Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It's been haunting me.
Taunting me like a Greek yogurt in a dessert shop.
Its short, sculpted body engulfed in a caramel-color liquid. Its sinister voices slither into my thoughts like a snake to Eve. I haven't gotten a wink of sleep since Isabela and mine's conversation last night, and I never wanted to break a pact until tonight.
An obnoxious yawn from behind me captures my attention enough to tilt my neck to the side and side-eyeing the shit out of the incoming human being. He stretches his arms over his head, dropping one into his head and ruffling up his hair. His dark eyebrows knit together until they loosen after he finishes digging through his scalp.
"Oh." His face tilts to the side for a split second until he seizes the bottle in front of me with a smile stretching across his face. "What the fuck? I've been looking for her all night. You don't understand the killer headache I endured because I haven't consumed my daily glass of scotch."
His bare shoulders shrug as he heads forward, grabbing a tumbler from the cabinet. "Wait..." Lorenzo twists his neck, side-eyeing me heavily. "Why do you have my scotch? Isa told me you didn't drink."
My nose scrunches.
Isa.
He even uses my nickname for her.
Is there anything left that's mine?
That's ours?
I clear my throat. "I don't, but I thought about it."
A trickle of rough laughter escapes his throat, but he stifles it by pretending to cough. "Don't tell me you were contemplating drinking because Isabela doesn't want your dick anymore."
My lips pull into a straight line as my jaw clenches so tight. Apparently, my pain is a joke to everyone in this godforsaken world. Holy shit, when did I start whiny like a five-year-old? Swallowing, I take a deep breath and drop my face in my palms.
"It's more than that."
I deserved this.
The backlash, the silent treatment, all of this.
I brought this upon myself, and I shouldn't burden others with my own problems. Yet, mom's advice keeps circulating through my head-- "don't be afraid to be a real man and discuss all the feelings flooding through you." But to Lorenzo? I might as well confide in a squirrel. His brainpower couldn't handle the things I needed to get out.
Lorenzo sighs and pats my shoulders. "I don't blame you. Her mouth does wonders on my cock."
My eyes narrow, and a bright flare of annoyance and anger travels through me. "Could you not speak about her in such a vulgar way?"
He places his hands up in defense and chuckles. "I'm joking." Lorenzo digs his elbow into my side. "Isabela is off-limits. I value guy code, especially in these predicaments. My legs are closed."
