Page 45 of Twisted Vows

Fury boils in my chest. For the first time in years, I’m cornered. If I protect her, I risk starting a civil war in the Benedetti family. I should let her go, but for reasons I can’t name, doing so seems impossible.

I storm away.

Marco’s voice catches me halfway down the hall. “Boss! Want an update on Sophia’s walk yesterday?”

“Don’t care.”

He stubbornly jogs to catch up. “She’s good. Strong. Even kind…”

I sense his hesitation immediately. “What?”

“I might’ve told her about the Russians.” He shakes his head. “And the warehouse.”

I spin on him, grab his shirt, and slam him against the nearest wall. “You what?”

His hands lift in surrender. “She needed to know! I thought it would help.”

“You thought?” My fist connects with the wall beside his head. Concrete explodes. Blood drips from my knuckles. “You don’t think. You follow orders.”

His face drains of color as he staggers back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

As I move closer, I adopt a lethal tone. “Never expose information again. One slip, and you’ll kill her faster than any bullet.”

Marco swallows, but fire still flickers in his eyes. “She doesn’t need guards. She needs something that makes her untouchable.”

His words hang between us like smoke, and suddenly the old Benedetti rules come to the forefront of my mind. You don’t ever mess with another Benedetti man’s wife. Not even the Russians go there. It’s like cosmic law. Even the worst snakes respect that untouchable bond.

That idea, while stupid and reckless, sends adrenaline spiking through my veins even as dread settles in my gut. The only way through this is to do the most dangerous thing.

Marry her.

I march straight through the buzzing compound.

I won’t let anyone hand Sophia Martinelli over to the Volkov Bratva. No way. Not as a bargaining chip, nor as a body. She’s not theirs to take. Period.

I duck into the basement wing, where the corridors shrink around me. Everything smells like old stone and panic. One of our guards gives me a nod. The guy freezes when I glare back. He’s stone now, half a heartbeat from pissing himself. I jam the key in, grind at the lock, and swing the door wide.

She’s curled over the desk, scribbling like her life depends on it. That’s why I had Marco and Gio break into her place. She needs her rituals.

Seeing how enthralled she is brings some satisfaction.

Chestnut hair trails down her back, and the notebook paper almost burns under her pen. Her jaw is tight. She doesn’t even look up until I step in. Then her head snaps toward me.

Those wild eyes, green like the sky before a tornado, bewitch me every time I peer into them. For some reason, I can’t bear to think about the pain and fear behind her steel stare.

“Ricci.” She shifts toward me.

I’m not here for small talk. “You’re marrying me.”

The declaration comes out flatter than I intend, dropping right between us like a brick through glass.

She gapes. For a second, she looks stunned, then she’s pure wildfire. “Marry you?” She leaps up and shoves her chair back, vibrating with anger. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.” My voice could carve granite. “But it’ll keep you breathing.”

She’s pacing, her skirt swishing, her hands flailing. Always acting like she’s got it together. “Marry a hitman? A Benedetti attack dog?”

My patience frays, and I grit my teeth. “Listen up. The Russians are coming. Gabi wants to swap you for peace or whatever bullshit he’s whispering. You marry me, you get that Benedetti shield. Even the Volkovs don’t screw with that. Say yes, you live. Say no, well…you know.”