Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(28)

And here I am once again, melting under his pure masculine beauty and wishing with all my heart this macho, swaggering idiot would kiss me.

But he just gave me an out from this madness. An out I can’t pass up, unless I want to make myself miserable and betray my niece in the meantime.

Lusting after another woman’s husband is unforgivable.

Especially if the woman is a blood relative.

Gazing up into his eyes, I say, “If you really don’t want to see me again, I’ll respect that. But at least let me attend the wedding. Lili will need me there. After that, I’ll be gone.”

Inhaling slowly, he stares at me in silence.

“Please, Quinn. She’s the only thing in the world that means anything to me. I know you don’t care about what I want, but I believe you do care about what she wants. And if she finds out you banned me from the wedding, she’ll be devastated. She’d never forgive you.”

“The only way she’d find out is if you told her.”

I snap, “She knows very well the only reason I wouldn’t be with her on her wedding day is if I were in a coma!”

“That can be arranged.”

I know it isn’t a threat, because the corners of his mouth turned up.

He’s teasing me.

Relieved, I roll my eyes. “So we’re agreed?”

His gaze drops to my mouth. His hands tighten around my shoulders. My heartbeat goes haywire.

Then, in a weary voice that sounds like he’s a thousand years old, he says, “Aye, viper. We’re agreed. The wedding is the last time we’ll see each other.”

“Okay. Oh…wait.”

“What?” he growls, aggravated.

“What should I tell her about all the rest of the times?”

“What times?”

“Birthdays. Anniversaries. Holidays.” I gasp in horror. “Christmas! Oh, God, Quinn, what am I supposed to tell her about why I can never come visit her for Christmas?”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you unleashed your demon tongue on me.”

“But—”

“You’ll think of something!” he interrupts loudly. “Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch, you’re enough to drive a man to drink!”

He releases me, drags both hands through his hair, emits a sound a rabid bear might make, and turns to head in the direction of the kitchen.

Halfway down the corridor, he turns back abruptly and shouts, “Don’t forget about my bloody supper, woman!”

He turns around and continues down the hall, leaving me seething.

He’s ordering me around again? He just banned me from seeing my own niece, and now he’s hollering commands at me about making his goddamn dinner?

And he’s calling me WOMAN?

Glaring with narrowed eyes at his retreating back, I mutter, “I hope you like spider stew.”





11





Spider





Once in the kitchen, I head straight to the wine fridge, pull out a bottle of Cabernet, and bring it over to the big marble island. I grab a corkscrew and open the wine, all the while breathing deeply to try to calm my throbbing heartbeat.

That fucking female could give me a heart attack.

And not only because of those perfect tits.

“Hey. Irish.”

I’m so startled by the voice, I drop the corkscrew and curse. “Christ! I didn’t see you there.”

Reyna’s mother sits at the kitchen table, squinting at me from behind her glasses.

It’s unnerving how she does that. It’s as if the woman can materialize out of thin air, like Dracula.

I exhale hard and add in a more civilized tone, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Caruso. I’m not myself today.”

She snorts and says something in Italian.

I don’t know what it is. I also don’t want to know. I grab two wineglasses from the cabinet and bring them and the bottle over to the table.

I sit down across from her, open the wine, pour us both a glass, and raise mine. “Sláinte.”

She makes a sour face. “Same to you.”

That makes me chuckle. “It means cheers.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so?” She picks up her glass. “To what?”

Looking at her, the woman who spawned Reyna, Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence, I say sourly, “Birth control.”

“Heh! I’ll drink to that.”

We clink glasses and drink. When I set my glass down, she’s smiling at me.

Somehow, it’s not comforting.

She says, “So. Homer-who’s-named-after-a-dead-artist. You kill people for a living, sí?”

I debate about how to answer, but decide to go with the truth. She seems like someone who doesn’t tolerate bullshit.

“I wouldn’t say it’s my primary role, but it’s definitely in the mix.”

She nods, grunting. “My husband killed people, too. So did Reyna’s. It’s a way of life for all made men.”

She peers at me over her wineglass as if she’s waiting for me to respond.

“If you’re asking if I enjoy it, the answer is no.” I stop and think for a moment. “Actually, strike that. I can recall several times I did enjoy it. But those particular men were savages.”