Page 28 of Brutal Vows

LUCA

She flinched.

At me.

At my hand as I raised it to touch her gently.

Fuck. It was an even bigger insult than anything her words could have conjured up.

It’s as if the tattoo on my arm starts to glow, reminding me of Stephano and how fucked up he is. Steph doesn’t talk, but I know something happened to make him lose equilibrium when we were around seven years old. Without a doubt, our fucknut dad was involved, and for years, I’ve waited for him to open up and tell me. Our dad walked around with a shiner for a week and ever since, Steph punished himself, fought with himself for years to contain the rage awoken in him one night when everybody else was asleep.

We are close, but some secrets are so dark, you don’t even share them with your twin, and I get that. But suddenly, I also get what drove his anger. I can see where it’s coming from—maybe for the first time in my life—in the way Milana flinched, expecting me to hurt her.

Heat still glows on my fingertips from touching her. Delicate soft skin in such contrast to her harsh words, bracing for a slap some men wouldn’t hesitate to hand out after being insulted like that.

Red hot fury pulses through me, leaving me cold. If that fucker of an ex hit her, abused her⁠—

What else did he do to humiliate and degrade her? That video of her lives in my mind rent-free, and taking unauthorized nudes and posting them on porn sites is the deepest intimacy betrayal. He took something beautiful and pure and trashed it as if it were meaningless. No wonder Milana is broken and bitter. So freaking bitter. She already said she’ll never trust a man again and I don’t blame her. And if he hurt her—fuck.

Wait until I find him.

I always wanted to know who filmed her, who was behind all those photos, but I couldn’t track her down and ask. I couldn’t ask Ivan Petrov either, although he was on my suspect list at first. It wouldn’t be the first time some fucker tried to play innocent by requesting a scrub of the content he posted himself. Now I know for sure Petrov had nothing to do with filming or uploading those images. I always thought he was trying to protect his mistress…who turned out to be his sister.

This whole situation is personal now. She’s my wife. A Scalera. No Scalera wife, sister, or daughter will ever live through that again. Not while I’m breathing.

I smirk, but it’s joyless. Not stuck in the fucking Mafia for nothing. I’d love a little side quest to find this fucker and cut him to pieces. It is, after all, in my blood.

With Milana upstairs in the main cabin still having dinner, I keep listening out for her, wanting to constantly check in to make sure she’s okay. At some point, I hear footsteps pass my door to the Luca cabin, pause for a split second, but nobody knocks. It’s only much later that I head back up to the deck to check in with the steward and make sure she ate and went to bed.

Today was too much, so I let her be, wanting her to digest in peace everything that’s happened. Make that phone call to Russia she was so desperate to make, in the privacy of her cabin…if she dared, neurotic as she is.

The next morning, I’m sitting on the deck, working as I usually do at this time. To be honest, I’m bored as fuck. I stuck to my routine even out at sea and did some weights and ran on the treadmill, anything to kill time. There’s still no sign of Milana.

New day, new page. I want her to come out and challenge me, spar with me and rile me up so I have reason to do the same: mess with her and see if I can make her laugh, watch her bite her bottom lip because she doesn’t want to fall for my stupid jokes. My promise that she’ll still beg for sex was a challenge I set myself. Maybe it was an idiotic move, but the only way a woman like Milana will give herself to a man ever again is either in a fit of passion, or out of deepest love.

Get my little witch into a fit of passion? No problem.

Make her fall in real, honest-to-God love with me? Fuck. Not that easy. Not with the way she’s been betrayed.

It still bothers me how her mood shifted last night after she got that message from Russia. The evening promised to be enjoyable, with small talk about Game of Thrones and her teasing me back. That message…she said there’s someone in her life, but not in the way I’d think. She seems to be done with men, so to understand what she meant, I’m going to have to get to the bottom of that statement.

It’s almost nine in the morning when the steward comes around with another offer of coffee.

“Has Mrs. Scalera requested anything?” I ask him.

“Not yet, sir.”

“I’ll take some coffee down to her.” Tempt her out for breakfast. I must check in on her. What if she managed to off herself during the night? Wouldn’t be the first woman to be that desperate.

I’m still waiting for the steward to prepare the coffee tray when my phone vibrates. Matteo. Fuck. Now my big brother is going to check in with me. Ask a bunch of awkward-as-fuck questions about my wedding night and take the piss out of me for not sleeping with my bride.

“Matty,” I say, answering with a sigh, bracing myself. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?”

“No clue. Open ocean, somewhere between Boston and New York. We’re just chilling. Do you want co-ordinates⁠—”

“Fuck, Luca. I just had a call from Ivan Petrov.”