Page 31 of Brutal Vows

“Gabi? And a Russian? A stolen bride?” My legs register the shock first, because suddenly, I need to sit down. My fingers tremble when I reach for the towel to make sure it’s secure. “How? She was locked up in a convent for decades.”

Now I’m struck by Gabi’s words on that night that feels like ages ago when I realized she understood Russian. I learned Russian so I could play him…but it was just a phase.

The implications tumble through my head. I finally understand what they truly meant. She was promised in marriage to another Russian. A man who marked her. And in the Bratva world, there’s no such thing as a phase: you’re either in it, or you’re dead.

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Luca says, pumping his fists in his pants pockets, his eyes on me, on the line the wrapped towel makes from my breasts to mid-thigh and everything it hides.

It sinks in that he wants to rip it off and trace every inch of skin to see if I’ve been marked. Branded. Cursed.

The last thing I want is for him to see my naked body, inspect me like a corpse, preparing to dissect and find my secrets.

“Can I get dressed?” In private goes without saying, but he doesn’t move.

He is my husband. He has the right to my body. But not to my secrets.

Not yet. Hopefully never.

We just glare at each other as tension turns the air stifling. Gabi’s revelation twists together strings of questions that become thick enough to hang me.

“I’m not marked like that,” I whisper, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I’d rather check for myself.”

“I’d rather you not.”

He raises an eyebrow, so slowly, but the silent command is there in the strain in his jaw as he bites down on it, in those little muscles twitching, in the way he stares at me. His gaze is a drug I’m starting to dip into. Nobody has ever looked at me with such intensity before.

“Please, Luca,” I whisper, really not wanting to go there right now.

“Understand, princess, I need to know who I—who we, as Il Consiglio—are getting into bed with.”

I stop clutching the edge of the towel, but don’t unknot it. I’m not ready for this. And they—the men—have made deals around my body. Surely, they’ve done some research before entering into this agreement with Ivan. I swallow down my fear, standing my ground as I re-grip the towel tight, ensuring it stays closed.

Nobody is getting into bed with anybody.

“Not today.”

Never.

He pulls his hands from his pockets and closes in on me.

“Don’t flinch,” he says as he comes to stand so close, I can see every amber fleck in his light brown eyes.

“Luca—” I break off. I physically can’t stop him from doing exactly as he wants. I’m powerless.

And as soon as he touches me, he’ll put flame to the spark of desire he’s already lit by just being here in my cabin with me. It’s even worse, what with me wearing only a towel.

As he lifts his hand slowly, I inhale, but don’t rear back as he slides his fingertips along my temple and curves them around my ear, gathering my wet hair away from where it clings to my neck and shoulder. I stop breathing, goosebumps spreading over my body when a sole fingertip chases after a water droplet running down my neck, over the hillock of my collarbone, to my chest, where it pauses at the top of my cleavage.

God, I want him to go lower. Take me now and help me forget.

“Not today,” he murmurs as he leans in, the tip of his nose on my hairline, his body heat engulfing me with the fresh pine scent of his shower gel. “But soon.”

He drops his hand and skates it down my arm to my side where I’m clenching the towel shut, and with a last sweep of a thumb over my knuckles, he steps back.

“I’ll wait for you upstairs,” he says as he heads to the door, turning back at the last second to look at me. “We’ll be in Boston tonight. The party’s started, and we’re not there for it.”

I have no clue what he means by that, but Boston? Tonight? My next chance.