Page 33 of His Vow
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand, my fists clenched at my side.
Holding up his hands in a universal signal to stop, the asshole replies, “I was invited.”
“Well, let me be the one to personally uninvite you. Get the fuck out of my party. You’re not welcome.”
“What? Are you going to punch me again, Antonio?” His eyes dart sideways. “That was a simple misunderstanding that Lucia blew out of proportion. Besides, it’s ancient history.”
By nature, I’m not an aggressive person. But if pushed, I can certainly be that man. And my college boxing experience gives me the physical ability and skill to follow through on my threats.
Our last summer vacation in Capri, when I found Bruno and Lucia together, was the closest I’ve ever come in my life to causing serious injury. The memory comes flooding back.
Something was wrong. Lucia was fighting against him, and a red haze filled my vision. Her voice pleading for him to stop. Me running toward them like a madman.
“Get the fuck off her,” I shouted over and over as I dragged him away. I’d never been so out of control as I punched him in the gut, then, with a loud crack, his jaw, not stopping until he was crying like a baby and curled up into a ball on the tiles. Blood dripping from his mouth.
My only thought was to make him pay for daring to touch Lucia without her permission. The red fingerprints darkening her flawless skin and the tears streaming down her cheeks pushing me over the edge. I’ll never forget what he did that day, and I’ll definitely never forgive.
“Like fuck it was,” I grind out through my tight jaw before leaning in close to his face. “Now, before I throw you out like the trash you are. Leave.”
His eyes widen, the only movement he makes. He’s counting on the fact I won’t do anything here, surrounded by familyand friends. He’s wrong. His mere presence shows a disrespect for my wife, and nobody gets to do that. I’ve tolerated Bruno’s attendance at board meetings for the sake of the company, but this is personal.
“You heard my brother. Leave.” Gio’s voice booms from behind me, and I turn to see him, Leo, Nico, and even Dante forming a wall of support.
Dante steps forward. “It would be my pleasure to remove him, Antonio.” Then, getting right in Bruno’s face, he taunts, “I should probably only pick on someone my own size, but then you never played fair, did you?”
I grin at the look of horror on Bruno’s face as Dante towers over him, half a head taller and twice as broad across the shoulders. Dante deserves his chance at payback. And Bruno should be glad I don’t tell Dante exactly how much retribution he’s due for what he did to Lucia.
Bruno flinches, places his untouched glass of wine on a nearby table, and turns to leave without another word. Dante walks a couple of steps behind him, and I follow them with my eyes until they’re outside and the door is shut behind them. Anger still courses through my blood like a river of fire.
“Are you okay?” Gio asks with a hand on my shoulder.
I tilt my head in his direction. “I hate that fucker.”
“I know. And one day you might even tell me why.” Gio keeps his voice low.
“Who wants a drink?” Leo asks, always the one to calm things down by offering food or drink. And it usually works, but not this time. I need to find Lucia.
“Later,” I mumble before turning to look for my wife.
She’s moved, and as my gaze frantically darts around the faces, it snags on Franco Romano. His eyes are narrowed on me, and his mouth is curled into a sneer. I’ve got my answer as to whosent the invitation. But there’s no time to deal with him. Finding Lucia is my priority.
There are so many more people, most of whom I don’t know, crowded onto the terrace now. I notice Rose speaking to a bartender and dash toward her.
“Have you seen Lucia?” I ask, my pulse picking up.
Rose’s brow creases. “She was feeling a bit overwhelmed by all this.” Her perfectly manicured hand makes a sweeping gesture.
“But where did she go?” I insist, growing more worried by the second.
“The loggia.”
Of course, I should have guessed she’d go there. She’s told me in the past that she used to play there as a child. “Thanks.”
The loggia is along a gravel path that steps down the hillside. Far enough away from the villa that when I reach it, the voices on the terrace are a low murmur drowned out by the buzzing of bees around the nearby lavender blooms.
Lucia stands at the edge, leaning back against one of the rustic posts that support the heavy vines twisting through the beams above, with bunches of purple grapes dripping down in places.
“Lucia?” I call gently.
