Page 9 of Brutal Revenge

He looks ready to tear the world apart.

It would be dishonest if I said I wasn’t one step behind him when the ruckus forces me to pull away from Azra long before I’ve had my fill.

As I inch back, Azra’s pulse races beneath her skin, and then slowly, torturously so, her eyes flutter open.

“See?” I whisper, incapable of reading the room when swamped by emotions I’ve never encountered. “Nowhe wants you.”

Azra stares at me like she’s struggling to decide whether to slap me or kiss me again.

Either way, I’m fucked.

That kiss… her kiss…fuck.

Chapter 3

Azra

Idon’t breathe for a full minute after the stranger pulls away from me. I can’t. My lungs have forgotten how to work, and my thoughts are scattered like startled birds at a gun range. All I can do is stare at the man with dark, stormy eyes and a mouth that shouldn’t feel as gentle as it does.

My lips tingle and my body shakes as if someone jolted me awake after I spent years pretending to sleep. I’ve been kissed before—by Antonio and men my father approved of when testing the waters of an arranged marriage—but none of them ever kissed me like the stranger just did. None of them staked a claim without first demanding ownership, nor did they offer something without expecting immediate obedience.

The latter terrifies me the most.

I know who this stranger is. Matteo Caruso is the enforcer for the Caruso family. He’s whispered about in the same breath as violence, loyalty, and danger. A notorious bad boy with a reputation for breaking bones and rules.

He has absolutely no character for understanding anything resembling emotional responsibility. Men like him don’t show tenderness.They don’t display softness. They take what they want and offer no mercy.

But today, he did.

Today, he proved his critics wrong.

Matteo was right.

Antonio wants what he can’t have.

And now, apparently, that’s me.

Matteo’s kiss turned my plans upside down, but I’m too captivated by it to figure out how to organize the scrambled pieces to my advantage.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach as I try to remember why I am here. I didn’t come to Sicily to fall into the arms of a stranger, nor do I want to be rescued. I came here for one reason and one reason only: to marry Antonio Adami.

I’m not supposed to be breathless and flustered. And I am most definitely not supposed to be looking at Matteo like he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

I need to be strategic and calculating.

This is about more than just surviving.

My whole life depends on this coupling.

So, with my head held high and my spine straight, I grab Matteo’s hand and rush to the SUV he was guiding me toward only minutes ago.

Instead of pulling back as expected, Matteo’s fingers tighten instinctively around mine. His grip is warm and solid, and for a moment, something dangerously close to safety blisters through me.

I shove that thought away before it can take root.

“Come on,” I mutter as I gallop down the back stairs of the Adami mansion.

Matteo doesn’t resist. He lets me lead him away from the armed Adami men staring at us, from Antonio’s furious, betrayed gaze, and from Don Adami’s stunned silence, which is more unsettling than the quiet he displayed when he lost his finger for disloyalty to the Caruso family.