Page 38 of Brutal Revenge

His smirk doesn’t falter for even half a second. “Can you blame a man? Your mouth was open as if primed for my cum.Again.It was anextremelyenticing visual.”

I gag, and his smirk shifts to a genuine smile.

Against my better judgment, I return his smile. Not for long, just enough to mentally mark a point on his side of the scoreboard.

I remove my towel to comb my hair, and Matteo’s hooded gaze drops to my outfit.

“Absolutely not.”

I drop my gaze to the cotton all-in-one pantsuit. It’s cute and practical, and since he will have to fully remove it to access an area I’m adamant this man willneversee again, it’s the perfect ensemble for the first official day of our ruse. “What?”

“That.” Matteo thrusts his hand at my outfit. “No one will believe you’re with me dressed like?—”

“If you say a nun, I swear, you cannot hold me accountable for my actions.”

A flare darts through Matteo’s eyes. “I was going to say, like someone who doesn’t want to be noticed. But if calling you a nun is all it takes to get you fired up, I can go that route.”

I whack him in the stomach before moving to the dresser to finish my hair. It’s wet since I had to dunk my head under the heavy stream of water to wash away his scent from my nose, so I don’t braid it like I usually do. I leave it to dry naturally. It will add curls to my normally straight hair, but I’ll take any coverage I can get if it hides my inflamed cheeks and dilated eyes.

“You need to be noticed.”

“Why?” I ask, certain that the world’s most eligible bachelor would pale in comparison to him in any room, so why bother?

“Because...”

I wait and wait and wait for him to complete his reply.

He never does.

Instead, he curls his hand over mine and drags me out of the room. We walk through the Caruso mansion in silence until we reach a sunlit dining room.

The room buzzes with electric chemistry when we enter. A long wooden table has at least a dozen people scattered around it, yet it somehow feels warm and homely. There’s laughter, clinking cutlery, and the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

My stomachgrumbles.

I’ve not eaten anything since lunch yesterday.

His strides don’t slacken until we reach a Viking-sized table. The only time he slows is when he reaches over a man’s shoulder to steal strips of bacon off his plate. The handsome man with hair just as dark as Matteo’s and an aura of authority swats at him while muttering something in Italian under his breath. Matteo just grins before handing half his stash to me.

While I munch on salty strips of lard, Matteo guides me to the end of the long table, where a dark-haired man and a blonde woman sit close together. The woman shifts uncomfortably amid the opulence, but she glows with genuine happiness while studying the drawing a dark-haired girl proudly shows her.

The girl sits at the head of the table, occupying a chair that signals authority even when unoccupied. She’s sitting in the hierarchy’s seat like her childhood won’t mimic mine.

I briefly wonder how my life might have differed had I not grown up in the Turkish mafia. If my father had ever allowed me to sit on his chair, my life plan might not have included vengeance and manipulation.

Matteo stops beside them.

“Dante. Lucia,” he says, his voice smooth. “This is Azra.”

The man—Dante—raises a brow, as if he’s heard my name before. When his eyes lower to where Matteo’s hand is still wrapped around mine, Matteo and I pull away.

Our actions only cock Dante’s brow higher.

Lucia smiles warmly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Azra.” She turns to face the little girl gazing up at me. “This is Dante’s”—she hesitates for just a moment—“ourdaughter, Camille,” she finishes, gesturing toward the little girl. The “our” catches in her throat, as if she’s still getting used to saying it.

The girl beams up at me before holding out her drawing. I lean in and freeze. The picture is unexpected. I’ve never attended a strip club, but I am reasonably sure that’s the premise of her drawing. The silver pole in the center of the image is extremely telling.

I school my expression before anyone notices.