Page 44 of Devil's Vows
“You can call me if you need to, you understand that, right? Don’t hesitate, if there’s anything. If your brothers want to see you over a video call, phone from Yuri’s phone. He will allow it, and it should leave them reassured.”
“I will, thank you, Mr. Petrov.”
“It’s Ivan, but don’t worry about it, we’ll get there.”
With a nod, I turn and walk into the corridor, just as Katya’s sleepy voice calls out for me. I’m already late and have to brief Yuri, so I ignore her and rush down the stairs, my heart in my throat, feeling like a shitty dad.
As I walk into the kitchen, Yuri is there, finishing off his coffee.
“She’s already up?” he asks, knowing I wouldn’t have come down if Gabriella wasn’t with the girls.
“Yes.” Everything that’s happened between us brewed overnight. Now, her tears. Gabriella isn’t exactly a stranger anymore, and I plan to get to know everything I can about her, whatever means I need to use. “Listen, put time aside today to throw out your hooks on Randazzo.”
“Okay. What are you looking for?”
We did a very high-level search when Gabriella first surfaced and her story came to light. There’s a connection with the Scaleras and Randazzo, and a creepy-as-fuck deal madearound her birth and her ending up in Italy as a young girl, but I need the dirt, the fine print, the verbal vows.
“I want to know where he shat, where he pissed, who he fucked, and who he did deals with. Every last detail and not a cent spared to buy the information if you need to pay for it.”
“The man’s dead,” Yuri says, brows raised in question.
“Not dead enough.” Whatever he’s done to Gabriella, or allowed to happen to her, still lives in her body, her mind, throwing a dark blanket over the light of her soul. I plan to rip it off and make her glow.
A beautiful young woman like her shouldn’t be afraid of the man she’s going to marry, even if she hasn’t registered that part of the agreement I’ve made with her brothers yet.
Last night, she stared at me with a slow, budding desire, until I asked her whether she’s ever been kissed before. The light in her eyes changed, going dark with fear and dread.
I don’t know how she got there in seconds, but I’ll make it my life’s work to make sure she’ll never have that look in her eyes again—least of all when she gazes up at me.
23
GABI
Ever since Mother Lucia’s death, I’ve been torn, with the only solution being prayer.
On the one hand, there’s the intense need to pray for her soul. On the other, the need to give God a piece of my mind for how she suffered after everything she’d done for me.
Now, I’m on my knees for a whole different reason, and Ivan walked in on me. I’m not embarrassed; praying is what good Catholic girls do, especially those straight out of a convent. My performance is on point. I’m mortified that I’ve developed the need to argue over him with a third party in my head—andnotChiara. She’s only adding spice to the mix.
I’m trying to smother my attraction to him while simultaneously battling to block Chiara’s teasing from some other corner in my head.At last! Isn’t this fun? Told you so. Can’t wait to see my little devout Catholic virgin spread her legs for a man so much older than her.
Who the hell am I fooling? I’m equal parts eager and petrified. Even if I want to, though, I can’t. My mind is a swamp my body can’t wade through, refusing to give me what it needs. It’sgone so far, I couldn’t sleep last night, my body too aroused with unsated need.
I’d just fuck him already,Chiara whispers in my head.
Of course you would,I whisper back.
I groan, because I have been lusting. A lot. Overnight. The visual of his body, strong and muscular, tattooed and marked with gunshot scars, ran on repeat in my head like a movie. His soft touch, his quiet whispers, both in such contradiction to his body, only throwing fuel on the fire. It got so heated, I had to open my bedroom door to stop myself from pushing my hand between my legs and touching myself. That’s something no good Catholic girl does, never mind one who grew up in a convent.
It’s no fun being a good Catholic girl…
“Oh, for God’s sake, Chiara, just shut up already,” I whisper back as I rush over to Ivan’s room.
Funny thing is, in the moment with Ivan, that pithy voice was dead quiet, as I was too into him and what he was doing to me.
Katya wails ever louder, and I’m grateful for something to take my mind off a need that’s never bulldozed me like this before and to block any witty remarks in-my-head Chiara throws at me.
“Here, sweetheart,” I murmur as I rush into the treasure chest where Irisha is sitting up in bed, still sleep-dazed, staring at her little sister.
