Page 11 of Forgotten Vows

I need to know she's okay, and look into her eyes and see if there's anything left of what we had. I need her to be mine again.

Even if it means starting a war that could destroy everything I've built. She's worth it. She's always been worth it.

I walk to my bedroom, stripping off my shirt as I go. The scars on my torso catch the light—some old, some new. They're a roadmap of the violence that's brought me to this moment. Some of the worst ones are from that night, from Giovanni's men. Broken ribs that healed crooked, burns from the cigarettes they put out on my skin, a deep gash across my abdomen where one of them got creative with a knife, the slight bend in one of my fingers where they broke my hand and wrist after it was zip-tied. I'm lucky I still have use of that hand—they broke it and then tied me up, leaving the wrist and hand to balloon and swell around a tie meant for a smaller wrist. Adriana coming when she did made a big difference—later, and I might have a useless right hand.

Then again, if she hadn't come to get me out, I'd just be dead.

There are plenty of scars that have accumulated since then, from street fights and wet work and everything else I've had to do to get here. I've covered a lot of them with tattoos, inked across my chest, shoulders, arms, back, and neck. There's a Celtic cross on my chest and a wolf on my shoulder, and marks on my ribs marking off the men I had to kill on my way to get here. Sooner rather than later, I want to add a mark for Gio Santoro. I'm disappointed I didn't get to add one for his father.

And across my chest, over my heart, another tattoo I got the day after I ran from the Santoro estate.

My entire body is a muscled, brutal map of violence and power. But underneath it all, I'm still the same kid who fell in love with a girl he couldn't have, promised her forever, and then had to run.

I'll come back for you.Someday. When it's safe, when I'm strong enough to protect you.

Someday is now.

As I lie down on the bed, she fills my memory—her soft hair and softer skin, the feeling of her lips on my throat, her hands tugging at my clothes, the sounds she made when I touched her. My cock stiffens instantly at the memories of how she looked and sounded and felt and smelled, but for once I ignore it. I don't want yet another anguished orgasm after I jerk off to memories of the girl I haven't touched in ten years. That's not enough, now that I know she's going to be mine again.

Soon, I'll have her here, in this bed.

And then nothing will ever be wrong again.

3

ADRIANA

There's a knock on my bedroom door at ten in the morning, three sharp raps that make my stomach clench before I even have a chance to open my eyes. I know immediately that it's nothing good.

Gio only sends someone to get me when I've done something wrong, and usually there's a punishment waiting. It's always when he wants to remind me exactly how powerless I am in this house that used to be my home.

I sit up slowly, my heart already racing. The morning light is filtering soft and golden through the gauzy curtains next to my bed, completely at odds with the dread pooling in my gut. Outside my window, the estate grounds stretch out in manicured perfection, all the way out to the high walls that keep me trapped here like a prisoner.

"Miss Santoro." Marco's voice comes through the door, flat and inflectionless. He's one of Gio's men, and he gives me the creeps—he has dead eyes, and hands that have killed more people than I want to think about. "Your brother wants to see you in his office."

My throat tightens. "Now?"

"Now."

I don't ask what it's about. Marco wouldn't tell me even if he knew, and asking questions only makes things worse. I learned that years ago.

"I'll be down in five minutes."

His footsteps retreat down the hallway, and I force myself to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. It only barely helps to manage the panic that always lives just beneath my skin, always ready to surface.

What did I do?

I run through the past few days in my mind, searching for the infraction. I haven't asked to leave the estate. Haven't spoken out of turn. Haven't done anything that could be construed as defiance. But there's always something. Gio always finds something.

I dress quickly in dark jeans and a plain white T-shirt, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. My hands shake as I tie it, and I have to start over twice before I get it right. In the mirror, I look pale and tired, the dark circles under my eyes permanent now, etched into my face after ten years of this.

Ten years of being a prisoner in this house, wondering every day if it'll be the day someone finally goes too far.

I walk downstairs on legs that feel unsteady, my hand trailing along the banister for support. The house is quiet this morning. Most of Gio's men are probably still sleeping off whatever they did last night. The ones who are awake watch me pass with expressions that range from indifference to something that makes my skin crawl. I've learned not to make eye contact.

Gio's office is at the end of the east wing, in what used to be my father's study. The door is heavy oak imported from Italy, with brass fixtures that gleam in the overhead light. I knock once, softly.

"Come in."