Page 22 of Brutal Revenge

Giovanni clears his throat, pulling me out of the spiral circling my mood down the drain. “You didn’t know about that clause when you bartered for her freedom with Don Adami?”

“No,” I say, voice flat. “I did not.”

Azra watches me with an infuriatingly calm composure. “Clauses like that are standard in high-value alliances.”

“One hundred million dollars”—disbelief whistles my words—“to cancel an agreement to marry is a standard clause?”

“Yep.” Theppops from her lips.

She thinks she’s holding the ace.

I’ve yet to reach the same conclusion.

I crowd her against the desk until she has to spread her thighs to accommodate me between her legs, and her breathing is more erratic than controlled. “Cash or check?”

Giovanni chokes.

Azra’s eyes narrow into tiny slits. “I don’t want your money.”

“Everyone wants a hundred million dollars.”

“I don’t.”

Subtly, I rock my hips forward, pleased by her reply. That’s usually what women seek when they enter my domain uninvited. Her not wanting a payday makes me like her a little more than I’ll ever admit.

“Then why are you here?”

She sucks in a big breath, endeavoring to stop the heat roaring through her body from coloring her cheeks, before saying, “Anto?—”

Itskher, and her jaw unhinges.

After regathering herself, she tries again. “Hecanceled our wedding mere hours before you arrived.”

“Then perhaps you should accept his decision with grace.” I have no fucking clue how my words are so smooth. My insides are jittering like a crack addict. I don’t think it’s hope surging through my veins, but what would I know? I’ve never experienced emotions like this.

Azra acts as if I didn’t speak. “But then paid the caterer’s bill in full within minutes of us leaving.”

Giovanni’s head snaps toward her. “What does his backflip have to do with Matteo?”

She lifts a hand, silencing him, eyes locked with mine. “Your plan worked. He wants me because he thinks I chose you over him.”

“You didn’t choose me,” I say, my words ground through clenched teeth. That’s what pisses me off the most. Did she suck my dick because she wanted to or because she thought it would have me eating out of her palm? She was eager, there’s no doubt, but wondering if I was controlled by my cock tarnishes the memory.

“No,” Azra agrees, escalating my anger. “I chose survival.”

Her choice of words blindsides me more than my unexpected anger does.What the fuck does she mean she chose to survive?

“I gave you an out. You could have been safe…” I fall silent as she shakes her head, the scent of her shampoo and my cologne filtering in the air.

“I can’t live a full life until I do this.”

“Do what?”

I know her answer. I just want an excuse to slice off Antonio’s dick the next time I see him. Well, I really shouldn’t say slice. It won’t require more than a papercut to remove his junk, so slice isn’t the right word. It’s just hard to think when you’re fighting not to negotiate with your cock.

The only time Azra admitted the truth to herself this afternoon was when her horniness overwhelmed her—horniness she felt while sucking me off.

Too smart for her own good, Azra doesn’t grant me the pleasure of dissecting Antonio’s slug.