Page 16 of Devil's Vows
I try to relax. Randazzo, my dragon, is dead, and I’ve managed to escape an arranged marriage. I have family. All the Scaleras—and the Trapanis—have been wonderful. We’ve spent so much time over calls, I feel I should know my brothers, but sadly, you don’t flick a switch and be instantly close. I’m out of my depth with these sophisticated people, unsure how I’m going to fit in with the family.
Even worse, and I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the rhythm of life in the convent. The structure and rituals dictating what I must do or where I need to be next, without any thinking involved. Now my brain is permanently in overdrive, keeping up my mask, double-checking my words and thoughts.
I miss Mother Lucia.
I miss the kindergarten kids and the simplicity of their routine, which also gave me a framework to ease my frazzled nerves in. I even miss my hideout in Potenza. For all I was locked up, I was still ‘home.’
I clutch my golden cross necklace and tighten my grip on the leather satchel holding my Bible and Bianca Randazzo’s letters withThe Princess and the Six Princes. I’ll never let it out of my sight.
The ride to the top floor is quick, and when we step out ofthe foyer, there are three doors, two singles bracketing a double door. I’m about to meet Matteo, Luca, and Benedict in person—my last hurdle.
“This one,” Dominic says as he walks toward the middle set of doors, which someone is already opening it from the inside.
I bite my lip as Matteo fills the frame. He is dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit, and as his eyes land on me, he reads my face. I know what he sees, and this is probably why Dominic keeps staring at me in disbelief, too. I’m real, not just a woman on a screen. And I look just like their—our—mom.
Then he’s taking my head in his hands and pressing kisses to my cheeks.
“Gabriella, at last. Welcome to Boston.” His voice breaks as he pulls me into a hard-chested hug before he puts me at arm’s length. “It’s so good to finally have you here. Sorry it took us so long.”
It’s become a standing joke, because what else are you going to do about it but laugh to break the ice.
“Here’s Tasha,” he says as he steps away and indicates the beautiful woman hovering inside the door whom I recognize from our Zoom calls.
I’m pulled into a hug haloed in soft floral perfume. It’s another tight one, and Tasha intensifies it with anOoh… And then, “You poor thing. We’re so going to take care of you. Come inside. I bet you’re tired even though flying with the jet is a breeze. Did they sort you out with clothes and everything you need? Just say if you need anything?—”
“Kitten.”
One word from Matteo, and the whole atmosphere seems to shift. I glance at Dominic, because he has become my brotherly go-to.
“Best we all sit down for this,” Dominic says and indicates we should move deeper into the apartment.
Something’s off. I sensed it when we got off the jet, but witheverything I constantly need to take in, I’m in permanent sensory overload.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper to Ariana as we head toward the living area.
“I’m not sure,” she whispers back.
Something happened during our flight here, and maybe if I hadn’t fallen asleep—feeling really safe up in the air—I would have caught on.
With a glance, I take in the oversized double-volume space. The floor-to-ceiling windows, the hollow feeling of the apartment where every last sound echoes. This isn’t a home. It’s a showpiece. A place to intimidate, and I feel it pressing down on me already.
My gaze lands on the other two men standing at the sectional gracing the living area. Luca, a carbon copy of his twin, Stephano, and Benedict, my youngest brother. Bless these Italian genes because my brothers are all sexy, gorgeous, and could all grace any cover of those steamy romances Chiara used to smuggle in and read. Gosh. I wonder what Chiara would make of my fine collection of brothers.
We make our way toward each other, all smiles, and then more awkward, hard-chested hugs follow.
“Lil sis,” Luca says, his smile as warm as Stephano’s. “Welcome.”
Benedict pulls me into a side hug but says nothing as Matteo’s and Dominic’s voices echo into the living area. My ears prick as I try catch as many words as I can, wanting to hack through the underlying tension in the room.
“Not only is the cat out the bag,” Matteo says, “but Petrov isn’t buying that Boryslav Petrenko isn’t here.”
Russians.A chill chases down my spine.
“Are they asking after anybody else?” Dominic asks.
“Yep. Their body count is six, and our story ofnothing to see hereisn’t sticking.”
Body count?
