Page 105 of Savage Vows

How the hell am I supposed to pull that off?

As if I’ve spoken the words aloud, my mother says, “You’re a smart man. Figure out what you need to do.”

For the first time in my life, I wonder if my mother has overestimated me.

The next day, I still have no fucking clue how to fix my relationship, but I know this has gone on long enough, and I have to take action, even if it’s painful.

In my office, I lean back and pick up the phone. I probably should have done this sooner.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Matteo

The Houston city lights stretch endlessly below me, and cars blaze past, in a hurry to get to the next light. Everyone is living their life, and mine is empty, dark.

My office is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft ticking of the clock on the far wall. It’s late, and everyone else has gone home. Everyone except me.

I lean back in my leather chair, phone in hand, staring at Bella’s name on the screen.

I hate this. Calling her, asking for help. But Alessia’s silence and the security she has around her has turned into a wall I can’t breach.

Standing, I pace, and I dial.

The line rings twice before she answers.

“Bella,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Thank you for picking up.”

There’s a pause on the line, long enough to tell me she’s questioning whether she should have or not. But she takesher responsibilities to the Morettis seriously, another reason I respect and appreciate her. “What can I do for you, Matteo?”

“I need your help.”

Another pause, this one longer. “Is this about business?”

If it is, I know she will be fully engaged, ready to handle whatever I throw at her. I’m sure she’s hoping this is related to the family. But it’s not. “No.”

Finally she sighs. “Alessia?”

“Who else?”

Once more, she sighs, and this time it’s deeper, but when she speaks, her voice has a small note of compassion. “I’m not sure I can help you.”

“You’re the only one who can.”

She’s still listening, and I take that as a positive sign. “I need to talk to her,” I say.

“Matteo—”

“Listen,” I interrupt. “Please.” This situation is difficult for me, and I feel as if I’m sinking in quicksand. The harder I struggle, the worse it’s getting.

“Go on.”

“I fucked up. Bad.”

She doesn’t say a word, telling me she knows and agrees.

To her credit, she doesn’t say anything to make me feel better. She’s letting me experience the full weight of my mistakes.

But also to her credit, she doesn’t pile on, adding insult to injury.

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