Page 23 of Fierce Vows

“I was told you have spirit,” he muses.“But I will remedy that soon enough.”

I glare at him.If he fucking touches me, I will take his damn head off.

“To answer your questions, I am Kirrill Singleton and you are here so I can teach your overstepping husband and his boy toy a lesson.”

This time when the panic settles over me, I let it.I am fucked and panic seems like the appropriate reaction to this situation.

“Don’t get comfortable.You won’t be here for long.”

“Rafe will come for me,” I hiss, trying to remain brave in the face of my worst nightmare.

“You’re probably right, my dear.But you won’t be here,” he adds with a grin.“And when he does find you, I’m sure he won’t want you, or at least what’s left of you, back.”

“You’re signing your death warrant, you fucking monster.”

“And with every word, you are only making sure that your punishment will be that much worse.”Two muscular men enter the room and stand on either side of Kirrill.“Now don’t fight, or this will be worse than it needs to be.”

Chapter Nine

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Mafioso Scorned

Rafe

My wife is gone.Mysister is missing, my house invaded–twice over, once in Cyprus, once in Rhode Island—and my chef is bleeding out the damn hallway floor.And I have ruined Eduardo and Suzan’s honeymoon.This is not the auspicious start I required for the takeover of my father’s business.

“Go home, my Don.Look after your family.”Eduardo risks life and limb, quite literally, as he gives my shoulder a little push, Suzan at his side.“Go see what has become of your sister.Find Willow.I will look after your man.”

“Youare meant to be my man,” I snarl, raking a blood-stained hand through my hair.

He has stayed at my side since the moment I left the rooftop after the godforsaken hit that heralded an end to my time in Cyprus.A Don would think he could set his own schedule, but no.

Blood and gore sticks between my fingers, clinging to my black hair.Fuck knows what I look like, nor do I care.My other hand remains pressed to Luca’s abdomen, his pale face pasty and closed, his eyes sealed shut as we wait for the ambulance.Shallow breaths allow his chest to rise but each stutters, and I wonder which will be his last and when I will pray for the sins he committed on my behalf.

Never in my life have I felt so goddam mortal, nor so close to meeting my maker.

Or have I ever not wanted to die, for the first time in my entire existence.Before I couldn’t give a fuck if my last shoot out was the time a stray bullet stole my final breath.If I died with Dom in a blaze of ridiculous drama and glory.Now...With the responsibility of a family weighing on my shoulders, I pray for my sister and her unborn baby.

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