My mother glares at me as my father exits the car and reaches for her door. Fear squeezes my heart.
I turn my attention to the ornate house outside my window. It gives me no clue who we’re meeting, but in mere moments, I’ll come face-to-face with the man who holds my future in his hands.
When the attendant opens my door, I accept his offered hand and step out of the vehicle but wait until my parents start up the stairs before trailing behind them.
The front door opens. Adrenaline floods my system. Apprehension adds extra weight to my feet. Dread coalesces in my chest as a vaguely familiar woman greets my parents. She ushers us into the foyer.
I meet dark chocolate eyes and freeze as mortification locks me in place. The blood drains from my face and pools in the pit of my stomach.
No. Not him. Anyone but him.
I stare into Giorgio Vivaldi’s sinfully handsome face and wonder which god I pissed off.
He was unbearably good-looking at nineteen, but now, in his mid-twenties, he exudes sensual wickedness along with masculine power. I fight the urge to turn and run.
His lips flatten in disapproval. Pain streaks through my heart. I pull my shoulders back and step forward at my father’s behest.
“Aurora, you remember Matteo and Bianca Vivaldi, right?” my mother asks. The change in her persona as she acts as the matron of the Achilles family makes me want to puke.
“Of course, Mamma. It’s wonderful to see you again,” I lie and accept Bianca Vivaldi’s welcome. She gives me a half hug and kisses me on each cheek before holding me at arm’s length.
“How long has it been since we’ve seen you? Five or six years? You’ve grown into a beauty, haven’t you, Aurora?”
I offer her my best non-wooden smile and thank her for the compliment even though the hard edge to her expression relays her dissatisfaction. My stomach churns on the protein bar I forced myself to eat as I dressed, but I mentally pat myself on the back for not arriving on an empty stomach.
When my future mother-in-law passes me to her husband, I don’t dare look over his shoulder at his son, nor do I seek help from my parents. I meet Matteo Vivaldi’s eyes and study his expression as he studies me. My skin crawls as he gives a small smile and leans down to kiss the back of my hand.
“I must say, my son is a lucky man. Don’t you think, Giorgio?”
In my attempt to avoid Giorgio Vivaldi’s eyes as long as possible, I note the veiled threat within Matteo’s tone and fight a fresh wave of nausea as his weathered face tightens in warning. He turns and offers my hand to Giorgio.
Fear and dismay turn to stone in my chest as my future husband quirks a sarcastic brow and takes my hand with exaggerated care.
“Of course.”
His inflection says he most certainly does not feel lucky. I swallow the emotions clogging my throat and fight the urge to pull my hand away as he presses his lips to my knuckles.
Shock roots me to the spot as he sneaks his tongue between my fingers. The unexpectedly soft stroke steals my breath despite how fleeting and mocking it may be.
I lean on my mother’s training and smile as though my face hasn’t turned beet red.
“You’re too kind. Truly,” I say.
Despite my best efforts, my mother’s glare relays my failure to hide my displeasure.
“Ah, Narciso, it’s nice to see you. Will you be joining us for lunch?”
I stiffen at the delight in my father’s voice and follow his gaze to the man emerging from the hall. I mask my instinctual cringe and attempt to free my hand from Giorgio’s, but he tightens his fingers around mine.
“Unfortunately, no. I was just wrapping up some business with mio fratello, so I’m heading out and thought I’d introduce myself along the way.”
Ants skitter along my flesh as he approaches, and for no reason other than a gut feeling, I’m thankful for Giorgio’s grip on my hand.
“May I?” Narciso asks with a gesture toward our locked hands.
I struggle to breathe as tension fills the air. After a hair-raising moment, Giorgio responds.
“Maybe next time, mio zio. It is my first time seeing my bride-to-be in years, after all.”
The amount of disdain packed into his words raises the hairs on my nape, but to my surprise, his uncle backs down.
“Next time, then. For now, it’s nice to see you again, Aurora,” he says.
His eyes trail up my body as he rises from his slight bow. Bile rises in my throat, but I offer him a polite smile.
As Narciso excuses himself and exits into the sunlight, I take a deep breath to calm myself, but Giorgio’s woodsy cologne fills my nostrils. My heart skips a beat as my mouth waters and sensual thoughts streak through my mind.
“Let’s continue this over lunch, shall we?” Matteo suggests. He takes Bianca by the arm and gestures for my parents to follow them.
My mother gives my father a hate-filled glance as he rests his fingertips on the back of her elbow, but she allows him to guide her down the hall after our hosts.
I flick my gaze up to Giorgio’s face to gauge his reaction, but he’s not watching my parents. With his gaze trained on the front door, he clenches his teeth together before filling his lungs and swinging his eyes to mine. He pierces my soul with his intense stare. The floor drops out from under my feet.
“You won’t faint right in front of me again, will you?”
For an embarrassing moment, my brain relishes the sound of his voice instead of processing his words, but I suck down a steadying breath and swallow my jumbled emotions.
“It depends. Do you plan on starving me, or will you let me go so I can enjoy the meal your mother so graciously planned for us?”
He quirks his brow before shaking his head.
“Neither.”
I scoff at his curt response and try to pull away, but he yanks me toward him so hard I lose my balance. His massive hands close around my upper arms and stop me from crashing into him. For a horrible moment, disappointment streaks through me as his broad chest fills my vision. I want to know how it feels to press against his hard muscles. Common sense kicks in and my anger returns.
I stomp on his foot and shove my fists into his rock hard, unforgiving abs and wince as pain pulses through my knuckles. He snarls and tightens his grip on my arms without giving an inch.
“Really, Aurora? This is what we’re doing?”
Tears of frustration burn my eyes, so I tuck my chin to my chest and pray my hair hides my face.
I can’t breathe. My lungs ache.
This wasn’t at all what I expected from today. Ever since my mother sprung the news on me this morning, I promised myself I’d make it through the day without an ounce of emotion. I would hide behind a mask of indifference and then cry after she locked my door tonight.
I could have done it, too, if it had been any other man besides Giorgio Vivaldi, but it wasn’t.
The moment I saw his chiseled face, my mask crumbled and unwanted memories flooded me. It’s too much.
“But then again, why should I expect anything less from a spoiled little girl who passed out at my feet in the middle of a packed wedding reception?”
His mocking words help me gather and weld together the pieces of my broken mask. I suck down a ragged breath and fight against his hold.
“Just let me go,” I half plead, half demand through gritted teeth.
“No. I’m a man of my word, mia topolina, and I don’t enjoy repeating myself, so make it easier on yourself and stop fighting me,” he rumbles in a voice I shouldn’t find sexy, but the deep vibrations travel straight to my core.
I squeak as he pivots and tucks me against his side. His heavy hand settles on my waist as his massive body dwarves mine.
Every nerve in my body sparks to life as awareness spears through me. He could crush me without even trying. I feel tiny and vulnerable pressed against him. Our size difference astounds me.
Then his words sink in through my lust, and indignant fury wells up from my depths.
“Mia topolina?” I scoff and elbow his side, but bite back a hiss when I realize I might as well be hitting granite. “I’m not a mouse, and I’m definitely not yours, so don’t call me that.”
His only response is a noncommittal hum and a tightening of his fingers around my waist. He starts forward, and with reluctant steps, I follow his lead. Halfway down the hall, I realize he was telling the truth.
He neither plans to starve nor release me.
With a few demeaning words and even less effort, this jerk stole my sense of control and proved his dominance over me.
I struggle against rising hopelessness as my future spans out in front of me. Years of uncertainty and subjugation under yet another tyrannical ruler like my mother fill my thoughts with dark, lonely clouds, but I push them away and focus on what’s most important.
I’ll agree to anything—anything—if it keeps Tristan safe just a little longer. I’m so close to having everything we need to escape this horrible life, but if the time comes and I can’t stay under my parents’ roof to protect him, I’ll have to send my brother off on his own.
Nothing matters beyond protecting Tristan.
Not even this wickedly handsome, frustratingly brusque, tatted mafia prince who once saw me at my lowest and seems keen to hold it against me.
Despite my body’s reaction to his as he hauls me down the hall, I build a mental barrier between us and remind myself why we’re here.
Our parents wait in the dining room. They’ll ultimately plan every aspect of our lives until the day of our wedding, and even after then, their stipulations will no doubt rule our decisions.
My heart skips a beat as Giorgio flexes his fingers into my waist and pulls me tighter against his side.
What wouldn’t I do to have his strength? His powerful physique? His authority?
If it weren’t for his rudeness, I may have reacted better and made him an ally instead of a foe, but that code crumbled along with my preteen body when I fainted in front of him, so the let’s-be-friends program crashed and burned before I could even start laying the foundation.
I push down my frustration and focus on the trials ahead.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my brother safe, even if it means going toe-to-toe with Giorgio Vivaldi.
