Page 3 of Brutal Vows

“I just got off the phone with Ivan Petrov. That after I spoke to Dominic, who in turn spoke to Gabi.”

My stomach sinks. One name churns in my head. No…no-no-no-no. Not our long-lost supposedly stillborn sister. She should never have gone to the fucking Bratva Pakhan’s house. I still have no idea how the fuck that happened or why Matteo and Dominic allowed it.

“Is she okay? What the fuck’s going on?”

“Gabi’s fine, according to her. But we want to make sure she stays that way. So, you, Lucky Luca, have been chosen as our champion. You’re volunteering as tribute.”

I sink into the chair across from Matteo, refusing to digest his words. My stomach is turning too, which is never a good sign. What the fuck will I have to do this time? “As what?”

“Groom. To Milana Petrova. Ivan’s sister.”

“Jesus… What?”

I can’t be hearing right. I’m not volunteering to be an offering at any freaking altar, in marriage or as meat.

“Just an arranged marriage to make sure Gabi stays happy.”

A sardonic little smirk lurks in the one corner of his mouth and, as his words hit home, I just want to wipe it off his face. Preferably with a punch to that smug mouth, but I know my place. Fucker’s got it all worked out, expecting me to fall in line, as always.

“Wait—”

“And to give Milana an out,” he continues before I get another word in sideways. “I’m not sure why she needs an ‘out,’ but Gabi has pleaded her case and actually, it’s a brilliant idea. I can kick myself for not thinking about this before. I’m not used to having a sister or any useful woman in our family. That day when she went off with Petrov in Central Park fucking killed me. But now you’ll be in charge of his darling little sister, and the playing field is even again. It’s the perfect solution.”

Stunned would be putting it mildly. Can he just listen to himself for a second? Useful? Gabi isn’t a thing. She’s a human. A woman. And what about Petrov’s sister? Is she just a commodity? Meat? Is this how we’ve vowed to treat women? After Mom— Fuck!

Silence stretches as he reaches for his whiskey and takes a tentative sip, his eyes never leaving mine as he waits for my reaction.

“Is this your idea?”

This doesn’t have Matteo—my protective eldest brother—written all over it, but it has Don of Il Consiglio scratched all over like a bad fucking rash. Fuck my life. This is another reason why I had to get out—to be gone before Matteo turns into our father. Power tends to fuck people up like this.

“It came to me out of the blue. After I spoke to Dominic. Stroke of genius. Wish it happened sooner, but⁠—”

He thinks this is a good idea?! Jesus.

“Hang on. You want me to marry some random woman to even the fucking playing field? With the Bratva?”

I repeat what he said to make sure I got it right. This is the stuff of nightmares. This is the rug being pulled from under my feet. This is my newfound wings being clipped. I’ll never get out of the fucking Mafia if I⁠—

“Not a random woman, and no, I’m not wanting, I’m demanding. Or rather, I’m informing you that this is going to happen.”

Right. It’s a done deal, then—another one in which I had no say. Whichever way I look at it, I’m probably screwed.

A laugh tumbles out. Dry. Sharp. Deadly. I’m screwed. Always have been, always will be.

“Fuck me. When?”

“Friday. You have two days to let the idea grow on you.”

2

LUCA

Two days. At least it’s not two hours, or even less. I wouldn’t have put it past the old Don, so at least my brother hasn’t gone mental yet. There’s still scope to negotiate, thank fuck.

I stare at Matteo, strategizing.

He stares back.