Page 52 of Stolen Vows

“You don’t get to make that call, little one,” I growl.

She tugs and writhes, but when my cock hardens against her, she stops and hides her face against her arm.

“Tell me what he said.What did daddy dearest threaten you with?”I demand.

When she remains mutinously silent, I lean down and lick her ear.Her breath hitches.She stiffens and speaks into her elbow.

“You promised.”

“It still isn’t midnight yet,” I quip.

Goosebumps pepper her arms and chest.She grinds her teeth and shakes her head.

“What did he say to you?”I ask.

Silence.

I hum in anticipation and grind my cock against her stomach as I nip her earlobe and lick her jugular.The bruising on her throat wakes my guilt, but I don’t relent.

She shudders and breaks.

“This.He threatenedthis.He was going tohaveme andkeepme at home just likethisafter Romeo took my virginity.”

Her entire body trembles as she hisses into her arm.The vehemence and disgust in her tone reverberate deep within me, matching my response to the idea of her biological father showing her any sexual interest.

I cup her chin, guide her face to mine, and wait to speak until she opens her eyes.

“I’m not him,” I snarl.

“I know!”

Her outburst rings in my ears.Every inch of her shakes from the force of her emotions.

“That’s why I’m here.You may have been my only choice, but you were stillmychoice.You’re my endgame.I’mnevergoing back.”

She glares at me with clear blue eyes.Her breasts shift against me as she heaves.

“I’ll still hurt you,” I promise.

She grits her teeth and inhales before responding.

“What have I ever done to you?Why do you hate me so much?”

I squeeze her face as I recall Pietro’s words as he stabbed me in the back.He wanted me dead for touching his precious daughter.She’d confessed That we were intimate.

Me.Intimate with a twelve-year-old girl I saw only as my niece.I may be a ruthless killer, but I’d never do such a thing.

He took our friendship and shredded it to pieces, just like he did the flesh of my back with his knife.

As I lay dying with my face in the growing pool of blood, he squatted beside me and dropped several torn pages and a journal into my field of view.

I release Valentina’s face, afraid I’ll wring her neck again, and haul her behind me by her wrists.The blanket trips her, so I tug her to her feet before marching into the hall.With her hair an unkempt mess and her curves on full display, I lead her to the office and shove her onto the upholstered chair before unlocking the safe and dropping the blood-stained journal on the side table.

She freezes and stares at it as though it’s a snake.

I flip it open.

All color drains from her face.Her freckles stand out in stark relief on her pale cheeks.She stares at her own handwriting with shellshocked eyes.