Page 39 of Brutal Revenge

Lucia is too receptive. “It’s a long story.”

Matteo clears his throat before adding to the awkwardness lingering in the air. “And the exact reason we’re here. Lucia has access to a heap of slutty, heart-attack-inspiring dresses.”

Lucia narrows her eyes, ready to bite back. Before she can react, Dante says, “If you ever use Lucia’s name and slutty in the same sentence again, I’ll gut you where you stand.”

His tone is too smooth for me to know if he’s being playful or serious.

I assume the former when Matteo winks, loving that he’s ruffled his feathers.

Lucia laughs softly, touching Dante’s arm. “Ignore them. Dante thinks any dress that isn’t ankle-length is scandalous.” Dante mutters something that sounds suspiciously like agreement. “And Matteo thinks a handkerchief is classy.”

Matteo’s agreeing murmur mimics Dante’s, and I stop looking for similarities. Aside from their eye color, they share many qualities. If they’re not brothers, I didn’t pledge earlier to take care of the tingles still running rampant through me the instant I’m alone in the shower.

“I alsohadaccess to…”—Lucia chooses her words wisely—“a slew ofenticing dresses. I don’t anymore.”

Dante gleams like a pig in mud as he tosses a key to Matteo. “There are plenty of suitable clothes in Camille’s room. Closet’s full.”

Camille? As in his daughter, who can’t be older than five?

Lucia cuts in before I can get over my shock. “Actually, I got rid of the clothes you bought me, remember? I gave them to that homeless lady.”

She’s a terrible liar. Truly awful. Her eyes dart, and her voice hitches. Dante, however, doesn’t call her out. Surprisingly, he goes along with her deception.

“That’s right. I forgot about that.”

Lucia gives him a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look beforeshe locks eyes with Matteo. “But there’s a boutique in town that’ll be perfect to get Azra some new outfits. It’s high-endanddiscreet.”

Dante tries to pluck the key out of Matteo’s hand when he slowly bobs his head, on board with Lucia’s plan, but Matteo slides it into his jeans pocket before he can.

“We’ll visit the boutique after breakfast.”

Before I can respond, he pulls out a chair and places it beside Camille, near the end of the table.

A place of honor and visibility.

No one has ever invited me to sit in this spot before.

“Sit,micina,” Matteo instructs sternly, and I sense the pressure of every eye in the room and the strange, unfamiliar warmth of being included.

I lower myself into the seat. For the first time ever, I forget the etiquette that my upbringing instilled in me.

I am unsure where to place my hands.

Or my thoughts.

Or myself.

Matteo catches my eye from across the table.

“Eat,” he says quietly, nudging a plate a maid recently placed down toward me. “We’ve got a long day ahead.”

At the head of the table, beside a child who smiles as if the cruelty of the underworld will never harm her, surrounded by people who look at each other with something oddly similar to love, I stupidly believe him.

Chapter 11

Matteo

Breakfast lasts longer than I expected.