Page 71 of Savage Vows

“You asked if I hated him.” She strokes her finger down the stem of her glass. “Hate isn’t strong enough. I was devastated. Betrayed. He broke my heart. Everything I knew about him, every emotion I felt, everything I believed he felt for me…? I thought it was all a lie.”

“Wasn’t it?” My words are a little sharper than I intend.

“Parts of it were.” Her honesty surprises me. “But not all of it. Not the important parts, though it took me a long time to see that.”

The waiter arrives with our appetizers: delicate portions of tuna crudo for her, burrata with heirloom tomatoes for me. I focus on drizzling olive oil over my plate, but the confession I’ve been holding inside spills out anyway.

“I don’t want anything to do with this,” I tell her softly. “My family, this lifestyle, everything.”

Bella’s expression remains open, nonjudgmental. “Tell me?”

The burrata melts on my tongue as I gather my courage. “I was eight when I first saw what this life really means. There was a man in our entryway, beaten half to death. My father…” I swallow hard. “My father ordered his execution right there. I can still hear the way his voice sounded—so cold, so matter of fact. Like he was ordering dinner instead of ending a life.”

“That must have been terrifying for a child.”

“It was. And then my mother…” Except for with Matteo last night, I’ve never shared this with anyone. “She died in what everyone called an ‘accident.’ But I knew better. It was a hit meant for my father. She was just…collateral damage.”

“Oh, Alessia.” Bella reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.

“As soon as I finished college, I ran to Europe, built a life there. Art, freedom, normalcy. I rarely came home, and now…” I gesture helplessly. “Now I’m right back where I started. Being forced to marry a man who—” I cut myself off.

“A man who what?” she prompts gently.

“A man who terrifies me,” I whisper. I can’t believe I’m about to admit this, but Bella invites confidence, and she’s been honest with me. And right now, I need a friend, someone to help me sort all this through. “Not because I think he’d hurt me, but because sometimes I look at him, and I forget to breathe. Sometimes he touches me, and I forget all the reasons I should run away again.”

“And those reasons are?”

“He’s just like my father. Like my brothers. He lives in a world of violence and death and?—”

“And love,” Bella interrupts. “And loyalty. And honor, in their own way.”

“How can you say that?” I’m puzzled. “I mean, after what Nico did to you?”

She sits back. “Because I’ve learned that nothing about this life, or these men, is simple. Yes, they can be ruthless. Yes, they live by a different code than most. But they’re also capable of a depth of love that’s staggering.”

Our drinks are refilled, and the waiter returns with our entrees. The rich aroma fills the air between us.

“How do you reconcile it?” I ask when we are alone again. “The man who orders deaths with the man who shares your bed?”

“I don’t try to. I accept that they’re the same person. Nico is who he is—fierce, protective. Like Matteo, he’s sometimes terrifying. But he’s also the man who holds me through nightmares and brings me coffee every morning. The man who would burn the world down to keep me safe.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

“Sometimes it does. But it also makes me feel…” She pauses, searching for the right word. “Cherished. Protected. Loved beyond reason.”

“I don’t know.” I twirl pasta around my fork. “I miss New Orleans sometimes. The energy, the vibrancy. Stopping for beignets at midnight, listening to jazz spilling out of doorways.” I smile ruefully. “Sometimes I’d sit in Jackson Square for hours, just sketching tourists and street performers.”

“And London?” Bella asks gently.

“London was incredible, but the Cotswolds…” I set down my fork. “That’s where I really found myself. The artist colony there… We were like family. Everyone contributed; everyonebelonged. I helped in the gardens and the kitchen. I could paint for hours in this incredible old conservatory with light streaming in from everywhere.”

“And now you feel caged?” There’s understanding in her voice, not judgment.

“Matteo doesn’t want me to leave the house.” I glance out the window where I know a driver is waiting. Chiara is somewhere in the building, though I have to admit, she is being unobtrusive. If I didn’t know she was there, I wouldn’t suspect. “This is the first time I’ve been allowed out by myself since he brought me to Houston.” For a moment, I think about the contrast in my life before he kidnapped me.

“You’re not able to pursue your art?”

“I am.” And that’s the silver lining. “The loft Matteo created for me is wonderful.” His thoughtfulness still gets to me.

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