Brutal Vows Jt Geissinger Novels & Stories

He explained calmly. I sat there for a while letting his words soak in before a burst of confidence rushed through me. "Fuck you and your rules." I said in his face as I emphasized the word 'fuck' He clenched his jaw and his eyes flared with anger, but he took a deep breath before speaking. "You just got here so imma let this slide. But just know I don't do this often so do it again and I won't hesitate to slit your wrist." He said calmly as his hands rested on his temples.

I lunge forward, and my fist connects so hard with his jaw that spittle flies into the air. Continuing to roll up my sleeves, I say, “I fucking memorized the vows for Vittoria because I know how important the church is to her.” My eyes flick to the bastard. “So I’m definitely not going to let some fucker insult her.” I glare at the piece of shit that’s my brother-in-law. “You will not disrespect Vittoria.” Giorgio looks pathetic, his fear of me etched all over his face. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles as blood trickles down his chin.

I had suffered more pain than this, but I was tired, both physically and mentally. “My, you have such soft skin. No wonder Vitale fancies you.” “You know, until now, I’d only heard rumours about bratkis being sneaky bastards. They kill. They maim. They torture. But they attack from behind like cowards.” He gritted his teeth, his meaty breath fanning my face. I scrunched my nose and seethed. “That’s how you attacked me. From the back. Sick fucks! I bet you treat your mothers and sisters like whores too.”

Gio was standing at the entrance of the hallway, a dark silhouette against the brighter light of the foyer. He looked terrible. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his hair was a mess, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look like a man who had been through a week-long interrogation. But the moment his gaze landed on us—on how close Jett had been standing to me—the exhaustion was replaced by a flash of pure, unadulterated territorial rage. "And why," Gio asked, his voice vibrating with a low, dangerous frequency, "are both of you hiding in the dark? Jett, do you have a reason for touching what belongs to me?"

He instantly released her and whirled around to confront his new foe. Gresso… His green eyes were ablaze with fury; he seemed... bigger. And his jaw looked like it was sculpted from granite. Whatever humanity that resided within his archangel’s features had disappeared, and he looked like a creature of pure Vengeance. The motherfucker was hulking out. All the veins in his neck and arms had popped out, even the ones on his forehead, and he was growling. Without warning, Gresso smashed the bat into his opponent’s chest with all his might. The fucker staggered back from the pain, allowing Gresso to kick him in the head. As soon as he was down, Gresso was on him, punching his face over and over

"I see your h‍and never quit‍e healed." "You lit‍t⁠⁠le wh‍ore," Brutus gr‌owle‌d, hi‌s voice dro‌ppin‌g into a‌ guttur‍al,‌‍ terrifying ro‍ar tha‌t⁠ vib‍rated t⁠hrough the na⁠rr‌o‌w concrete walls. "A‌lpha Vance wanted yo‍u delive⁠red to the alta‌r intact, b‍ut he d⁠idn't say I couldn't‌ br‌ea‍k both your legs firs‍t!" ‘⁠CRACK!‍ SPINTER!’

Three years ago, Isabella Moretti was the sole heir to the Moretti family, the most powerful of New York's five crime families. She was supposed to inherit the Moretti name and most of the business flowing through New York Harbor. A Mafia shootout changed everything. To save her husband, Matteo De Luca, she deliberately drew the enemy away from him. Matteo got out. But Isabella was shot in the shoulder and captured by the kidnappers. They wanted information about Moretti operations. For three years, they tortured her to get it. She was carrying Matteo's child at the time. She did not know she had already been written off. She kept believing the husband she loved would come for her. The truth

He barked in a raised voice, "Does being born in the city make you better than everyone else? Does that give you the right to trample on someone’s kindness?" His glare seared into me. "Pick up that coffee and drink it." The office fell silent. Colleagues, who had been eavesdropping, now openly stared, waiting for the spectacle. Eyes stinging, I backed away. However, Michael lunged forward, seizing my wrist in an iron grip. He shoved me toward the floor, grinding the spilled coffee into sticky sludge beneath my shoes. "Apologize!" he ordered. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, and shook my head.

Igor, Sin and Trixie stood on the other side of the grave, and Igor looks like he lost a lot of weight cos his black suit is barely hanging on his body. Andrei is standing with Jinx, Poe and Malik at another angle, all wearing black suits. Adeline is in black suit too, and she's standing beside Madden at another angle, trying to calm the soreness between her legs She's still so sore from last night, and it's hard to walk properly without feeling him. Madden is not wearing a suit, he's on black slacks and red button down, though he's still cooperate. Over hundred mafia men and women are present from The Bratva.

“Oh God, it felt so real.” “Tell me what you saw.” “Men breaking down doors, searching every room. They knew my name and my face.” She struggles to sit up, and her nightgown sticks to her sweat-dampened skin. “One of them had a scar across his cheek, and when he smiled, his teeth were gold.” My blood runs cold. She’s describing Tommy Marconi, one of Nico’s most brutal enforcers. The scar came from a knife fight ten years ago, and the gold teeth are his trademark. Somewhere, deep in her subconscious, she must remember him.