own. “Are we all done here?”

“We are,” he says, picking up his sleek smartphone and swiping through the apps with practiced ease. “You, however, have a slight problem.”

He turns the phone toward me, and I see a live feed from the club’s security cameras. I lean forward, squinting at the small, glowing screen.

Maledetta inferno.

Liam chuckles as my brow furrows, my fist clenching tightly at the sight of my dear wife downstairs in the club. She’s holding a cocktail, her hips swaying to the pounding rhythm of the music on the dance floor as she talks chattily with the man standing next to her.

I see red as fury crashes through me. “How the fuck did she get in here?” I snarl, the words a low growl in my throat.

Liam turns the phone back to himself, scrolling briefly before pausing to show me a photograph of the fake I.D. I had crafted for Gia.

Gesù.

“What the hell is she thinking?” Gia knows very well the type of danger she is if anyone catches on to who she is. Not to mention, how the hell did she get here with no car and no money?

Liam clears his throat, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a barely contained grin.

“You’ve got something to say, old man.” I shake my head at him, the words coming out more of a challenge than a question. “Say it.”

“I’ve been with you all day, Vitali,” he starts, leaning back in his chair with an air of amusement.

I give him a look that plainly asks,so what?

“You hadn’t called or texted her once until she texted you, and then you blew her off,” he points out, his voice tinged with mock disapproval.

The realization hits me with an unexpected weight. I’m not accustomed to the casual, frequent communication that seems to come naturally to others. My phone is usually reserved for coordinating with my men or handling business. When her message came through, Liam and I were knee-deep in analyzing the surveillance footage of Salvatore’s sprawling estate in Italy. The very place where I spent my childhood. We had meticulously combed through several days’ worth of recordings, dissecting the intricate dance of operations.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, dragging my hand down my face in frustration. Liam lets out a hearty laugh, rising from his chair and crossing to my side to deliver a solid, reassuring slap on my back.

“It gets better,” he promises, a mischievous wink accompanying his words.

Sure it does.

“We’ll see you in a few days,” I tell him, brushing past him with a nod as I head for the door.

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