Page 7 of Virtuous Lies
Lorenzo Caruso shouldn’t be this frightening. He’s a man closer to my age than he is my father’s. A firstborn son forced into power after the untimely demise of his father. Yet he’s more merciless than his father ever was. Giorgio held a warmth to him and embraced the family within our unit. A black hole long ago replaced Lorenzo's heart, making him cruel and ruthless.
“Did I do what?”
Hand cupping his jaw, he rubs it down his face. “Kill Roberto?”
I’m not quick enough to school my shock. “Kill him? No.”
His gaze moves above me to the intimidating heat of Vincent, now a step too close to my back. “That’s right. You and Berto were in love. Right?” He smiles.
I lift my chin. “That’s right.”
“My condolences then.”
The men laugh, and my fists clench without permission. I want to stab each and every one of them. My father included. I want to take a knife and carve out their hearts. I want to slice out their tongues for the disrespect they feel it is their right to dress me with.
The burn of Vincent’s stare fires at my back, and my rage consumes me. I signed my own death warrant only to be forced into a living hell.
Vincent Ferrari is not a kind man. He’s a monster.
I whirl around, my temper catching me off guard. “I’m not a virgin,” I blurt out.
The tic in my father’s jaw does not go unnoticed. The other men have the decency to drop their heads, an act of respect to show they heard nothing of my confession. As though it was a secret to begin with. I’m only in this predicament because of my defiled nature.
Vincent, unperturbed by my outburst, takes a step forward, and it takes everything within me not to flinch. My breath holds as he moves toward me, his face as unreadable as ever.
I turn my face as he steps into me. I can feel the freshness of his breath fanning across my profile.
He leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I’m sure at least one of your orifices retains its virginal status. I’ll take pleasure in deflowering that.”
My eyes widen, and I pull in a sharp breath.
He smiles against my ear, and I’m glad that his face is tucked into my neck to hide the gesture. I’ve never seen Vincent smile, nor do I want to. His unhinged nature does not complement a smile.
His lips move away from my ear, touching the soft underside. He places the most tender kiss I could ever imagine receiving there.
He steps back, his impassive mask back in place.
Gaze sliding down my body, he frowns. Reaching out, he brushes the back of his fingers over my upper arm. They’re adorned with black and silver rings that caress my skin with the cold touch of metal.
Pulling my scrutiny from his face, I look at where his touch meets my skin, the bruise of Tony’s fingers staining my bicep in blue and purple stripes.
“Who did this?” he asks.
I cover the bruise, choosing silence.
“Roberto?” he tests.
Roberto was a pig, but he wasn’t aggressive.
“No,” he murmurs. “Your father?”
My father moves to speak, but Vincent lifts a hand, stopping him.
“No,” I defend.
His bottom lip tips out. “Your brother?”
A fleeting glance of confirmation must make itself visible on my face because Vincent’s eyes darken.