Page 49 of Brutal Vows

“I have them buried under layers and layers of firewall and passwords. I’m the only one who can access them, okay? I don’t see a problem with that since I’m now your huzzzband.”

I drop my head to my hand and sink into my seat. The way he says ‘husband’ cracks me up. “Okay,” I squeak. “We’ll never talk about this again.”

“But I love talking about you, naked, getting naked⁠—”

“Stop! You’re already half-naked.”

“I am. Side effect of working out for two hours.’

“Two hours? Are you mad?” I say, straightening so I can run my gaze over his body.

“Nah, just bored. A habit I developed to keep sane during the curse of being locked up, see?” He grabs the towel’s ends, one in each hand, and lifts it away from his body. “Like what you’re seeing, princess? Tell me it’s been worth it.”

Oh, God, help me already…he is so freaking hot, and I drink him in as if I just crossed the desert and he is water. My gaze snags on a tattoo on his inner forearm. Everywhere else, his skin is bare of ink. Words in some gothic font, almost Cyrillic, which it can’t be because he is Italian not Russian.

“What does the tattoo say?” I ask, wanting to steer the conversation away from the sexual cliff’s edge it’s dangling over. I’d love to know something about his body, something secret like he knows about mine.

“It’s in your blood,” he says without hesitating, dropping his arms and covering his pecs again with the towel.

“What’s in your blood?” I say, trying not to groan in disappointment at something so unpoetic.

“Ha.” He shoots me a crooked half-smile. “Being fucked-up and in the Mafia.”

“Really? That creative, hmm?”

“Listen, it was Stephano’s choice, his way of dealing with shit. I wasn’t consulted, and he had it done before I could stop him. I then drew the line. I wasn’t going to get inked every time he went on a bender, so we both only have this one, exactly the same.”

I shake my head in wonder. “Are you really such a carbon copy of your brother?”

Hidden, basically locked up so the world could only know about the existence of one twin. It’s abuse on a level I can hardly fathom.

“I had to be,” he says as the coffee machine stops gurgling. He pushes a mug in my direction and picks up his espresso where it stood to the side, cooling off. “Mostly.”

“Mostly? What differences are there between you then?”

He tosses back the espresso, puts the cup down, and leans onto the counter, resting on his elbows.

“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” he whispers with a smirk and nods down his body. “Just something to distinguish me from Stephano if ever I end up in a body bag.”

A totally unnecessary heat flushes my cheeks as I’m flooded with ideas of what it could be. Luca is playful, clearly into sex and everything that makes me blush.

“Oh, do tell,” I tease back. And don’t end up in a body bag. I’m starting to suspect that between the two of us, I got the better deal in this arranged-marriage pact. “Do your brothers know what it is?”

He chuckles. “Nope, but just one look and they’ll have no problem telling us apart if it comes to that.”

“Now you have to tell me,” I beg, playful too, matching his tone. “I’m your wife! Wives need to know these things.”

“Too easy, princess.”

“Come on. You have photos of me⁠—”

“Oh, you want to negotiate now?”

“No. What if you two prank me and then I’ll feel like an idiot⁠—”

“Stephano’s in Italy, so as tempting as it is to prank you, it’d be kinda hard to pull off.”

“Still—”