Page 26 of Brutal Vows

I was an idiot for pretending to be her.

Mad at myself for underestimating her cruelty again, I revisit the emotions I suppressed—all for the sake of being strong for my sister—right after my father kicked us out.

“Is that all she did? Good for you. At least you still have your home and family,” I snarl.

“Explain,” he demands even as he focuses on filling the spoon with more soup.

Maybe he senses how frayed my emotions are and realizes the only way this conversation will continue is if he gives me a bit of space.

“She’s the reason Livia and I are in New York City, but not because of some stupid scheme to get involved in your mess,” I snarl.

He shifts his arm along the back of the chair to cup his hand over my far shoulder before angling his chest toward my side, moving his body further away from mine while still making me feel boxed in, yet somehow, seeing more of him calms the rage festering within me.

“Keep going,gattina,” he says.

“She lied to my father and got us kicked out of the family. As in my father erased our names from the family tree and said we weren’t his daughters anymore,” I hiss.

He squeezes my shoulder, but I glare at him. I don’t want comfort or sympathy. I need to hit something, and he’s the only person to aim my fury toward.

“When did this happen?” he asks.

“Sixteen years ago,” I grit out through clenched teeth.

“How long have you been in New York?”

“Sixteen years,” I repeat.

He slips his hand off my shoulder and moves the bedside table—with the empty dishes still on top—back to its original place.

“What made you come here?”

Even as I resent him for reading my emotions so well, I silently thank him for putting distance between us and asking mundane questions to diffuse my fury.

“College. Plus, it was as far from San Jose as we could get,” I say.

He squats in front of me and unties the rope as he speaks.

“You keep using the words us and we, but I don’t see Livia here. Why are you defending her when she isn’t concerned about you?”

I grind my teeth and curl my hands into fists as he wraps thick fingers around my ankles. How can he ask such a horrible question with my knees so close to his face?

“I told you why already,” I snap.

He aims menacing grey orbs at me as he pulls the rope away from my ankle cuffs.

“No, you didn’t,” he says.

With methodical, unbothered movements, he continues unlooping the rope from around the chair.

“She lost her friends and family because of me!” I exclaim.

“Sure. Sixteen years ago.” He lowers my feet to the floor and pins them down with his knee before using both hands to work the knot holding my wrist cuffs to the armrest. “What about now? Have you been stealing her boyfriends, besties, money, or job since you came to New York?”

His question punches me in the gut. All the air rushes from my lungs and I shake from the force of my emotions.

“No, but what does that have to do with anything? Stop picking apart my relationship with my twin. It’s none of your business. Neither of us is here by choice,” I snarl.

He drops the rope to the floor, wraps his thick fingers around my forearms, and moves my hands into my lap before piercing my soul with his steely eyes.

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