Page 12 of Brutal Vows
“Or what? You’ll bury that letter opener in my chest?”
Her gaze slices to the blotter on her brother’s desk, then back to me. The way her lips turn up at the corners, I can tell she’s relishing the idea of stabbing me.
“Have a go. I’m in the mood for a good laugh.”
“You wouldn’t be laughing for long. I think this meeting is over.”
“Sorry to break it to you, lass, but you’re not the one in charge here.”
That really gets her goat. A flush of red rises up her neck to merge with the burn in her cheeks. She says stiffly, “We obviously have nothing more to say to one another.”
“Now that’s the silliest thing you’ve said since you walked in.”
“If you don’t stop smirking at me, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
I cock my head and consider her. “It’s men in general, is that it? You hate men.”
Her evil smile would look right at home on Satan himself. “Only a deserving few.”
I know we could go back and forth like this until hell freezes over, so I decide to get to the point.
“I admire your loyalty to your niece, Ms. Caruso, but I want a wife, not a slave. If Liliana and I marry, she can do as she likes, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my business or reflect badly on me.”
She studies me, no doubt trying to decide if I’m lying. Then in a challenging tone, she says, “She could go to college?”
That surprises me. “Does she want to go to college?”
“She was accepted at Wellesley. It’s an all-girls school—”
“I know what it is.”
“—so you wouldn’t have to worry about her being around other boys.”
My gaze drops to her mouth. Her full, lush, scarlet mouth, which seems mainly to be used for hurling insults.
Pity. It would look beautiful stretched around the head of a stiff cock. I force myself not to imagine it’s mine.
I say softly, “I’m not a boy.”
When I lift my gaze to hers again, she looks flustered, but as if she’s trying not to show it.
“What else? Might as well air all the dirty laundry while we’re at it.”
“All right, then. Do you drink?”
“Not to excess, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Do you have a temper?”
“All men have tempers.”
She scoffs. “Don’t I know it. What I mean is are you violent?”
“I’m second-in-command of the Irish Mob. What do you think?”
She swallows, glances away, then meets my gaze again. She moistens her lips. “I… I meant with women.”
And here we have it.
