Page 73 of Twisted Vows

Our eyes lock as soon as that vow escapes my lips. Ignoring the heat simmering between us feels even harder when she lets her lips drop open. I ache to inch closer and claim her mouth.

But she breaks the moment, pulling air into her lungs before spewing sharp words. “How long? This arrangement. This…I don’t know how to describe it.”

A lie, heavy and acidic, slides out. “It’s temporary. Until your father’s found. Until the Russians are silenced.”

Her jaw tightens. “So none of this means anything? The ring, standing against Gabi, the promises?”

“Nothing.” I force the answer through clenched teeth. Safer for her. Safer for me.

Anger ignites in her eyes at my response. “Then stop playing hero. Stop pretending to care if all I am is a placeholder in your war.”

When she rises, her gown falls to her ankles, sweeping the floor. She looks like a storm bottled in a small frame. I watch her whirl away and retreat with sharp steps until her door slams.

As the echo fades, silence settles in the house. Realizing I’ve been gripping the armrest, I gently let go. Did I just push her away?

I know that’s exactly what I needed to do.

So why does it feel like I ripped my own heart out?

Chapter 15

Sophia

Temporary, that’s what he called this.

Enzo’s words from last night wrap around my mind as I slip on a robe. I feel more ridiculous for having asked him that question now.

What rational human wants to stay trapped forever?

It doesn’t matter that his kiss still burns in my mind or that I dream of him in unspeakable detail. I should be looking for a way out, not wanting to sink deeper. But it’s not just the danger. Not just the heat.

It’s the quiet, almost gentle way he speaks to Nonna Rosa, like she’s the only person in the world who still sees the boy he used to be. The way Gio lights up when Enzo acknowledges him and Marco, who would follow this man into fire without question.

It’s the patience he showed to my mother, even when she called him by a dead man’s name. He gave me the phone with the direct line to her ward, a kindness he never asked credit for.

I’ve seen the evidence of his brutality. But there’s something else underneath, a part he guards so fiercely, it makes me want to crack him open just to find it. I rise and walk to the corner of the room. The woman in the mirror stares back with confused eyes and lips that have forgotten how to smile.

I need to get this man out of my head.

Downstairs, I stumble toward the kitchen with a mission. Caffeine, stat. Preferably with zero Ricci involvement.

Fate’s a dramatic little viper, though. Arya, our maid, greets me with a sugar-sweet, “buongiorno, signora,” and waves me toward the dining room like she’s the fairy godmother of awkward domestic ambushes.

There he sits.

Enzo Ricci in his ridiculous morning glory.

Every nerve tells me to bolt.

But pride anchors me like a mule in Chanel.

I sit down and force my face to stay calm. If he notices the tension in my jaw, he doesn’t mention it.

“Salt,” he murmurs without looking up from his eggs.

Without saying a word, I pick up the shaker and extend it. Our fingers brush as he takes it from me.

Heat races up my arm. He stills, just for a second, his dark, intense eyes flicking to mine from over the rim of those glasses. Like he felt it too.