Page 11 of His Vow
At my outburst, Gio’s head springs back up. “There may not be a choice. And it would only be until we can figure out what to do next.” He tries to placate me, but all I can process is Gio’s suggestion that he and Lucia become engaged.
“No, I don’t fucking care about choices. It’s not happening,” I roar, while trying to ignore the thumping of my heart. Surely, I’m too young and healthy to have heart issues, but if the tightness in my chest keeps happening every time I think about Gio and Lucia together, I might have to visit a doctor.
Gio’s eyes narrow. “Well, maybe the decision isn’t yours to make.” His voice is calm and firm, brooking no argument.
My anger ratchets up a notch, the rage burning my cheeks. But what can I say when I know he’s right. It’s for him and Lucia to decide, and she’s currently ignoring my calls under the pretense of work commitments. It also doesn’t help that she’s in another time zone, having traveled to Tokyo after London.
I need to see her so we can hash this out together, and that’s not going to happen until she’s back in Paris.
Picking up the same crumpled page of translation I’ve now read multiple times, I scan the highlighted sections.
The parties agree that the son of Armando Barbieri will, upon becoming CEO of the Barbieri Corporation, be eligible to enter into a marriage contract with the daughter of Franco Romano at a time agreed suitable by Franco Romano and Armando Barbieri.
The parties agree that if the son of Armando Barbieri refuses to abide by the terms of the contract, 51 percent ownership of the Barbieri Corporation will be signed over to Franco Romano.
My fists clench at my side, and Gio’s brows rise, daring me to react. My brothers and I have never once physically fought; we’ve barely even raised our voices with each other. I turn my back on him, sucking a deep, ragged breath into my lungs, and on the release, it tears through my chest like a dagger.
“Lucia won’t marry you,” I say, but my words lack confidence because I can’t know that for sure until I see her. And now it appears there’s nothing I can say that will change the trajectory Gio seems hell-bent on following.
“If she doesn’t, then we’ll lose the company.”
I spin to face him. “Is that all that matters to you? The fucking family company?”
“No, the people I love matter.”
“Lucia matters to me.”
“I know she does, and I would look after her.” A stony, expressionless mask dawns on his face.
“You fucking asshole.” It’s not Gio’s role to protect Lucia; it’s mine. It’salwaysbeen mine. “If you go through with this, I’ll never forgive you.” I’ll not only be unable to forgive him, but I’d have to cut them both out of my life. Because seeing them together would be like opening the same wound over and over again.
With a heavy tread, I stalk to the door, rip it open, and leave. I can’t look at him, be in the same room, or maybe even the same city, knowing he’s thinking about going through with this fake marriage. And the worst part is, Lucia, through her lack of responses, seems to be prepared to do her father’s bidding.
Lucia is mine, not Gio’s. I stop suddenly halfway down the stairs. What the fuck am I thinking? She doesn’t belong to me or anyone else, and especially not my brother. I slap my palm on the brick wall. There has to be a way I can fix this.
Random ideas flood my brain, each one more impossible than the last. Talking to my father didn’t work for Gio, his number one son, so me trying would only be a waste of breath. I could speak to her father, but the man hates me, so that won’t work either.
I’ll just have to beg Lucia to try and make her father see sense.
***
New York City
Un-fucking-believable.My gaze narrows as I glare at the text message for the hundredth time.
Gio:Emergency family meeting. 7 p.m. at Leonardo’s tomorrow night.
My grip tightens around my phone, halfway to breaking it.He can fuck right off.
I’m still pissed at Gio, and until he tells me he isn’t marrying Lucia, there’s not much else I need to hear from him. We haven’t spoken since I stormed out of the Florence office days ago, so the idea of sitting at a table with him, sharing a meal, sounds as much fun as a visit to the dentist. Yet here I am in New York, having flown overnight to make his fucking meeting.
At least we’re gathering on neutral ground, at Leo’s Midtown restaurant, and with my other brothers present as buffers, I’m not a big enough asshole to refuse the invitation. Leo and Nico only know the bare basics of the arranged marriage, so I can enjoy watching Gio squirm as he explains the full extent of the mess. Obviously, I couldn’t talk any sense into Gio, but maybe they can.
I arrive early and am seated at the regular table Leo sets aside for our dinners. It’s a power-play move, for sure, and I don’t give two fucks if Gio recognizes it as one as he strides toward me shortly after. Leaning my elbows on the white linen–covered table, I grind my teeth so hard that my jaw aches with tension.
“Antonio.” He reaches out his hand, and I ignore it. “Seriously, you’re going to leave me hanging.”
“Yep,” I snap.
