Page 27 of Brutal Vows

“I’ll believe that after I speak with your sister,” he threatens.

“No.” I tug on my arms, but his iron grip never wavers. “You can’t,” I sneer. “Don’t…” I suck down a steadying breath, force my shoulders to relax, and spit my next words with as much plea as I can conjure. “Please don’t involve my sister.”

He leans forward and studies my face.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asks.

Exasperation streaks through me.

“Am I not cooperating? I’ve answered all your questions. I’m not fighting you. You have my phone, which means you also have my purse and wallet and all my information. You don’t need her,” I say.

He squeezes my forearms before asking, “Is she the only reason you aren’t trying to claw your way free right now?”

“Does that matter?” I quip.

“Yes,gattina. It very much matters.”

My stomach freefalls at his guttural tone and the hunger in his eyes. I fight the urge to look away, his intensity overwhelming.

“I… I have nothing to hide,” I stutter.

“That’s not an answer,” he growls.

I sigh and drop my shoulders in defeat.

“What do you want me to say? No, she’s not theonlyreason, but she is the biggest one.”

“That’ll do. For now,” he murmurs.

He pulls me forward, hoists me onto his shoulder, and stands. I brace myself against the pain of his shoulder digging into my stomach but otherwise don’t fight as I process his ominous words.

When he sits me on the side of the tub and removes my socks and shoes and both sets of cuffs, I eye him warily, but he ignores my expression and lifts me by my armpits as though I weigh nothing and sets me on my feet in the shower.

“Strip and hand your clothes over the top, then set the temperature yourself,” he instructs.

I stare in shock as he closes the shower curtain, and for an extended moment, I can’t move.

I don’t know what I thought would happen tonight, but showering on my own while he lingers on the other side of the curtain wasn’t on the list.

“Do you need help?”

His suggestive tone spurs me into action, but my limbs prove stiff and uncoordinated from the combination of cold and misuse.

I huff, more to announce my compliance than from annoyance, and work my shirt over my head and off my arms before tossing it over the shower rod. My sliced bra follows quickly after, but when I shove the waistbands of my scrub bottoms and panties down my thighs, I pause in mortification at the proof of my arousal.

Before he can admonish me, I turn on the shower with my pants around my knees and grit my teeth as cold water pelts me. As fast as my stiff limbs will allow, I peel my pants off my legs, step out of both items, and scrub the worst of the mess from my panties in the downpour before wringing both pieces of fabric out and throwing them over the shower rod.

With steam now rising from the scorching water, I adjust the temperature and step under the spray.

Away from prying eyes for the first time since I clocked in to work this morning, I brace my forearm on the wall, lean my forehead on top, and take a shuddering breath as the stress of the day barrels through me. A few minutes later, Ermanno scuffs his shoe, reminding me of his presence.

Never in a million years did I think I’d end up at the mercy of New York City’s most brutal and powerful consigliere. He’s terrifying and dangerous and I should try to escape him every chance I get, but with his threat of involving my sister hanging over my head, I can’t.

Plus, the more I think about it, the more I believe the Russian gangsters are somehow connected to today’s shooting. If that’s true and they’ve decided to kill everyone involved in their boss’s surgery, then Ermanno is my best bet at protecting my sister.

Yet as my mind replays his small acts of kindness, my heart insists I stay with him for completely different reasons.

No one has ever cared for me before, and even though logic demands he has ulterior motives, my soul yearns for more.

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