Page 8 of Brutal Vows

“You don’t know?” She eyes me suspiciously as if she suspects me of lying to her.

“No,” I say dryly. “I came looking for Elio. Not you.”

The rush of relief that visibly runs through her fascinates me. It is like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders and she can finally breathe.

“You didn’t come for me?” There is timid hope vining through her words and the dullness of her eyes begins to melt away.

“No,” I tell her. “I couldn’t care less about you. If mysottocapohadn’t informed me that you were Elio’s biological sister, I would have left you out in the cold to die.” She reels back as if I slapped her, the hard truth not something she wants to hear. But that is the way I work. I don’t keep things that aren’t useful to me. Gia, for the moment, is useful. The moment she ceases to be is the moment I get rid of her.

“Good to know,” she mutters.

“Now answer my question,” I growl, tired of repeating myself. “Why did you need to escape Fino?”

Another beat of silence but I let it hang between us. From the way she is fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lip, she is working up to tell me. It piques my interest, whichis rare. Whatever caused her to run from her father must be bad if it makes her afraid to say it out loud.

“He sold me,” she whispers, the words shaky as they leave her lips. My men’s faces darken. If there is one thing we don’t deal in, it is sex trafficking. My father refused to bend to the flesh trade, something that put an even bigger target on his back when he was Don because he refused to allow anyone within his boundaries to do so either. It meant he took apart many gangs and other mafia who tried to set up shop.

“To who?” I questioned further. Who would Fino sell his daughter to and why?

“Salvatore Romano.”

Motherfucker.

Why the hell would Fino sell his daughter to his own Don? By right, Salvatore could have just taken her…unless he is already married. A married Don or made man does not have the authority to simply demand a mafia princess. They must purchase one as theirgoomah, or mistress. It isn’t common, especially among virgin mafia princesses. Most fathers aren’t willing to sell their virgin daughter to someone who is already married because it doesn’t help them climb the ladder. They aren’t bound by a marriage contract. The only daughters worth selling were those they couldn’t marry off because they weren’t ‘pure’ any longer.

Another disgusting tradition my father did away with when he took over.

“Why?”

Gia shakes her head, her chest heaving as she struggles to control her breathing. Her hands are clenched into fists on her lap, one knee bouncing. What is she remembering that makes her this scared to speak up?

Lifting my gaze away from the girl, I glance at Dario who shakes his head.

“I’ll let that one go. For now,” I say, my gaze turning back to her. “But you will tell me.”

Fire lights her eyes when she turns to me, her face tight with incredulity and anger. Maybe her nickname should be little spitfire, instead.

“I’m not telling you anything,” she hisses. “Not why I ran. Not where my brother could be. Nothing. So go ahead and kill me if that is what you plan on doing, but you won’t get anything out of me.”

“We shall see.”

Her lower lip trembles with the fear she is attempting to hide, no doubt remembering the warming I gave her not just ten minutes ago. A promise I am going to uphold because I am nothing if not a man of my word.

When I rise from my chair, panic paints itself across her face. She knows what is coming. My cock aches with the thought of what I am about to do with her. I don’t share with my men, but as Don they expect me to be able to control my woman. Gia may not be mine, but she is my prisoner and under my control. Her outburst cannot go unpunished.

Leaning forward, I take her firmly by the arm and yank her toward me. Gia squeals in protest when I shove her across my lap. None of my men say a word. They aren’t hooting and hollering at her punishment. This isn’t what that is about and they know that.

No one bats an eye when I slam my palm across her ass. This is what they expect, as they would do with their women if they were to disobey.

“Stop,” she protests, her hands reaching back to block my next blow.

“Move your hands, little deer,” I warn her.

“Please—” She keeps using her hands as a shield.

I tilt my head at Dario who grunts as he stands from his chair with the pair of cuffs dangling from his fingers.

“Not here,” she begs as she shakes her head from side to side.

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