A Vow of Lust and Fury (Underworld Kings)

Giovanni led me to a round table full of people and pulled out my chair like the perfect gentleman. When I was seated, he snagged a glass of champagne from a waiter and placed it in front of me before sitting. He was the picture of perfect refinement as he introduced me to these strangers as his fiancée. Politicians, musicians, bankers… people of influence and wealth, and all of them knew him.

For the first time, I realized Giovani Guerra was not like my father or my uncle. He wasn’t hiding in the shadows, running his dark underworld with threats and fear. No, he was rubbing shoulders with the very men who would condemn him if they knew what he was. Or maybe they did know, maybe he was lining their pockets, too, and greed simply outweighed morals. Wasn’t that the way of the world?

I saw the interest in their eyes as they looked at me, the judgment. Why was Giovanni Guerra marrying some nineteen-year-old girl no one had ever seen before? Why indeed. I chugged the glass of champagne before swiping another from a passing tray. I was going to have to get drunk to get through this.

I stilled when Giovanni swept my hair from my neck, his hot breath trickling over my skin as he leaned in. “Don’t drink too much.” He disguised his warning with the soft brush of his lips beneath my ear, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

When he resettled in his seat, I held his gaze before lifting the new glass to my lips and downing the whole thing. He could go fuck himself. He cocked a brow before lifting his right hand and tapping one finger over his left bicep. I wrote it off as a tick or something until fifteen minutes later when some politician’s wife asked me when the wedding was.

The alcohol had already gone to my head slightly and defiance was still burning through my veins like acid. “Oh, I’m not actually marrying him. I’m just in it for the big rock. He’s here for my body.”

Her face blanched, though she tried to cover it with a polite smile. When I glanced at Giovanni, he tapped two fingers over his arm this time, and now it was very clearly more than a tick.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

One finger slid along my jaw before stopping beneath my chin and hooking me closer. “Strike two.” There was a sensual edge to his voice that trickled over my skin along with a shiver of warning. A sense of danger danced in the air between us, daring me.

“How many strikes do I get?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

His gaze dropped to my lips. “Three.”

“And what happens when I get to three?”

“Then I punish your bratty ass, Emilia.” Why did that sound so tempting? “But keep pushing. I’ll enjoy it far more than you will, I promise you.”

That feral spark ignited in his eyes, and it sucked me in, making me want to dance with the beast that lingered beneath that veil of civility. Heat crept through me in a slow, rolling fog that blinded me to everything but him, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, those eyes that could be both ice cold and red hot in the same breath. When the tension wound tight enough to snap, I pulled away. I needed to clear my head and remember why the hell I was here. It wasn’t to play sexy little games with my captor.

“I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom,” I stammered.

His lips twitched as he adjusted his bowtie, the piece of satin so out of place against the tattoos that crawled over his collar. “Behave, piccola.”

I pushed to my feet and stumbled away, drunk, partly on champagne, and partly from his presence. I had to get a grip and remember how much I hated him. This was my chance. The first time I’d been out of that apartment since he’d caught me. I wanted to rip this damn ring off my finger and drop it into a passing champagne glass, but I could pawn it, and I’d undoubtedly need the money if I was going to outrun Giovanni and my uncle. I knew the risk, knew that my family might hunt me down, but I couldn’t settle for living in a cage just to stay safe.

Skirting down a hallway, I glanced over my shoulder, fully expecting him to be following me. And if not him, then some of his henchmen, but I saw no one other than stuffy-looking gala attendees. Surely he didn’t actually trust me? The whole reason he’d brought me here was to watch me, yet here I was, strolling around on my own. Once in the bathroom, I pretended to fix my makeup while waiting for the two women in there to leave. Then I locked the door and walked over to the sole window, which was narrow and high up.