Page 109 of Twisted Vows

Her body’s flush against mine, her soft curves settling easily against my chest and thigh. Her warmth, both familiar and dangerous, seeps through our clothes.

Blood rushes south, but I force myself to focus.

“You should land with your feet apart.”

She grins, her eyes dropping to where our bodies meet. “You seem distracted, Enzo.”

Then she laughs. It’s reckless and bright, and it hits me somewhere deep, somewhere I didn’t even know could break.

Heat floods through me, along with fierce desire. Beneath that, a territorial pull urges me to shield her from every danger, including myself. My hand lingers on her hip, and my fingers dig in slightly. “Again,” I order as I move away.

We go at it for hours, disarming, striking, and transitioning through drills until her arms quake. By the time I finally grab her wrist mid-swing and pin her to the mat, she’s furious.

With that intoxicating scent and her weight against me, my brain shuts off for a second and neither of us moves. The world just…stops.

Her chest rises against mine, her eyes caught between fury and hunger.

My control fractures like thin glass.

Then I pull away. Too fast. “You leave your guard open.”

“Maybe because someone keeps knocking it down.” Her voice comes out sharp.

“Better me than them.”

She crosses her arms. “You mean the Benedettis? Or whoever you pissed off this week?”

The chuckle that almost forms dies in my throat. She doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does. She’s not the type to accept protection anymore, and that terrifies me more than any gun. By sunset, she’s covered in little purple-and-red bruises, a galaxy of them blooming along her arms and thighs. Each one feels like a scar I put there. I graze one gently, tracing the mark with my thumb. “Does it hurt?”

Her gaze softens, the edge fading. “Only when you stop.”

I have no defense for that. The truth sits in my chest like a weight I never asked for.

I can’t look away even though every instinct screams that getting this attached is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.

We settle down for dinner on the terrace, a bottle of wine and leftover risotto between us, and ignore the desire crackling in the air.

When our knees brush under the table, both of us freeze. The small point of contact feels more intimate than it should, more lethal than putting a gun to my own head. She toys with her fork while avoiding my gaze. She’s clearly thinking too hard about something.

“You’ve been quiet all night.”

Yeah, well, that’s what happens when a man realizes he’s fucked—and not in the good way—because he’s suddenly distracted.

“So have you.”

“Because every time I speak, you look like you want to run away or start a war.”

That earns her a faint smile. “I’m trying to decide which is safer.”

“Running from me or fighting me?”

I lean back. “Neither. Both lead to hell.”

The way she stares at me as if she’s memorizing the shape of my lies twists my gut. She doesn’t know I’m leaving. When she finds out, she’ll be pissed, but maybe that’s better. The most important thing is that Sophia stays safe. And the family can’t use her as a pawn if there’s no game left to play.

Then the sharp, metallic door alarm cuts through the night.

We both go still, her fork halfway to her mouth, my hand frozen on my glass.