Page 25 of Brutal Vows

“What are you doing? Why are you pretending to be nice?”

He huffs and lifts the spoon from the bowl.

“Don’t start batting your lashes now,gattina. It’s far too late for that,” he says as he cuts the noodles hanging off the side of the spoon using the edge of the bowl.

When he lifts the spoon to my mouth, I clench my teeth together.

“I can feed myself,” I say without parting my teeth.

He hums a noncommittal note and presses the tip of the spoon to the crease of my lips.

“I know, but this is more fun,” he rumbles.

I don’t open my mouth. He makes a sound of disappointment and turns his head so his lips brush against my temple.

“It’s okay,gattina. I can think of much more fun things to do with your mouth if you make me force a ring gag behind your teeth.”

The taunting in his voice leaves no room for doubt. He’s dead serious.

I open my mouth and take the food off the spoon. Forcing myself to chew and swallow despite the tightness of my throat, I ignore the need pulsing between my legs and glare straight ahead as though Ermanno doesn’t exist.

His low chuckle ferries my thoughts to an island full of dark, sensual depravity.

“How did I ever think you were your stepsister?” he murmurs.

“What?” I ask before my mind catches up.

“You never respond the way she would,” he says.

I shrug and curse my wayward tongue when words spill from my lips.

“She’s not exactly someone I want to emulate.”

He chuckles again and lifts the laden spoon to my mouth. My stomach rumbles. I take the bite without hesitation and actually taste the food this time. It must be a brand of canned soup I’venever had before, but I like the note of spiciness that lingers on my tongue after I swallow.

Ermanno feeds me in silence for a few minutes before offering me the coffee again.

“How do you look so much alike?”

Even with the break in our conversation, I know he means me and Julieta. As I take a sip of the still hot coffee, I consider not answering him, but he could easily find out through the grapevine and I gain nothing by being obstinate.

He doesn’t stop me when I suck down several swallows before answering.

“She’s technically my half sister. Her mother was my father’s mistress until a few years after my mamma died, but stepsister was easier to swallow than half sister, so that’s what we tell everyone,” I say.

He rewards me with more coffee. I relax into the chair despite the awkward position and enjoy the warmth spreading through me, even though my skin remains chilled from my clothes.

“Have you ever been on good terms with Julieta?” he asks as I drain the last of the drink.

I give a half-laugh and shake my head. The world spins, and for a moment, I wonder if he drugged the coffee, but then I remember he took a sip himself. Plus, the stress of the day far outperforms one measly cup o’ joe.

I roll my shoulders as much as the chair, cuffs, and his arm will allow and meet his eyes. With mere centimeters between us, the dark flecks in his grey irises seem as ominous as the black hole swirling in my chest, but I harden my expression and quirk a brow in challenge.

“Whatever she did to you, I can assure you she did worse to me,” I say.

“Oh? Did she seduce you along with half the up-and-coming mafia men in New York City and then pit you all against each other?” he quips.

My stomach roils, and I fight against spewing the contents all over him. Julieta told us she came to New York to marry Ermanno Mancini, not potentially start a war between all the mafia factions in the big city.

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