Page 42 of Sworn to Revenge
Both of them laugh, and Cora turns to me with a mischievous smile, “Challenge accepted.”
Pedro
The door creaks open as I step into my room, the buzz of whiskey still dulling the sharp edges of this crazy nightmare-like day. It’s been a long night—hell, a long fucking twenty-four hours—and all I want is silence, maybe a few minutes to let my mind clear.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell Luca about me and Bay. I’ve never seen him like this before—lost, lifeless. It’s unsettling, and for the first time, I see a crack in his unshakable armor. It’s not a sight I wanted, but now it’s mine to deal with.
As soon as I cross the threshold, my heart pounds hard in my chest.
What is she doing here?
Bay is sprawled across my bed, seems like she was waiting only for me.
This is not the time Bay, what are you doing?
Her gem-like eyes are hazy, not from exhaustion but from the alcohol. I can tell by the way she moves—slow, deliberate, and a little too loose—that she’s been drinking. More than she should have. My lungs tighten, a spark of tension forming. I have not yet talked to Luca. I can’t break the capo’s orders. His commend echoes in my mind every single time I see her, like an endless torture.Don’t touch her. She’s family. Keep your distance.
But here she is, half-drunk, tempting me with every movement, every look, her amethyst eyes glinting under the dim light.God, why now?
I close the door behind me, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “You shouldn’t be here,” I mutter, mostly to myself. She doesn’t seem to care.
She shifts on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow, her lips pulling into a slow, teasing smile. “I was waiting for you,” she says, her voice slurred, dripping with something softer, something inviting, something fucking drunk. “Thought you might need... support.”
I curse under my breath, tension winding tight in my chest.She’s family. Not yet!The sober thing right now will be to turn around and leave. But I can’t. Not with her looking at me like that. She’s tracing her hand up her thigh now, teasing.Shit.
“You shouldn’t have waited,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. I try to keep my distance, but my body is betraying me. My eyes can’t help but follow the curve of her neck, the way her tiny pink pajama dress is slipping off her shoulder. She doesn’t bother to fix it. She’s a sweet darn torture.
“Why not?” she challenges, sitting up more, her dress slipping further. She’s so close, too close. “I know you want me.”
My jaw clenches, fists tightening at my sides. Of course I fucking want her. I made it very clear I do. It’s just not that easy. I can feel my restraint slipping, the ache inside me growing harder to ignore and my cock joins him the second our gazes meet. My brother is the only one law I know, and I can’t just yet. I can’t betray that, especially not when he is a huge mess. Not even for her.
“I’m not doing this,” I say through gritted teeth, taking a step back. But even as I retreat, my eyes stay locked on her. She’s stunning, intoxicating even without the alcohol clouding my mind. And I’m barely holding on.Has her skin always looked that soft and inviting?
“Why?” She swings her legs over the side of the bed, standing up unsteadily, but with that determined glint in her eyes. She moves closer, her fingers brushing against my chest now, and I nearly flinch at the contact. Nearly.
“Because I can’t,” I grind out, my voice low, harsh. My hands ache to grab her, pull her to me, feel her warmth. “It’s the capo’s orders,” I tell her the truth like I am possessed by her.
Her brow furrows, confusion clear in her eyes. She’s too drunk and too far from our world—fuck, she is literally not from our world—to grasp the consequences. “Luca’s orders?” she asks, stepping closer, pressing her body against mine, soft and warm. Too warm. “You always follow orders?”
Yes, she’s definitely too drunk for this conversation.
I clench my teeth hard, every instinct screaming at me to pull away, but I don’t. My hands hover near her waist, so close but not touching. I can’t. I shouldn’t. Can I?
But she leans in, her lips brushing my jawline, soft, teasing, the sweet fruity alcoholic smell surrounding us. “I don’t care about orders. What are orders?” she whispers against my skin. “I want you.”
The room spins—not from the whiskey, but from the weight of what I’m holding back. My pulse pounds in my ears, my resolve unraveling with every word she says, every touch she offers. She doesn’t understand what this will cost me. What it will cost us.
“You don’t get it,” I growl, finally gripping her waist, though my hands tremble as I do. “If I touch you... if I give in before I can sort it out with Luca... it’s over.”
She laughs softly, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine followed by a small drunk hiccup. “It’s already over, isn’t it? You’re fighting a battle you’ve already lost.”
I close my eyes, fighting the urge to bury my face in her neck, to breathe her in, to let myself forget the consequences, if only for tonight. She’s right—I’ve already lost. The second I stepped into this shitty room and saw her lying there, I knew it. There’s no escaping her.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice softer now, less teasing, more desperate. “How many times does a girl need to confess for you to wake up?”
Her hands move to the back of my neck, pulling me down to her, her lips brushing mine in the lightest, softest kiss. My resolve shatters. Just for a second, just enough for me to pull her closer, to feel her against me. My fingers dig into her hips as I kiss her back, harder this time, deeper.
But then I pull away, panting, my forehead resting against hers. Luca will send me to dad, and she will stay unprotected back in the ocean. “Ican’t,” I say again, but it’s weaker, less convincing. My hands still hold her, not letting her go.
