Page 3 of Stolen Vows
I’m too busy admiring those eyes to notice when he raises his arm and nudges the barrel of a gun against my forehead.
2
LEO
Ididn’t come here for sex.
I’m truly only here because my father convinced me to meet with Don Ricci. Given the elder mafioso’s infamy, I can’t fully fathom why, except that my father was convinced that I’d hand over any money after the meetup.
The only problem is that Flavio De Tore hasn’treallybeen in charge since I was a kid, so I wouldn’t give him shit. Complications with secret health issues stripped him of his ability to manage the De Tore family and its business interests, which ultimately led to duties being split between me and my uncle Gino.
My father’s pride—and I suppose the nature of our world—keeps him from admitting his failing health, though. Deals are brokered from behind closed dosors and big wooden desks or through a proxy who pretends Flavio is otherwise occupied.
Since I turned eighteen last year, I’ve been his most trusted soldier. The one he’s grooming to take over when he can’t hide anymore.
Ironic, considering the abuse I suffered until the day I became a legal adult, but still.
He gets the glory of leadership, and I’m in the trenches.
But the blood I’ve spilled on the family’s behalf says Iearnedmy title. I genuinely don’t appreciate Rafael’s assumption that I’m willing to renege on a contract now just because he’s too chicken to hand over his financial assets.
Even if the girl before me is possibly the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
Like her two older sisters, Stella Ricci’s beauty defies logic. Her cheekbones are soft, flushed even in the piss-poor cathedral lighting, as are the other angles of her face. Like they’ve been carved from clay instead of stone and shaped with the utmost care.
Rage courses through me as I watch his grubby paw mash her cheeks together.
Luscious dark-brown locks spill down her body, ending just below the gentle curve of her breasts in the hideous dress she’s wearing. Its sleeves billow out above the ruched skirt, and I can’t help wondering who the hell thought it was a good idea to use that as a seduction tactic.
I rake my gaze over her form slowly, then come back up to her head.Christ, her hair is magnificent. Soft and a little wavy. My fingers ache with the urge to reach out and run through the strands, maybe even count each one as they grace my pillow.
Two elegant brows border magnificent russet eyes, hooded as she stares at the gun pressed to her forehead.
She seems more annoyed than anything else. Not an ounce of fear shines in her gaze even though she’s quite literally looking death in the face.
Perhaps she doesn’t know any better. Rafael’s daughters likely grew up sheltered, given his religious beliefs and the traditional tendencies of the Mafia, so I suppose her ignorance of who I am isn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Or maybe she’s already decided there are worse fates than death.
Attending the same church or community functions is the closest I’ve ever been to Stella. I was homeschooled from age nine, while the Ricci kids famously attended private all-girl academies. I’ve watched her, heard the rumors, and I’ve seen the things adult men write about her on the restroom stalls.
It’s nothing like standing before the princess herself—like staring directly at the stars.
The closer you get, the clearer they become.
I focus my attention back on the matter at hand. “You want to fuck me,stellina?”
There’s a split second of hesitation, and then she gives a short shake of her head.
The quiet, smart one. Headstrong and unsociable, whereas her sisters are bold and generous with their interactions. Accepted into some prestigious college on the West Coast, though attendance would be unlikely, given our world.
Perhaps that’s why Rafael brought her to me instead: to keep her on this side of the country, where he can continue manipulating her for his gain.
“Hmm. You’d give me an unwilling lay?” The question is directed at her father, though I don’t look away from her.
“I’m standing right here,” she murmurs, pursing her lips to one side as she speaks, as if too nervous to open her mouth fully.
I smirk, amused that she’d say anything at all.
