Page 24 of Ruthless Vows

I just want to continue pretending for a little longer.

The devil I know will always be a better alternative than the one I don’t.

Gabriel fucking Amato’s daughter.

Fanculo!

I fuckingknewI’d seen her before.Come potrei essere così fottutamente idiota? Fottuto idiota.How could this have slipped by me? A fake fucking last name. Rookie games.

Rookie games that she got past me as if I’m a goddamn moron.

That fucking lingerie and those fucking eyes. Those mesmerizing fucking words of hers. That poetic fucking body and her motherfucking ability to get under my skin like I was nothing but a damn fool.

She’s a fucking siren who drained me of every ounce of my control.

And the worst part of the whole goddamn thing is I fucking loved every second I spent with her.

As soon as I got home this morning, I knew I needed more of her. I put her photo from her profile into Google and did a reverse image search, and who was she smiling in a picture with? None other than her fuckingfather, Gabriel Amato, the boss of the Amato family.

We used to be allies with the Amatos. Two Italian families with one common goal. But everything changed when Gabriel Amato decided to start mixing with the cartel. My father and the rest of our family wanted nothing to do with drugs, so we split up. And it’s been a fucking war ever since. Ten years of fighting against the people who used to be workingwithus, and all because Gabriel saw dollar signs.

My mind flashes back to Giana. It’s those eyes. I knew I’d seen her before. I do my due diligence as a capo for my family. I make it my business to know my enemies, to know their weaknesses.

And Giana Amato is her father’s weakness. His only daughter. Hispocaprincess.

Red-hot, blinding rage settles over my entire body for the second time in the past twenty minutes since realizing the woman I was falling all over last night is an Amato. From my head down to my toes, a heat I’ve only felt one other time in my life flows through my body, warming my skin to a damn near impossible degree. I clear my throat, but there’s a fucking basketball-sized lump clogging my airway.

I don’t know if I’m more pissed that she pulled one over on me or the fact that my body felt things for her that I haven’t felt in a long time.

My heart pangs with guilt as I think of my wife again. Dead because she got wrapped up in me, because of me. Because of this life I live.

I let myself feel for those few hours I was with Giana fucking Amato, of all people. The enemy. The fucking enemy. Of all goddamn people. I let her suck me in and tempt me with her salacious curves and her intriguing mind. Those motherfucking pouty lips and that sultry stare. What a fucking mistake.

I don’t make mistakes.

And she’s thrown me off my game.

My entire body shakes with anger, and I throw my glass as hard as I possibly can. It shatters into an infinite amount of pieces that fall like confetti around my office, the amber liquid once inside running down the dark wall.

Did Gabriel send his daughter in here to try to get intel on us? To see if she could stake the place out? No. There’s no fucking way even an Amato would subject his own to something like that. Would he? Even a man like him has to draw the line somewhere.

I clench my fists as my temples throb.Ci sono cascato, cazzo!

Pacing the perimeter of the room, I try to figure out my next move. Nothing feels right. There’s a number of next steps I could take. The Amato Family’s princess just fell into my lap. What a coincidence, seeing as one of her own is down in the cellar being tortured right now.

I could very easily do what they’ve done to me and mine. I could take their precious little fucking princess and gut her like a fish. Leave her on their doorstep like they did with Julissa. Send a message.

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

That would let them all off much too fucking easily.

Plus, my family has never put their hands on women. I’ve never had the urge to, either. Even with Giana, I know I don’t want to touch her. Not in that way. I’d never really place a hand on her in anger. But the memory of Julissa when I opened the door that morning makes pure, unfiltered rage flash through my mind.

I see my wife’s lifeless body stiff and cold on my doorstep. The images appear like Polaroids behind my eyelids, and I rip my eyes open so I don’t have to see her discolored skin. Her open mouth. Her beautiful blonde hair bloodied and matted against her scalp. The way her palm was open, as if once outstretched, begging for mercy.

Begging for me to find her.

To save her.