Page 21 of Brutal Revenge

Azra.

She’s sitting on Giovanni’s chair like she owns the space. Her bare feet rest on his desk, and her expression is as composed as a queen holding court in a room of paupers.

My heart stops, and my breath catches like a soft cock.

Maybe I should cut off my cock and store it in my trophy cabinet.

I clearly have no use for it anymore.

As we undertake an intense stare-down, every thought I’ve tried to bury all night comes roaring back to life.

She didn’t leave.

She’s here.

I have no idea what that means, so I’m torn between being relieved and pissed.

I go for the latter when the removal of her feet from Giovanni’s desk reveals the reason for her visit. A marriage contract with Antonio’s crossed-out name replaced with mine rests on the glossy wood.

The date of the proposed marriage brings back the frustration I felt when she reminded me her place in my life would be temporary.

One week from Sunday, she’s scheduled to marry my archnemesis.

“Welcome home, honey,” she says, my jaw spasming. “Wifey-to-be missed you.”

“What are you doing here, Azra?”What?I wasn’t lying when I said I’m wrecked. “And how did you get here? I took you to the airport myself.”

Her lips twist, highlighting that they’re still swollen. “You told the pilot to take me anywhere I wanted to go. You didn’t specify it had to be somewhere foreign.”

I growl, equally hating and loving her smarts.

She doesn’t look afraid or apologetic as she rounds Giovanni’s desk and props her ass on the edge, mere feet from me. She looks like someone who walked into the lion’s den and sat on the throne instead of on the bleachers with the rest of the civilians.

Giovanni lingers near the bookshelf, arms crossed, watching us like he’s bracing for a storm.

Never one to disappoint, I give him exactly what he’s seeking.

“Talk.Now.Before I re-strap you to the recliner in our private jet and fly youhome myself.”

Azra folds her arms neatly under her chest, thrusting her fantastic tits high. “That would be a breach of our contract.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“You will when you know the terms.” Not losing eye contact, she snatches up the marriage contract, then shoves it into my chest with enough force to knock me back two steps. “Page seven.”

I don’t move.

I’ve played this game long enough to know every strategic move to win.

Kneeling like a bitch won’t award me with the Champions Trophy.

Sighing, Azra opens the contract herself, then taps a paragraph with her finger. “This part.”

To entertain her as well as she did me as her lips hovered an inch above my cock, I skim the section she’s referencing.

Coughing, I read it again.

Then I read it a third time purely to make sure I’m not hallucinating.