Page 77 of Brutal Vows

“Ermanno.Mio marito. Please,” I beg.

He curses and sinks his cock deep into my body. I cling to his nape and claw at his chest as he fucks me against the wall with wild, raw abandon, fulfilling my deepest, darkest fantasies while promising to worship and protect me for the rest of our lives.

When our breaths mingle as we heave through the aftermath of our lovemaking, I curl my fingers into the hair on either side of his head and meet his eyes.

“I love you, Ermanno,” I say.

He offers me a wicked smirk before brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. Awe shines from his steely orbs.

“I love you, too, Loretta.”

I have no doubts anymore. Ermanno Mancini, the most feared and lethal mafia consigliere in New York City, is my husband, my soulmate, and my future. He gave me more than I ever thought possible, including a loving, supportive family, a doting partner, and someone I trust to hold me at night. I want him by my side every moment for the rest of my life.

Over the next few days, I take leave from work, move into Ermanno’s apartment, and grow closer to the Russo family. Ermanno reveals his father’s illness, and although Serenity, Natalie, and Bella cry, the rest run through a myriad of emotions before their expressions display relief and acceptance.

I adore Natalie’s wit, cherish hanging out with Bella and Scraps, and cry tears of wonder when Serenity and Nico announce me and Ermanno as their baby’s godparents.

Ermanno sneaks off a few times for work, but he always ensures I’m preoccupied during his time away, and when I check his trackers, he’s still in New York, so I try not to worry.

But we live in a cruel world with evil people.

When I demand he use me as bait for the Russians, he refuses, but I remind him I need to return to work anyway. I promise to always wear my tracker jewelry and give him permission to stalk me. He finally agrees to move back into my apartment for a few weeks while I find a new job closer to the Russo tower and he hunts the Russian mobsters.

He makes excuses to remain at his apartment longer than planned, but I don’t argue because I honestly love living in acommunity I adore and feel connected to, so when the day of my first shift back to work comes, we head straight to the clinic without stopping at my apartment first.

Everyone welcomes me back with open arms. Even my sister seems relieved, but the elation I expect to feel over her reaction never rises. She compliments my new earrings. I thank her and wait for her to mention the wedding band on my finger or the watch on my wrist, but she doesn’t. Even though I took off the massive diamond ring and the necklace for safety reasons since we’re performing several operations today, the band is something I would’ve never worn before, so her lack of comment should hurt, but it doesn’t.

In fact, halfway through the first operation, I realize our normal connection isn’t there. Without the supernatural bond flowing between us, I react to her cues the same way I do the other surgeons’—through years of studying proper procedure and individual habits. Focused on the patient, I merely note the difference and tuck the information away to mull over later.

When I return to my locker, the first thing I do is check my messages from Ermanno.

He found a lead. My car is in the parking lot. He assigned three soldiers to escort me from work to home and included their pictures so I know who to trust. With one look, I memorize their names and defining features. I’ll remember them until the day I die.

My stomach rumbles. I sigh as I realize the fresh produce I left in the apartment is probably rotten.

There are still plenty of ingredients in the pantry and freezer and I’m too tired to go shopping, so I elect to go straight home.

The apartment next to my sister’s is no longer my home, but as long as Ermanno is there, I’ll be okay.

Ermanno is my home.

I close my locker and stay aware of my surroundings as I make my way to my apartment building. The guard waves me through. I nod goodbye to the men Ermanno sent me, but Jeremy, the one with the straight nose and a tattoo covering the left side of his neck, pulls into the parking lot behind me while the others pick strategic parallel parking spots on the road.

When Jeremy gets out and enters the building before me, I sit with my purse in my lap and take a moment to process what it means.

Ermanno either gave his soldier access to our apartment—which I don’t believe he would—or he rented another apartment.

Gratitude flows through me. My husband isn’t taking chances with my safety.

Wonder flows through me, and I need another minute of not moving to enjoy the emotion to the fullest. I want to bottle it up and savor it forever.

I don’t need to store it away for later, though. Ermanno will never leave me.

When I take too long, my bodyguard sticks his head and shoulders back out through the door, scans the parking lot, meets my eyes, and nods before acting like he lost his keys and meandering through the cars.

I huff, dig my phone out of my purse, and send my husband a text. The massive diamond ring on my finger glints in the evening sun. I smirk, turn on my camera, take a selfie with ample cleavage, and send it to him before I lose my nerve. It’s his fault I’m not wearing a bra, so it’s only fair I share with him, right?

My earrings, necklace, watch, and rings sparkle in the picture, but my eyes seem to shine infinitely brighter.

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