Lethal Vows Read Online T.L. Smith

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)

Dear Miss Ricci

You don’t know this yet, but you will be my wife.


Your soon-to-be husband

He thought I was his—that’s what his emails indicated.

He thought that because our families signed on the dotted line many years ago, it was a done deal.

But I ran away from that life for a reason.

Little did I know, he would find me. And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Crue wanted me to be his wife.

And all I wanted was him in my bed.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



Fourteen years ago

My feet drag on the cobblestones. It’s hot, and I don’t mean cool-breeze-flowing-up-my-shirt hot. I mean, damn hot. It’s meant to start cooling down in Rome in September, but here we are, and I wish I could tear off my clothes. But my father may very well kill me if I did that, even if he isn’t here right now.

I know he would find out.

That’s what happens when he has connections—everywhere.

I walk past restaurants, and people nod to me and quickly look away.

I’m only sixteen, but they all know who I am. It’s in their best interests, and they would be silly not to. My sister laughs as she kicks off her shoes and starts running ahead, not concerned about our father’s wrath or how we’re viewed or should be acting. She’s three years younger than me and somewhat free-spirited. I have no doubt she’ll be giving Papa a run for his money when she turns sixteen.

I look back to Marco, who has basically been our bodyguard for as long as I can remember. He’s shaking his head but trying to hide a smirk. She wants to see the Colosseum together one more time before I leave. Butterflies dance in my stomach with excited energy at the thought of the one-way ticket to New York I’ll be putting to use in only a few hours. Who am I to deny my little sister one more outing before I leave? It also gives me time to say goodbye for the last time to my friends.

“Rya.” Tourists walk around us as Honey yells out my name. She’s easy to spot even amidst the crowd with her bright pink dress and dangling shoes in hand. We are a stark contrast as I wear my sandals with baggy jeans and a cropped T-shirt. I sure as hell should have worn a dress, it would have been much cooler.

“I don’t want you to go.” Honey runs at me, her arms wrap around my waist, and I awkwardly brush my hand down her back to return the hug. Honey’s hair is long and chestnut colored—she takes after her mother, my stepmother—whereas mine is almost caramel in color.

I’m going to live with my mother, which does not make my father happy. But I feel like living here, I can’t really live.

I know that’s not the entire reason.

What I mean is I can’t live without being watched.

And I’m always watched living here.

I hate it.

I want to sneak out.

I want to kiss a boy I don’t know.

I want to be felt up without the fear of one of my father’s men shooting him for touching me.

I want it all.

I want my freedom.

And yet, it breaks my heart to leave Honey. I love her. Yes, she can be annoying like any other little sister. But for as long as I can remember, I have put her to sleep every night by reading a book to her.

Who’s going to read to her now?

Her mother drinks—a lot.

Our father—he’s always busy.

So it’s just her and me against the world.

It’s been fun.

But I want to escape.

No, I need to escape so badly that I want to pull my own hair from my scalp. But how do I explain that to a thirteen-year-old?

“I’m sure you and Papa will come visit me in New York, and I’ll come back here for visits as well,” I say, trying to reassure her.

She’s tall, almost my height now.

Her mother was a supermodel whom Papa met at Fashion Week in Milan. She saw his power and money, and that was more than enough of an attraction to stay. She gave him a child, hoping it would be a boy, but out came Honey instead. Beautiful Honey. The only way you can tell we’re sisters is our eyes—almost cat-like in shape and silverish in color.

Marco stays back as we weave through the last of the crowd. I spot Angel straight away. She waves at me, but what stops me in my tracks are the two men behind her. They look older, not our age, at least I think. But possibly not quite as old as the men who surround my father and stare at me in ways that make me extremely uncomfortable.

“Rya, hurry up. I have a drink for you,” she shouts through the crowd, not caring what they might think. I look over my shoulder at Marco, who shakes his head but doesn’t say anything to stop me.