Page 58 of Twisted Vows

Her lips are too close, her breath warm on my skin. That little flicker of defiance in her jaw—the one that dares me to shut her up the hard way—it’s poison.

My fingers twitch, and my muscles lock as I pray she doesn’t take another step, because I’ll have her against the wall if she comes one inch closer.

She holds my gaze, and we stay still for a second before I pull away and retreat to my bedroom.

A photo sits on the shelf…Dante and me as kids. Him with his crooked smile. Me scowling beside him. A boxing glove dangles nearby, still wrapped in tape from a fight we never finished.

Dante’s ghost haunts every corner here. I sit on the edge of the bed and run my fingers over the glove. Days like this, I miss him badly.

My thoughts drift for a while. When I return to the present, I glance through the window to see Sophia kneeling beside one of the staff’s kids in the courtyard.

She lifts her head like she can sense me, so I withdraw into the shadows.

This might’ve started as guilt or a need to protect her, but now it’s something far worse.

A temptation.

And temptation kills.

Chapter 11

Sophia

Coffee. That’s the first thing I smell.

That’s my waking thought as the dark and bitter scent of beans fills my nose. For one delirious second, the warmth of morning tricks me.

This could be any normal Sunday morning at home.

The white gown lies discarded across a velvet chair, its ribbon on the marble nightstand. Crystal lamps cast soft light across the white silk sheets that are currently wrapped around me like they belong here. The room is all luxury with its hardwood floors, ornate molding, a chandelier overhead, and velvet drapes framing windows that overlook gardens I didn’t choose and never wanted.

No matter how many mornings I spend here, this house isn’t mine and probably never will be.

If this were any normal marriage, I’d be starting my honeymoon. But my situation is far from normal. Fear sits heavy in my stomach, scratching my insides like broken glass. Not fear of him, exactly. Fear of everything I can’t predict. Of what comes next.

Climbing to my feet, I stumble toward the kitchen, my bare toes brushing against the cold marble.

Enzo stands at the counter, his sleeves rolled with precise neatness, his hair tousled enough for him to look human. His coffee cup steams.

My hands smooth the front of my skirt, though I wish I could smooth out my frayed heart. I bite down on the left corner of my lip as I recall my mother scolding me for this childish tic that rears up whenever I’m super nervous.

He senses me. His unreadable eyes track my movement, prompting the strangest sensation to spread beneath my skin.

I feel watched and exposed but still somehow…safer.

“Coffee?”

I nod and sit while he pours me a cup that I wrap my fingers around. The warm ceramic helps anchor me. Then, without asking what I want, he makes breakfast. Eggs sizzle in the pan, but the quiet between us is louder than any clattering cutlery.

Pretending at ordinary life feels ridiculous when we both know what this is. “Why are you cooking?” The words finally tumble out. “Where’s the maid?”

He doesn’t glance up. “With her boy this morning. Figured you might not like being hovered over until you get used to this.”

His practical kindness unsettles me more than cruelty would, and my chest flickers with an emotion I refuse to name.

I steel my voice. “You promised me things. Marriage meant safety. And Elena. I need to see my mom.”

He meets my gaze without pause. “You will.”