Page 14 of Brutal Vows

I hold her back, my fingers around her delicate wrist. “No, wait.” I move closer to the door, eavesdropping.

“I suppose I can’t have a word with Milana, either?”

A warm and rather delicious tingle ambles down my back at this new man’s voice saying my name. It’s deep and starkly male, husky…sexy to the point of being illegal.

“Before our vows?” he continues.

I home in on him as his voice hums in tune with every musical fiber in my being.

“That’s Luca,” Gabi mouths to me, brows raised as she nods.

Oh, God. The first hint of my husband-to-be is his voice… Made to whisper just what he is going to do to me in bed as his hands roam slowly over my heated skin.

Oh fuck it. Just my luck. Some women are veins-on-forearms-and-hands girlies. Some fall for eyes first. Me? I can drown in sexual desire just by listening to a man’s voice, when it hits that spot in my belly where lust blooms. And Luca Scalera just did that without me even seeing him. Now my ears are blushing, catching up on this unexpected turn-on.

The men carry on speaking, but I only catch a few words, forcing myself to push back on this rude awakening and focus on the music his voice seems to make.

So strong. And calm. Weirdly soothing and not reflecting the racket going on in my chest now that everything I’ve put in motion is coming to fruition—and so much faster than I thought possible. It’s all been catching up to me, and now this...

His voice is composed now. Restrained. Dominant without trying and dripping with sensuality.

Luca Scalera is a man who knows how to control a woman…because she wants him to be in charge.

Blyat.

I’ve always had perfect pitch. Now I wonder if he sings, because his voice seems to be made for it.

8

LUCA

I glance around now that I’ve been introduced to Ivan Petrov, my bride’s brother. This fucker… I don’t even want to think that he could somehow have been involved with those images of my dream girl. He could know who took them, or even worse: how those photos landed on the internet. Strangling him would be a pleasure.

Jesus. Rein it in, boy. I can think what I want, but I can’t act. We’ll be ‘family’ soon, and fuck knows exactly what that’s going to entail. I’m ready to get this show on the road so Ivan fucking Petrov can get out of my hair. Serve me my mystery bride and let’s get the fuck out of here.

I take a deep breath as they continue with introductions.

“This is Yuri Sokolov, my best man and counsel,” Petrov says, indicating a much older Russian to his side.

“We’ve met before,” Matteo says as they shake hands in greeting. “In Central Park.”

Ha, the day Gabriella got handed over to Petrov like a piece of meat. The introduction is clearly for my benefit, drawing away the curtain so I can see into the inner circle. At last! But how long will this last? They like keeping me out of sight and in that bunker with Benedict. Ninety-nine percent of the time, props get stored away.

Yuri is tall, lean, and sinewy, with an eye-patch over one eye. His uninjured blue eye takes me in, and there’s a promise in his cold, calculated, almost lifeless stare: mess with Milana and I’ll make you live to regret it every day for the rest of your life, which will be long and painful.

I nod at him, our handshake firm but also acknowledging that I know his type. I see him for who he is. Like Dominic, Yuri knows how to torture people, and the message in his gaze is not an idle threat.

“We can get started.” The quicker I see what I’m dealing with, the quicker I figure out how I’m going to get out of this marriage.

“Sure.” Ivan nods. “Follow me. The officiant is ready.”

Little girls’ voices drift from somewhere down the corridor. Petrov’s daughters. I want to head down there and have a peek at the family Gabriella is marrying into, but Petrov heads in the other direction, toward the lounge. The massive room has an A-frame roof with big triangular windows giving uninterrupted views onto the ocean. It’s spectacular.

A priest of sorts is standing to the side, holding a book. The Bible? Jesus Christ, I’m not here for a sermon. He looks weirdly nervous, beyond the fake layer of calm in his expression. It’s the sweat on his bald head, shining under the overhead chandelier, that gives it away.

“We’ll start with Luca and Milana,” Ivan says as he nods to Yuri.

Great. Now I feel like I’m about to face a firing squad. Not that there’s a single weapon here. I bet the kitchen has been stripped of knives. But we Scalera boys can improvise, if needs be. I already spotted the fireplace with its forged-iron tools, which got overlooked, as well as the compulsory fire extinguisher. Just the thing to bash in a man’s head.