Page 95 of Savage Vow (Mafia Marriages 3)

Thankfully, she was smart enough not to bring Ashton with her.

“I doubt I can eat,” Karina says. “No rush.”

“There’s a book on the nightstand if you want something to do,” I say.

“I swear if it’s the Bible—”

I snort at her comment. “Is that a joke?” I honestly can’t tell if she’s being serious or trying to make light of the situation. “It’s a political thriller. But I swear if you spoil the ending,” I tease her, “you will have to face my wrath.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep it a secret.”

I bet she’s good at keeping secrets. She kept the fact she was pregnant with my child hidden from me.

Though in her defense, she didn’t know who I was. But she also didn’t try to find me either.

* * *

After dinner with Ashton, I let him sneak into our bedroom to give his mom a hug goodnight.

Francesco isn’t pleased, but Karina isn’t leaving the room.

No rules are broken.

Right?

“Thank you,” she whispers to me as I lead Ashton back to his bedroom for bed. I don’t have a story to read to him, but his head hits the pillow, and he’s already closing his eyes to sleep.

I’ll take that as a win.

I hurry downstairs, grab Karina’s dinner, and bring it up to the bedroom. It’s a few minutes after eight, and she’s probably starving.

Brushing past Francesco standing guard, I head for the bedroom. “I’m in for the night,” I say. He doesn’t need to stand guard twenty-four hours a day.

But if Alessandro tells him to jump off a bridge, the man would do it.

Francesco concedes and heads down the hall for his bedroom.

I slip into my room, shut the door behind me, the tray of food in hand as I bring it over to the bed.

“Hungry?”

Karina glances up from the book that I loaned her. She dog ears the page and places it on the nightstand.

“No. I don’t think I can stomach anything.”

“Well, you need to eat,” I say.

Did she lose her appetite with what she witnessed in the basement with the prisoner?

It takes time to feel nothing when it comes to torturing a man. I’d worry if it didn’t bother her.

“I’ll feed you myself if I have to, Micetta,” I warn.

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