Page 9 of His to Keep (Reluctant Vows #6)

E ilidh

When we finish breakfast, which was edible, if not inspiring, Gio insists on cleaning up.

I don’t argue. Washing dishes has never been a chore I enjoy, not that I often had to.

Growing up, we had staff who took care of things like that.

I only ever did household tasks when I was being punished for unacceptable behavior.

That didn’t happen often either. My parents were lenient with me since I was the baby of the family.

I remember them making Lorna scrub the stone floors of the castle’s entrance hall once when she stayed out late with some boy, though. My sister was a bit of a rebel.

Trying not to get morbid as I think about my family, I focus my attention on Gio instead.

As he moves around the kitchen, it quickly becomes obvious that it’s not his natural environment.

His technique is inefficient. He washes a plate, rinses the soap suds from it, and then dries it off with a fluffy white hand towel rather than a dishcloth.

Then he puts the clean plate away and grabs the next dirty one.

His method shows a distinct lack of commonsense that I hope doesn’t carry over into other aspects of his life.

The last thing I need is for my self-appointed savior to be reckless.

A better person would no doubt point out the dishwasher, but I’m having too much fun watching Gio fumble around.

He carries an air of arrogance that tells me he’s probably good at everything he does.

Well, apart from washing dishes. If he ever gets too big for his boots, I’ll remind him of his ineptitude.

As Gio begins to scrub furiously at the frying pan with a wire brush, I curl my legs up under me and rest my head against the back of the armchair.

It’s peaceful here, among the trees. I’ve grown used to quiet over the past few years of being largely left alone, but here it’s actually relaxing.

Though I should probably be more wary, I feel safe.

There’s something about Gio that soothes my fears.

He’ll never make a good house husband, but when he talked about protecting me, I knew deep down that was a job he’d take seriously.

My point is proved as the unmistakable sound of tires on gravel outside alerts us to someone’s arrival. Gio moves quickly across the room. He grabs a gun from the backpack lying on the sofa opposite me and hands me the frying pan. Pushing me behind him, he peers out of the window.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask.

“My sister-in-law killed a man with a skillet. If something happens to me, don’t hesitate.”

My eyes widen. Could I really kill someone with this? I test the weight of the pan in my hand. It’s not that heavy. I’d have to wield it with some force if I was going to do permanent damage.

As a compact red Volkswagen pulls up outside the window, Gio blows out a breath of what I take to be relief. He sticks his gun in the waistband of his sweatpants.

“It’s Danny,” he says.

A moment later, the tall, muscly guy from last night comes into the house carrying several shopping bags.

Though some of the tension has drained from Gio’s body, he’s not entirely relaxed.

As Danny greets me with a wink, I see why.

Gio moves closer until he’s almost touching.

Wary of the other man, he’s staking his claim.

“I’m Danny.” His accent holds a subtle hint of Glaswegian. “I got you some clothes.” He holds up a bag from a high street store. “And the cake you wanted.” He glances at the frying pan I’m still clutching. “Were you planning on cooking something?”

“Oh, no.” I can’t help giggling. “Gio wanted me to bash your face in with this if you were a bad guy.”

Danny shrugs. “I mean, you could have tried.”

Gio and I both follow him to the kitchen area.

Danny drops a couple of bags onto the counter and hands me the one from the clothing store.

I look at what he brought me. There’s a box with branded trainers, black leggings, and a cornflower blue jersey top.

He bought a black jacket for me and also a couple of pairs of cotton panties and a sports bra.

“Did I do okay?” Danny asks.

“Yeah, this is perfect.” I’m not entirely sure what my style is anymore since it’s been years since I could choose my own clothes, but I often wore casual clothing like this when I hung out at home.

Danny nods. “I’ve got a kid your age. She’s never seen the inside of a gym, but she loves to wear sporty shit.”

I climb up onto a stool with Gio by my side while Danny unpacks the food he bought.

He slides a brown paper bag across the counter to me.

I take out the cake and smile. It’s been a long time since I ate anything like this.

Jasmine Henry had me on a strict diet and cake was never on the menu.

The realization that I last had this when I was actually in school hits me hard.

I wish I’d had the chance to finish my studies and go on to university.

I’ll bet that’s what all my friends have done.

“Are you okay?” Gio murmurs.

I blink, surprised that he detected my change in mood.

While I was being held at Jason’s house, I learned not to show what I was feeling in case it was used against me.

I knew after being mocked for crying over the deaths of my parents and siblings that I could never give Jason or his sister a glimpse of my emotions.

“Yes.” I lean over the counter to look at what Danny’s bought. “Is that a chicken tikka masala?”

“You like curry?” Gio asks.

“Love it, as long as it’s mild. I don’t respond well to spice.” It’s an understatement. Too much chili and my cheeks glow red hot while sweat pours from my brow. It’s not attractive. “What about you?”

“I can handle some spice,” Gio says, the gleam in his eye letting me know he’s not just talking about food.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you a few different microwave meals,” Danny tells me. “There’s a sweet and sour chicken, haggis, neeps and tatties, a lasagna, and some fish thing with a butter sauce.”

“You did good, Danny.” My mouth is watering at the prospect of trying some of this food. “Maybe I should marry you.”

Gio’s jaw clenches as Danny winks at me. “Already married, doll.”

“And you wouldn’t want to make her a widow,” Gio growls.

Danny laughs off the threat. An unsettling warmth spreads through me.

Gio’s possessiveness is as arousing as it is mortifying.

Desperate to disperse the sudden tension in the room, I take a bite of my cake.

It instantly brings back memories. A sob escapes me as I picture myself sitting in the school canteen with my friends.

Feeling like an idiot for having such a powerful reaction, I wipe a tear from my eye.

“Is it good?” Gio asks gently.

“It’s amazing, just like I remembered.” I tear off a piece and offer it to him. “Here, try it.”

Gio pops the cake in his mouth and chews. From the slight crease at the bridge of his nose, I can see he’s trying to work out why I like it so much.

“It’s okay,” he says after swallowing. “I don’t get what’s so special.”

“It’s a nostalgia thing,” Danny says. “You probably cry whenever you see a slice of cheesecake.”

Although his tone isn’t outwardly disrespectful, I get the feeling Danny doesn’t have the sort of reverence for Gio that a soldier in his organization should have. I wonder if that means he works for someone else.

“Who’s your employer, Danny?” I ask as I take another bite of the delicious vanilla sponge cake.

“Niamh Donnelly.”

That makes sense. He’s obviously from Glasgow, where Niamh is based, and his involvement in my rescue suggests he works for someone sympathetic to my situation.

“You don’t mind working for a woman?”

“Why would I?” Danny asks, as if the underworld isn’t rife with misogyny.

“What’s she like?” I met her when I was younger, but her father was still alive as far as I recall, and she hadn’t taken over as head of the family business yet.

“She’s sweet, kind, generous. She’d do anything to help a person out.”

I frown. “Those don’t sound like the typical qualities for a boss.”

Danny huffs out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. She doesn’t look for confrontation, but when someone crosses her, she’s as ruthless as they come.”

I turn to Gio. “Have you met her?”

“Briefly.” That one word shuts down my questioning. Gio obviously doesn’t want to give his opinions, good or bad, on the woman in front of her employee. “While we’re on the subject, Danny, did you speak to Niamh?”

“I did. She’s been in touch with your brother. They want you to go to Florence. You’ll stay at your cousins’ villa.”

My ears prick up at that. I spent a couple of weeks in Tuscany when I was fourteen, with my friend Sophia and her family. It was incredible.

“He doesn’t want me to come home?” Gio can’t disguise that he’s hurt.

“Not until the threat is gone,” Danny says. “If the Russians come for you in New York, you might not see them coming until it’s too late. In Tuscany…”

“The Bratva hasn’t got a foothold,” I conclude.

“That’s it precisely, kid. In Tuscany, Barevsky’s men will stand out. They won’t be able to sneak up on you.”

“I guess.” Gio doesn’t sound entirely convinced. He contemplates the situation for a moment and then nods decisively. “It’s probably best to keep those assholes far from my brothers’ wives and my mother.”

When he mentions his mother, I realize how little I know about his family. I’m sure I’ll find out all about them if Gio and I do actually get married, something I’m still not convinced is in my best interests.

“From what I hear, you’ll be well protected in Italy,” Danny says. “Your cousins have quite the reputation.”

“That they do.” Gio frowns as if something about his cousins’ reputation troubles him. “So, how do we get to Italy?”

“Niamh’s arranging a helicopter to take…”

“No.” I need to shut that down immediately. “Not happening.”

“What do you mean?” Gio asks.