Page 23 of Twisted Vows

“So that’s it?” I snap, forcing my chin up even as my pulse races. “You’re here to dismantle my reality? Break me down? Scare me until I slip?”

“No.” He stops an arm’s length away, close enough for my nose to pick up on the gun oil beneath his leathery cologne. His eyes fall to my mouth for half a second.

“Then what?” My words come out thin.

“I’m here to see if you’re useful or just collateral.”

At his velvety tone, heat pools low in my belly. I hate myself for my reaction.

“What does collateral mean?” I try to keep the tremor out of my voice. “What if I’m that?”

He comes even closer. “Trust me, you want to be useful. It’s easier.” His eyes travel down, then back up. From any other man, I’d describe that look as leering, but not this one. That dark gaze holds an icy expression I can only describe as assessing.

The air thickens between us. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, wishing my heart would stop hammering when the door creaks again. Young Gio enters carrying water, a visible bruise on his left temple.

Guilt twists in my ribs at the sight.

“I’m…sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

He blinks and gives a stiff, uncertain nod. “It’s okay. You were scared.”

“Still, a plank to the head is not exactly all right.”

Gio huffs out a breathy laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Everyone’s more scared of Ricci than Padrino, anyway.”

My eyes snap to Enzo, who’s watching Gio with that cold, flat stare. The boy freezes, his face growing pale and his mouth snapping shut.

Enzo lifts a brow. “Out.”

Gio practically sprints away, clearly terrified. The line between love and respect has always been a challenge for me even with the kids in my class.

“You play chess, Ricci?” I push myself to my feet.

His eyes narrow slightly at my casual use of his last name. I expect him to scold me, but he tilts his head instead. “Sometimes.”

“Are you the king?”

“No.” He crosses his arms, his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt.

“Knight, then?”

“No.”

“What, the rook?”

When his mouth curves into a slow, almost amused smile that showcases his dimple, my stomach drops. “I’m the board.”

I blink. My traitorous heart flutters. “You’re what the game’s played on?”

He shrugs, the gesture drawing my eyes to the breadth of his shoulders. “Pieces come and go. I remain.”

Cocky bastard.

But weirdly…poetic.

“Why pretend to care?” My face burns when the question escapes my mouth. “You bark threats, but you haven’t hurt me. You even bring me food like some twisted concierge service.”

He watches me like a hawk calculating whether the mouse is worth swallowing whole. His fingers drum once against his forearm before going still.