Page 4 of Forgotten Vows

"He's lying," I say, turning to my father. "Papa, he's lying, I wanted?—"

"I said shut up!" Lachlan's shout startles me into silence. "You think I care what you want? You think I give a shit about some spoiledmafia princess? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's all you were. An opportunity."

The cruelty in his voice feels like a knife between my ribs. I know—I know—he's lying, that he's trying to save me, but the words still hurt.

My father is watching Lachlan with an expression I can't read. "You forced her," he says slowly.

"Yes."

"She didn't consent." He phrases it differently this time, as if he's trying to goad Lachlan into admitting it's a lie.

"No."

"She fought you."

Lachlan's jaw tightens. "Yes." He tilts his head, showing the bite mark on his neck that I left there because he made me come so hard I drew blood. Now, with his lie, it looks like evidence that I fought back. That he overpowered me.

Giovanni is quiet for a long moment. Then he turns to me. "Is this true?"

My mouth opens, then closes. I look at Lachlan, at the blood on his face, at the way he's holding himself so carefully, like he's already bracing for more pain. At the desperate hope in his eyes that I'll justgo along with it. Begging me not to make him watch me die tomorrow, make me watch his father kill the woman he loves.

I hear myself say the words, like an echo down a long hallway, and they feel and sound like they're not mine. "Yes," I whisper. "He forced me."

Something in Lachlan's expression crumbles, just for a second, before he schools it back into that hard, defiant mask.

"Well then." My father looks back at me. "That changes things, doesn't it? If you were forced, Adriana, then you're not responsible. You're still..." He waves a hand vaguely. "Damaged. But not by choice. I'll find some use for you."

Tears spill down my cheeks. I should feel relieved that I'm going to live, but all I feel is hollow, like I've torn every vital part of myselfout to prevent more pain for Lachlan than he's already going to suffer.

Then my father turns back to Lachlan. "But you," he says softly. "You raped my daughter. You violated her. You took something that wasn't yours to take." He steps closer, until he's right in front of Lachlan. "You're going to die for that, slowly, and painfully. And when you're begging me to end it, when you're screaming for mercy, I want you to remember that this is what happens when you touch what belongs to me."

"No!" I wrench free from the man holding me and throw myself forward, grabbing my father's arm. "No, Papa, please, you can't?—"

He backhands me.

The blow snaps my head to the side, and I taste blood. My cheek throbs, hot and sharp, and I stumble backward, my hand flying to my face. "Take her inside," Giovanni says to the man who'd been holding me. "Lock her in her room. I don't want to see her face until I've decided what to do with her."

"Papa—"

"Now."

The man grabs me again, rougher this time, and starts dragging me toward the house. I fight him, twisting and pulling, my feet sliding on the grass.

"Lachlan!" His name tears out of me, a desperate, broken sound. "Lachlan, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry?—"

He doesn't look at me. He's staring straight ahead, his face blank, as the other two men start dragging him in the opposite direction toward the outbuildings and whatever hell my father has planned for him.

"Please!" I'm sobbing now, the words barely coherent. "Please don't hurt him, please, I'll do anything?—"

But no one's listening. The man pulls me through the garden, past the party guests who've started to notice something's wrong, their conversations dying as they watch Giovanni Santoro's daughter being dragged through the yard with tears streaming down her face and blood on her lip.

The last thing I see before we round the corner of the house is Lachlan, still held between my father's men, disappearing into the darkness.

—

They lockme in my room.

I pace for what feels like hours between my bed and the door. My face throbs where my father hit me, and my body aches in places I've never ached before, a soreness that would be sweet if it wasn't wrapped up in so much horror.