Page 27 of Brutal Revenge

Stepping closer, I use every ounce of my determination to sharpen my tone. “I’m Matteo’s fiancée.”

The woman’s face drains of color so fast that it’s impressive. Her mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, searching for a comeback her bewilderment won’t let her find.

She flicks her eyes to the maid, then back to me, hoping someone will tell her she misheard me.

No one does.

The maid places her hand on her chest, and her pupils dilate to the size of coins. Upon noticing my gaze, she whispers something in Italian that suspiciously resembles a prayer.

The woman stumbles off the mattress, her heel catching on the lip of the rug. “F-fiancée?” Her composure suddenly shrinks, losing the confidence it had earlier. “As in… engaged?”

“As in betrothed.” I wait for the silent warning in my words to settle between us. “As in contracted to marry. As in Matteo isn’t someone you should wait for in silk, barely there lingerie.”

Her cheeks flush a deep, mortified red.

“I-I didn’t know,” she stammers. “He never said… I mean, we don’t really talk, but he didn’t even hint that he was getting married.”

I can’t let her off the hook by telling her this is as fresh as a newborn baby, or she may hang around and ruin my plan, so I cock my hip and fan my hand across it. “Of course he didn’t.” My voice is terrifyingly calm, even to my own ears. “But now you know.”

As her shock subsides into anger, she grabs a trench coat out of her bag and tightens it around herself. “I’m not like that. If I had known?—”

“You know now,” I interrupt, my tone soft but sharper, like a fluffy sock wrapped around a baseball bat. “So get your things and leave.”

She doesn’t argue this time.

Frantically, she scrambles around the room, grabbing her shoes, her bag, and a leather jacket hanging over a chair. Her hurried movements cause her to drop her phone twice.

The maid steps aside as she rushes past, stumbling over her feet in her haste to leave.

From the safety of the hallway, she glances back at me with wide, fearful eyes. “Are you really his fiancée?”

I hold her gaze, unblinking. “Yes.” Lying isn’t hard when it’s the only way to survive.

She nods quickly—too quickly—then disappears down the hallway.

The silence that follows her brisk exit settles over the room like dust, and the maid looks at me as if I’ve banished a king from his chambers.

I’m just as panicked, but the game isn’t close to over yet.

It can’t be until I’ve married Antonio.

“Portami nella stanza vera di Matteo.”

She nods so fast that strands of glossy locks bounce free from her bun. “Yes, miss. Right away.”

She’s already halfway out the door before all her reply leaves her mouth, terrified of disappointing me again now that she knows my placement in the Caruso realm.

This time, she doesn’t dare lead me anywhere but exactly where I need to be.

Chapter 7

Matteo

Giovanni paces his office, wearing a groove into the hardwood floor while muttering his disbelief that Azra is staying under our roof. Valentina sits on the sofa near the window, one hand resting on her rounded stomach, the other rubbing slow circles over the fabric of her dress.

I slump low in a chair across from them and massage the bridge of my nose, exhaustion settling into my bones like wet cement. “Can you hurry the fuck up and get over your shock. I’m exhausted.”

“From torturing the man you were meant to give leniency to? He gave you the hand of his oldest son’s woman,” Giovanni repeats, as if saying it again will make it less true. “Yet you still sawed off his hand with a hacksaw.”