Page 43 of Jealous Vows

Gran tugs me into a massive kitchen and plops me down on a barstool at the island.

“You sit and tell me your name, girl,” she commands.

“Sienna Luciano,” I respond.

“I only have tea.You drink?”

Sweat gathers on my brow.

“Yes, you drink,” she answers for me.

I sit with dread building in my chest as she moves around the kitchen.She places a cup of tea in front of me.I wrap my hands around the warmth but can’t bring myself to drink it even though the steam nearly burns my face.

Romeo accepts a cup from his grandmother and follows her commands as she rules the kitchen with an iron fist.I watch in fascination as my mystery mafia man shows me a completely unexpected side of himself.

The hair on my nape rises half a second before a shadow falls over me from behind.I turn and meet hazel eyes.My marrow freezes as the man glares at me.Taller and thinner than Romeo, with a much lighter complexion but more scars, he oozes hatred and menace.

He shifts his glare to Romeo.

“You brought her here?”he accuses.

Romeo wipes his hands on a kitchen towel.With his suit coat hanging over the back of the barstool beside me, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms, and a red-and-white checkered apron tied around his neck, the cold, unyielding set of his features seems out of place.

But there’s no denying his resolution.

“Sienna, this is Alan Everett.He’s my brother.”

There’s no way these two men share a single drop of blood between them, so I take his introduction for what it must mean and not in the literal sense.

Alan Everett is Romeo’s lifelong friend and most likely his consigliere, or at the very least a savvy business partner.

And his anger can mean only one thing; he knows who I am and what Romeo intends to do with me and doesn’t approve of my presence in the family home.

A lump forms in my throat, but I turn and focus on my tea.Being unwanted isn’t new to me, but it still hurts.

Gran interrupts their staring contest and puts Alan to work too.Despite the anger simmering between them, the men work side by side without a word.

“Ai ya, you did not drink.It is cold,” Gran scolds.

“I’m not feeling well.I—”

“Nonsense.My food will fix you.Come to the table.All of you.”

I stand on rubbery legs and sit where Romeo indicates at the small table in the breakfast nook instead of the massive dining room table.

Gran heaps several spoonfuls of the aromatic rice dish onto my plate.My mouth waters even as terror seizes my stomach.After a quick chant—which I suppose is Gran’s prayer—the others dig in.

I clench my fist on my thigh and gather food onto my fork but can’t bring it to my mouth no matter how much I try.Envy washes over me.The others eat a delicious home-cooked meal while I fight a panic attack.It’s not fair.I set my fork down as quietly as I can, but it rattles against the plate.

Alan slams his fist down on the table and shouts, “She’s disrespecting Gran!”

Panic joins the vibrating in my bones.

“I’m sorry, I’ll eat,” I vow and stick a forkful in my mouth.

It comes right back up.So does everything else in my stomach.I turn away from the table just in time to avoid spewing all over everything.I heave until tears drip off my lashes and pain lances through my abdomen.

Romeo holds my hair and strokes my back.Masculine voices yell.The anger and hatred reach deep inside me and yank the words from my soul.