Page 3 of Brutal Vows

It’s not like I have a choice, anyway. As the head of the Caruso family, Gianni calls all the shots. Someday, there will be a female head of one of the five Italian crime families in New York. It’s a dream of mine that I’ll live long enough to see it.

Until then, all I can do is exert as much influence as possible.

It helps that my brother’s afraid of me.

“I want final approval about this Irishman. I’ll tell Lili for you, but if I don’t like him, the deal is off.”

Gianni runs his tongue over his teeth. He’s probably counting silently to ten in his head or cursing, wishing he had a sister more like his best friend Leo’s. A docile, dim bulb of a girl with no opinions about anything except what her father and brother tell her to have.

Instead, he’s got me.

A woman with a bad reputation, a chip on her shoulder, and a sword for a tongue.

“Agreed?” I prod.

“You won’t think anyone is good enough for her,” he counters. “We’ll be having this same conversation over and over again for the next twenty years.”

“Untrue. I can be reasonable.”

He lifts a brow.

“Don’t make that face. I simply want to make sure he’s not a monster.”

“I assure you, he’s not a monster.”

“This would be a good time to point out that you liked Enzo, too.”

Gianni winces. “Enzo was a sociopath. They’re very good at pretending to be charming.”

“Exactly. Which is why I need to have the final word. If anyone can spot a psycho a mile away, it’s me.”

He doesn’t have an argument for that. How could he? It’s the truth.

I earned my monster radar the hard way.

Gianni gazes at me with an unreadable expression for so long, I think I’ve lost. But then he surprises me by saying, “Fine. If you don’t like the Irishman, the marriage is off.”

Relief floods my body. I exhale, nodding.

“But you still have to tell Lili.”

At the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel of the circular driveway outside, Gianni and I turn to the windows. Sounding amused, he says, “And I think you better do it quick.”

My ears burn with anger. “You’re a shitty father, Gi.”

He shrugs. “It runs in the family.”

I turn and walk out before I grab the letter opener off his desk and do something I’ll regret.

I take the stairs up to the second floor two at a time. At the landing, I make a sharp left and head down another corridor, the opposite direction from my bedroom. Grim ancestral oil portraits framed in gold glower down at me as I pass.

Ignoring the hand-painted frescoes on the walls, Venetian glass chandeliers sparkling overhead, and a startled housekeeper dusting the leaves of a potted palm, I stride quickly toward the room at the end.

I don’t have any time to waste.

I stop in front of the heavy oak door and pound my fist on it. “Lili? It’s me. Can I come in? I have to talk to you.”

“Just a second,zia! I’ll… I’ll be right there!”