Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(9)

In the Cosa Nostra, it’s still the dark ages. Women are valued only for our ability to bear heirs, how well we can cook, or as cum dumpsters. We’re not even allowed to vote.

It’s enough to drive any woman mad.

Or to murder.

“Mr. Quinn,” Gianni is saying, his smile so bright, it could be seen from outer space. “Please allow me to present my daughter, Liliana.”

Spider—I cannot believe I allowed myself to call him that—looks at Liliana with no trace of emotion on his face. He could be looking at a block of cheese in a refrigerated deli case for all the interest he shows.

It surprises me. Lili’s an extremely pretty girl. Most men start salivating the moment they set eyes on her.

Not this one. He merely looks her up and down and murmurs a dismissive, “Hullo.”

Gianni glances at me in panic, but I can’t look at him because I’m too preoccupied trying not to break into song.

It will be so much better for me if Quinn is the one to call off the contract.

Though Gianni agreed to allow me the final vote in the matter, I’d never hear the end of it. He’d alternate between sulking and lashing out until he found another suitor for Lili. He’d make my life hell. A price I’d willingly pay, but hell nonetheless.

If Quinn doesn’t want Lili, however…

Maybe there is a God.

Ha! Don’t be ridiculous.

“Lili, this is Mr. Quinn,” says Gianni, his voice slightly too high. He clears his throat, then snaps, “Say hello.”

Gazing demurely at his feet, Lili says, “Hello, Mr. Quinn. It’s very nice to meet you.”

When the Irishman only stands there looking at her, mute as a statue, his eyes narrowed, Gianni elbows her sharply in her ribs.

“I…I, um, hope we can get to know each other better. I look forward to…visiting with you. Um. Today.”

Quinn is silent.

Gianni clearly would like to slit his wrists.

This is turning out to be a good day after all.

Giving Lili a little shove toward Quinn, Gianni says, “Why don’t you two lovebirds have a nice chat over there on the sofa? Reyna and I will give you some privacy—”

“We can’t leave them alone together,” I interrupt, my voice hard.

The Irishman looks at me with a cocked eyebrow.

I smile my best don’t-mind-me-I’m-only-a-silly-woman smile. “Lili isn’t allowed to be alone with a man. She requires a chaperone. Correct, Gianni?”

Since he’s the one who made the damn rule, he can’t contradict me.

He’d still like to smash something into my face.

“Correct,” he says, forcing it past his teeth. “I’m sure you understand, Mr. Quinn. My apologies, but we’re old-fashioned.”

“Are you?” he drawls, looking at me.

His hazel eyes are half-lidded. His lips are faintly curved. He looks like he’s enjoying some private joke that I’m the butt of.

The boiling rage I’d managed to beat down comes roaring back, searing a path along all my nerve endings and setting my face on fire.

He sees it and smiles.

Then he takes Lili by the arm—by the arm! Like a possession!—and leads her away from us without another word.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Gianni turns to me and hisses, “Che palle!”

“Cool your jets, brother. There’s no way we could leave Lili alone with that…” I think of his hungry eyes, the way he looked at me earlier like he might eat me alive. “Predator.”

Besides, I’ve already decided this marriage will happen over my dead body.

“We can’t risk insulting him!”

I think of our little verbal sparring match and have to suppress a grin.

Too late.

Seething, Gianni adjusts his tie and glances over to where Lili and Quinn are seated on the velvet divan on the opposite side of the room. Her hands are folded in her lap, her legs are crossed at the ankles, and her gaze is directed at his feet, as if she’s fascinated by his shoes.

His enormous, black leather oxfords which he surely has to have custom made because they’re so large.

The size of them is startling. But now that I think of it, he has enormous hands, too.

My husband had small hands and even smaller feet. They were the size of a doll’s in comparison. To go along with his teeny-tiny cock.

I refuse to consider what it might mean that the Irishman has feet the size of skis.

“Anyway,” I say, flustered, “at least he’s not wearing that awful face now. Did you see the way he looked at her when they were introduced?”

“I thought he might walk right out the door,” says Gianni, shaking his head in disgust. “What the hell is wrong with him? Lili’s beautiful!”

“Maybe he’s gay.”

“Pfft. Look at him. The way he carries himself, the way he swaggers…”

The way he looked at my lips.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

“That’s a lion king,” Gianni continues. “Not a fanook.”

I wince. “Please don’t use that word. It’s extremely offensive.”

Gianni rolls his eyes, muttering, “You and your love of pole smokers.”

“That’s even worse! For the love of God, Gianni, how about trying not to be such a bigot for once?”