Page 55 of Brutal Vows

The thick, sultry heat of Miami grips me by the throat as I descend the plane’s steps, each breath feeling like I’m inhaling warm, wet cotton. Vitali stands beside me, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly entertained by my reaction to the oppressive humidity—a stark contrast to Rome’s dry, crisp air. His hazel-eyed glance is like a slithering viper, sliding up and down my body. It isn’t the sort of look you grow accustomed to. It is heated and possessive…as if he has etched his name into every inch of me.

“Too hot for you?” he teases, his voice a low, rumbling purr that carries a hint of amusement at my discomfort. His rough fingers intertwine with mine swiftly, a silent declaration to the men waiting on the tarmac. They nod in deference, acknowledging the power dynamic between us as we stride toward the fleet of sleek black SUVs idling nearby.

“Never,” I retort, my voice laced with defiance as I tug slightly against his grip, provoking the familiar possessive glint to ignite in his eyes when he tightens his hold. Vitali exudes the aura of a mafia boss. Each step he takes resonates with authority. He pauses occasionally to confer with a few men tasked with readying the plane for our upcoming departure in a few days.

He doesn’t bother with introductions, yet they all recognize me. Their eyes linger, some with curiosity, others with suspicion. Many of these men once served under Vitali’s father and followed Vitali to the States after his exile. They know my father betrayed the family, but I am determined to earn their respect on my own terms. To show them that I am not my father.

“Gia,” Vitali calls my name softly, drawing my attention back to him. I inhale deeply, plastering a calm smile on my face as I meet my husband’s gaze. “This is Marcello,” he introduces, nodding toward the man beside him. Marcello,younger and closer to my age, stands nearly as tall as Vitali but with a broader, stockier build. His dark blond hair is slicked back, accentuating the striking intensity of his whiskey-colored eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Marcello nods his head at me, his expression as serious and flat. “I look forward to the task of being your guard.” His words are formal, almost rehearsed, with a hint of duty that leaves little room for warmth.

I can already tell he will be a bundle of fun to have around.

“Thank you,” I reply, forcing a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” The truth is, I’m not thrilled, but that’s a matter for another day. I won’t complain to my husband about him getting me such a stick in the mud for security, especially not in front of all his men.

After a moment of silence that stretches like a long shadow, Vitali nods at Marcello, then gives me an odd glance—a fleeting look that carries a message I can’t quite decipher, before leading me toward Dario. The man iswaiting patiently by one of the sleek, black SUVs, his posture relaxed yet alert. As we approach, he opens the back door of the passenger side with a smooth, practiced motion, and I slide in, casting him a grateful smile.

Vitali settles into the seat beside me, his presence reassuring, while Dario takes his place behind the steering wheel, his hands finding their familiar grip. To my surprise, Marcello joins Dario up front, slipping into the passenger seat silently, his lips pressed into a thin line. The atmosphere in the vehicle is tense, charged with the unspoken roles we play.

The world outside blurs into a vibrant tapestry as we weave our way toward the sun-drenched outskirts of Miami.The relentless sun blazes down on the shimmering concrete streets, casting sharp shadows that dance beneath the city’s towering structures. Miami is a city of the present, its skyline dominated by sleek, twisting edifices of glass and metal that stretch desperately toward the heavens.

The boardwalk is full of women parading in freshly tanned skin, their confidence accentuated by the smallest bikinis that leave little to the imagination. They sip colorful cocktails, their eyes scanning the scene with amusement as the men around them jostle for attention, their antics bordering on the ridiculous.

The streets, surprisingly immaculate, gleam under the bright sunlight—a rare sight in cities teeming with this much life and noise. That might be due to our current path along the picturesque shoreline, where affluence is palpable. Luxury cars gleam beside the curbs, and the air is filled with the rustle of designer fabrics that rival the opulence of Rome during fashion week.

This vibrant scene is a stark contrast to the more conservative sights I’m accustomed to in Italy, where women typically reserve their skin-baring attire for the beach or poolside. Here, the men and women, clad in barely there garments, dine leisurely in chic restaurants, their casual elegance both foreign and fascinating to me.

I glance down at my attire, a modest navy Ralph Lauren knee-length button-down shirtdress, an internal sigh escaping me. My eyes flicker to Vitali, who is engrossed in a lively conversation with Dario. I can’t help but wonder what he truly desires. Would he prefer a woman like those confidently striding past our window, or does he genuinely want someone like me—a twenty-two-year-old recently devirginized Italian who never even kissed anyone before him?

He insists he would never stray, but how enduring are such promises? What if one day, he sees me as nothing more than a plain, unexciting wife, devoid of friends and hobbies beyond the comforts of cooking and sewing? Though Vitali’s attention is currently occupied with executing my father and Salvatore, I can’t help but question the longevity of his loyalty.

Before long, Dario is steering the SUV toward a small, gated entry point perched at the top of a gently sloping hill. He presents his badge to the vigilant security guard who meticulously scans it before returning it to Dario and activating the gate’s mechanism with a soft buzz. The tall wrought iron gate swings open without a whisper, allowing Dario to continue. The road is smoothly paved, curving gracefully down towards the house. Majestic bushes line each side of the drive, their dense foliage creating an intimate cocoon of seclusion and tranquility.

The moment the SUV pulls into the driveway, my breath catches in my throat. The house is a vision in white, crisp and elegant against the lush greenery that surrounds it. Sunlight filters through the palm trees, casting shifting shadows across the perfectly paved driveway.

Everything about it is pristine. Modern, yet has the timeless perfection of the old Italian architecture. When the engine shuts off, I climb out of the car, heart pounding. This place isn’t just a house. It’s a statement. A sanctuary. A castle hidden behind the palm fronds and tropical hush. And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if this is the place I can finally call home.

Thirty-One

I watchGia’s face with heady satisfaction as she takes in my home.Ourhome. I’m not sure when I decided I was keeping her, but that is what I plan on doing. She is mine. Maybe it was the way she responded to my belt on her ass the other night at the club. My little deer took it so well and my cock had never been harder.

The primal part of me had wanted to force her on her knees and ram it down her throat until she couldn’t breathe, removing it just before she passed out from lack of oxygen. But she wasn’t ready for that. Not this time, anyway. In the future, she wouldn’t be so lucky to get away without satisfying the urging she created.

“It’s beautiful,” Gia whispers, eyes round with awe as she takes in the enormous space I worked so hard to curate. This house is a perfect blend of Italian and modern architecture. A harmonious juxtaposition of the old and the new. The curved doorways and worn wooden floors that had been rescued from a worn barn in Kentucky add touches of the old Italian word we both grew up.

The high ceilings and exposed wooden beams create ahomey feel amongst stainless steel appliances and modern security measures. The windows are large and framed in black, creating a stark contrast against the white walls but blending well with the deep Tuscan theme my designer streamed throughout the entire house.

It sits on over four acres of property and runs along a private section of the beach. There is a pool, a tennis court, and several other amenities to keep her busy and entertained so she doesn’t feel stifled. Once I’ve eliminated Salvatore and Fino, she’ll be free to come and go as much as she wants, as long as Marcello is at her side.

He’s one of my most promising soldiers, a De Luca man through and through. There is no one that I trust more with her life than him. He knows her life above his, and he happily volunteered for the position. Even if he doesn’t act as if he is. Marcello is the kind of man who knows his duty, which means that, even if my wife wants it, they will never have a friendship. Not because he doesn’t want to be a friend, but because he knows that one small slip-up can be the difference between life and death.

Marcello also happens to be one of the few men who doesn’t care about Fino being her father. The product of an asshole father himself, he knows Gia has nothing to do with Fino’s treachery. I don’t need my men’s biases about her parentage getting in the way of her being protected.

“Thank you.” I smile at her. “I worked very hard to recreate bits and pieces of what I remembered of my father’s home.”

Gia nods in understanding as she ventures further into the house. “You did an amazing job,” she assures me. “I can see the subtle touches.”

I spend the next half an hour giving her a tour of the house and property, making sure she is aware of allemergency and hidden exits in case anything ever happens, and she needs to run. Gia takes it all in, the excitement on her face warming something inside of me I have long thought to be dead.

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