Page 10 of Ruined Vows
3
BIANCA
THE PRICE FOR PEACE
Ipull up to my brother’s mansion. It’s more like a castle, with concrete, steel, and turrets. I love the gargoyles perched on top. The structure is right out of a Scottish romance set on the Moors. Of course, there are no cliffs here, but the numerous turrets stand out like punctuation marks against the low-lying clouds. It’s raining, which is fitting.
It’s been a busy year, with the new Borrelli Hotel opening and the take down of our nemesis, Stefano Moretti.
Who knows what the fuck my family is up to now. I would be more concerned about being summoned if we were still at war. But we’re not. So what gives?
I drive past the expensive vehicles in the driveway and park near the enormous front door. Thunder rolls overhead, and I know it will rain any minute. I get out, and lightning cracks ominously, causing me to jump. I run to the huge porch and quickly open the door.
Once I enter, my heels click on the Italian tiles. I confidently walk down the painted hallways with sconces on the walls. Alena has done an incredible job of decorating theplace. She used warm colors on the walls and strategically placed Persian rugs to make the rooms inviting.
Matteo was adamant that I indulge his request for today’s meeting. He’s not offering dinner, which means it’s all business.
Inside, I burn. I’m pissed that they cut Vukan in on the Moretti takedown and they didn’t bother to tell me.
I enter Matteo’s office. My eight-hundred-dollar red-bottom shoes make a calculated echo as I walk.
My red satin blouse is sharp enough to bleed if anyone touches it. My hair is pinned up, and my makeup is precise. Every inch of me screamscontrol.
They can’t force me to do anything, but I’m curious. I enter the large room, which smells of leather, expensive cologne, and arrogance.
Matteo, head of the family, stands over the massive desk, his fingers pressed onto the mahogany surface—his expression carved from marble.
Today, their faces tell me they want something from me because my brothers flank him with their silence and complicity.
And me?
I'm the storm they think they can leash. I remain standing, bracing myself for what? I have no clue.
Matteo meets my gaze. “There’s no easy way to say this,” he starts.
“Say what?” My eyes narrow.
Why the fuck is he being so dramatic?
“Just spit it out. What do you want?” I demand.
He meets my gaze and says, “You have to marry Vukan Petrovic.”
There are no pleasantries or explanations. He just jumps right into the tactical aspect at the top of the day’s agenda.
“You want to say that again?” I cross my arms defiantly.
Matteo doesn’t flinch. “You heard me. VukanPetrovic.”
The name hits like a punch to the gut—the Serbian.
The man with steely gray eyes and salt and pepper hair. He’s older than me, much older— too old.
The man, who is brutal grace and quiet power. The man who surprised me when I was in the process of saving Amara’s grandmother.
His voice was like smoke. It engulfed me and made me weak in the knees. I saw something in his eyes when he looked at me through the night’s chaos.
We saw each other.And that scared the hell out of me.
