Page 13 of Deviant Knight

In fact, they’re both more intimidating than the men in this household, and that’s saying something. But how could they not be? Both have bodies most women would kill for. Sasha is lean and sculpted, whereas Sienna has perfect curves in all the right places. Even if Tony hadn’t told me about their mixed martial arts background, I would have known they’re both physically strong. Even the air in which they carry themselves, mental strength pours out of them in waves.

As for me, you might as well stamp weak, fat girl across my forehead. I’m nothing like them. I’m the complete opposite. Even if I had an interest in Domenico, which I don’t, there is no way he’d ever look at me like I saw Matteo and Lorenzo gaze at their wives last night.

Of course, after witnessing how Krishna snatched Domenico against his chest, he may not be into women. Not that I can blame him. Sasha’s brother is as hot as Domenico is, just in a different way. Individually, they’re every woman’s fantasy. Together, I don’t have a word for what they are.

I place the last soup spoon down on the table, and then turn around to give Sasha my full attention. “LeAnna left early today. Besides, she’s the housekeeper, not a maid. And I haven’t met the other lady LeAnna says comes on the days she’s off.”

LeAnna informed me she was on vacation and offered to work today, but when she showed up this morning, Tony told her it wasn’t necessary and to enjoy her day off. At least, that’s what she told me this morning.

Sasha purses her lips as if to say semantics about my distinction between a housekeeper and a maid service.

“It’s not like I can’t set the table myself. I wouldn’t need or want her help for that,” I say.

Sasha’s lips quirk in amusement instead of the superior expression I was expecting. She blinks, and the humor in her crystal eyes vanishes. “Tony better not be making you serve us. If that’s the case, just say the word, and I’ll set the boss straight.”

“No, of course not,” I quickly reply but sigh, unsure why I felt the urge to defend him when I’ve only known him for such a short period of time. “But if he were, do you really think you could do something about it?”

“Hell yes!” She pushes her shoulder off the opening but remains standing where she is. “I could, and I would. I don’t take orders fromthatboss.”

A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “Then, whodoyou take orders from?”

“From me, kitten.” Krishna’s tall, muscular frame fills the space behind his sister. He’s dressed in a navy dress shirt, no tie, with the first two buttons undone, paired with freshly pressed black slacks that look like this is the first time they’ve ever been worn. His blond hair is styled in a way that looks like it’s meant to look as if he ran his fingers through it. The golden strands of hair on top of his head are lighter than the dirty blond beard that’s as equally groomed.

As she rolls her eyes, Sasha purses her lips again, but she doesn’t refute her brother’s claim that he’s her boss. Tony briefly mentioned his family was allied with the Russians and that the original Pakhan had stepped down, his son, Krishna, replacing him.

I learned that bit of information before last night, but I hadn’t told Tony that I’d met him and Domenico last month in New Orleans. As far as I know, Tony thinks last night at his daughter’s wedding reception was the first time I had laid eyes on the man he told me I was marrying.

As unreal as all of this seems, it shouldn’t be. I’ve always known I would be forced into something that wasn’t of my own choosing. That’s been my entire life, the only life I’ve ever known. My stomach sours over the nineteen years of memories I’d love to forget, but for all I know, my future could be worse.

At that thought, my eyes snap to the dark presence stepping past Krishna and Sasha. Domenico halts, his stare pinning me from where I’m standing behind one of the dinner table chairs. There’s nothing light or soft about him. No ounce of humor lurks behind his almost black irises like there is with his friend, or lover, if that’s what Krishna is. But I’m also not naive enough to believe Krishna is the good to Domenico’s bad.

Krishna may have the lightest, crystal-clear eyes I’ve ever seen on a person, but he too has a darkness that isn’t masked no matter how hard he tries to play off his obvious feelings for my soon-to-be husband. Possessiveness and need shine bright when he looks at Domenico like he’s doing now, as he stares at the back of his head while Domenico hasn’t budged or taken his eyes off mine.

Half a minute passes before those demon-like eyes flick down, stopping on the column of my neck. When I pulled my long strands of curly red hair into a ponytail earlier today before I started prepping dinner, I noticed the bruises marking my fair skin from where Domenico wrapped his long fingers around me this morning. It doesn’t hurt, so I hadn’t realized he’d held me down so forcefully until I saw it in the mirror. Then again, I’ve always bruised easily.

As his eyes linger, I watch him. His jaw hardens as if he’s clamping down on his teeth with brute force, but it’s only a fleeting moment before his gaze snaps back to mine. I can’t tell if he likes the sight of the mark he made or if he doesn’t. No sinister grin climbs up his face like I’m used to seeing with other men that have enjoyed the way handling me leaves remnants of them on my skin.

The thing is, while he had his hand clamped around my throat, I didn’t harbor one bit of fear, and that confuses me. He clearly doesn’t want me, at least not in the “until death, do us part” way, given that he outright refused his father last night, telling the boss he wasn’t going to marry me.

Yet, I’m still here. And as far as I know, the arranged wedding is still set for this coming Friday. The real question is, what type of pawn am I to him, to his father? How is shackling me to their empire any kind of revenge against Cormac Fitzgerald?

Not even my father wants me.

If anything, Tony did him a favor.

“Excuse me,” I tell them, though my words are spoken to Domenico since I can’t bring myself to look away from him. “I’m going to freshen up before dinner.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes ago,I scurried off to pull my hair down from the rat’s nest it took on from being pulled up most of the afternoon. I changed into a clean, black blouse with a V-neck and a pair of denim jeans tucked into boots. Sasha was wearing similar attire, so I figured I didn’t have to dress up if I didn’t want to.

Only now that I’m seated at the dinner across from Giovanni and to Tony’s left, while Domenico is at the other end with his brother on his left and Krishna to his right, I wish I’d at least painted on some mascara. Sasha, who is seated next to her husband, makes casual attire look like she’s dining in an upscale restaurant among royalty. Her face is flawless and made up so perfectly.

I wasn’t at all surprised to come back and find Tony in the same black suit I’ve seen molded to his fit form. Giovanni is dressed almost identically, except his dress shirt is white. Domenico and Krishna might not be sporting a jacket and tie, but nothing about them says casual. Both look camera-ready for a photo shoot to be graced on a magazine cover or a billboard in Times Square.

Lorenzo is dressed in a plain navy T-shirt, so at least I’m not the only one that didn’t make an effort. Even Sasha looks polished with the array of colorful art that decorates her forearms. I can’t help but be envious of her and Sienna. They belong among the men seated around us, whereas I . . .

“Have either of you spoken or checked to ensure Sienna and Matteo safely made it to their destination in Cabo?” Tony’s voice halts the speeding path my negative thoughts were headed down. His dark brown eyes are set on Domenico with an arched eyebrow. After a beat of silence, they flick to Lorenzo, his other son and Sienna’s twin brother.

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