Page 75 of Devil's Vows

I’ve read between the lines. I’ve read all my mother’s letters. I know what she was subjected to. My brothers saw and lived too much under Don Giuliano Scalera. A lot of sons would go down the same path, but something happened. Our mother died. Alex died. Each of my brothers fights his own battles, but one thing is certain: they all live their lives with a giant fuck-youpermanently pointed in Don Scalera’s direction, and that means putting women on a pedestal.

“Let me meet with Matteo. We’ll sort it out with Petrov.”

“Thank you, Nicky. Please don’t mention anything about the coup. I’m not supposed to know.”

“Yep, got it.”

I ring off, drop my head back, and exhale in slow, punctured relief.

This whole gig was supposed to be get in, make money, get out, disappear.

All it’s been is get in, get roped in by two gorgeous little girls, get lust-fogged by their handsome, caring father, get trapped by my own idiocy for exposing my knowledge of Russian, and now sinking, one secret at a time, to a place of no return.

I’m still standing there when footsteps fall in the corridor. I rush to hide my phone, shoving it back into the sanitary napkin box.

“Gabriella?”

Ivan.

With the box still in my hand, I walk out of my bathroom.

He’s paused in my doorway. Why did I leave it open?

Too dumb to be a spy.You are too fucking terrible at it.

“The girls are asking for you. How’s Milana—” He breaks off as his gaze drops to the box in my hand.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away awkwardly. Instead, he steps closer, and I, by instinct, hide the box behind my back, keeping the burner phone safe. Heat sweeps over my cheeks, and I drop my gaze. Now he thinks I’m on my period.

“Do you need Advil or Tylenol or something? I have some in my room.”

My blush deepens as I shake my head. I’ve never talked period stuff with a man before. “I’m okay, I’ll just— Give me a minute.”

I retreat two steps back, close the bathroom door, roll my eyes with a suppressed groan, and go about the business of ripping open a sanitary towel, creating the necessary sound effects, and going so far as sticking it to my panties’ gusset. There’s no backtracking out of this one now.

I zip up my jeans, pop the box into the vanity cupboard, and take time to wash my hands, composing myself. When I walk out of the bathroom, Ivan is on a call.

“Yes, a classic hot-water bottle, you know the type, yes, yes. Don’t fuck it up, Kostya.”

His eyes are on me, taking in every stray hair, every dainty mole on my skin, every bit of exposed skin down my neck to my breasts.

And it isn’t awkward. It’s like a caress, a promise, and then his eyes dip even lower, and there’s no shame in his stance. He is staring at me as if he plans to touch me first with his gaze, then with his hands, then with his lips…and my breathing stalls.

“Just bring it as soon as possible, no fucking detours.” He kills the call and holds out some Advil to me. “In case you don’t have any. Kostya will bring you a hot water bottle. If you need to lie down, get Yuri to watch the girls.”

“Ivan—” Goodness. This man. I didn’t know that men could be this gentle and caring.

I look up as he strides over to me and cups my cheek. “Told you from now on I’m looking after you. In everything and anything.”

I nod, lifting my hand to push him away, but dropping it instead to his chest to feel the comfort of his warmth, but also to close it over the eye tattooed on his chest, stopping it from seeing my lies, my lust, my slow, unexpected tumble into this man.

“This house… Ivan, I really don’t know what happened here, but it’s driving Milana to self-harm. I’m really scared for her. Can’t you make a plan? Move her somewhere where the memories don’t haunt her?”

There. Job done. Now my brothers just need to live up to expectations—a girl can only do so much.

“Did she talk to you?”

A picture says more than a thousand words.