Page 72 of Twisted Vows

We leave him crumpled and stroll back through the jam and gyration of the club to the garage. On the drive back, Marco notices I’m not talking and tries to break the ice by cracking jokes about writers needing tougher spines. I ignore him, my mind already far ahead.

I picture Sophia walking through the villa door for the dinner, her hair gleaming in the light, her eyes sparkling, all her innocence wrapped in silk and tethering a man who should never crave someone like her.

What would she think about what I just did tonight?

A pang of shame gnaws through me, and I grab the knife from my pocket and start flicking, trying to push out the distress in my mind.

I’ve felt guilty and conflicted but never ashamed of what I do, and I shouldn’t start now because of a woman.

My phone buzzes with a text from Gabi demanding proof, so I send him the video.

When I arrive back at home, I find Sophia sitting and reading a book. She keeps her eyes fixed forward and doesn’t speak, her lashes trembling. From fear? Anger? Both?

“Are you okay?”

“Gio told me where you went.”

I walk over and sit on the chair across from her. “Yes, I was out on a simple errand.”

The book snaps shut. “Did the man you threatened because of that senator consider your ‘errand’ simple as well?”

“Sophia…”

“I won’t pretend that doesn’t matter, Enzo. You might want me to be quiet about it because I’m supposed to shut up and be grateful that you married me to save my life, but I’m getting more confused every day.”

Does she see a monster? The beast I am?

The question gnaws at me.

“I don’t owe you explanations about what I do. If you’re not ready to know, don’t ask.”

She storms away and shuts herself in her room, slamming the door closed behind her.

I walk back outside and begin pacing. I’m stalking the corridors like a caged animal, my memory replaying everything I’ve ever done. Drowning a man in the Hudson because he talked too much. Shooting a father of three in his own kitchen because he skimmed from the family. All the screams I’ve caused and bones I’ve broken. The lives I’ve ended without flinching. And everything I’ll still have to do. I’m afraid that the worst of me is all she’ll ever see.

Hours pass as I listen to the silence in her wing. Finally, I venture back into the house and find her waiting.

Curled in a leather chair, lamplight haloing her hair, a book open in her lap, glasses perched delicately on her nose… She looks up, and those green eyes search through me in that unnerving way.

“I’m sorry for earlier. I had no right to question you.”

My throat closes, preventing any words from coming out.

“Sit with me.” Her voice is soft.

Lowering myself into the chair beside her, my muscles coil tight. Every inch of closeness burns.

“Thank you for marrying me to protect me.” She sets the book aside and folds her hands in her lap. “No one has ever defended me like that.”

“You’re welcome.”

She studies me for a moment, her head tilting slightly, like she’s arriving at a conclusion. “You’re not just violence, Enzo.” Her voice is quiet. Not an accusation or even a compliment. Just a statement. “I watched you tonight with Nonna Rosa. With the men.” She doesn’t elaborate, simply peering back at the fire. I don’t answer, but the words lodge somewhere they shouldn’t.

I don’t want to look into her eyes and have her notice my distress, so I focus on the firelight painting shadows across the walls. For a moment, I imagine always sitting here beside her. Two people sharing the quiet. Her legs tucked beneath her, a book in her lap. Me beside her, not watching for threats, just watching her.

That is a dangerous dream considering, in my world, planning for a stable future is one of the fastest ways to get yourself killed.

“As long as you bear my name, no one will touch you.”