Page 11 of Ruined Vows
“So I’m a bargaining chip now? A walking peace treaty with heels?”
“You’re a Borrelli,” Matteo says. “And this family needs peace. You know that.”
I do. But I’ve never bowed for it. And I sure as hell won’t start now.
Then, I eye my three brothers, each with a hesitant look. I let the silence stretch as I pace, thinking.
After a moment, I stop before Matteo’s massive desk and look him dead in the eye.
“Fine.”
His eyebrows relax, and he blinks. “Fine?” He straightens, thinking his work is done.
I nod once. “I’ll marry him,” I smirk.
The room is still. It’s a stillness I’ve never felt. It’s as if all the oxygen has been sucked out with a straw.
My brothers want to auction me off to the Serb who turned on his brother, so be it. Two can play this game.
This isn’t happening. They will think it is, but it’s not. I’m impervious to men—especially foreigners with an attitude.
“That’s great, Bianca,” Pietro says, giving me a side-eye, and he’s right to be leery.
I remember staring at Vukan after the gunpowder settled. The lust in his eyes was mind-numbing. He’s got it bad for me.
Well, we’re never happening. I’m a fortress, he’ll never bring me down.
“If—” I hold a finger up, sharp as glass and twice as deadly. “He can make me fall in love.”
Matteo narrows his eyes.
Niccoló groans. Pietro mutters something under his breath.
“Ten dates,” I say. “That’s the deal. Ten chances to win me over. Five for him, five for me. If he fails, I walk. No second chances.”
I cross my arms defiantly and flick my green eyes in Matteo’s direction. He looks like a Celestial Goldfish as his mouth opens and shuts. He wants to argue. But he doesn’t.
Pietro breaks the silence. “She’s a part of the family’s leadership and deserves a voice. I mean, she acted on Amara’s behalf and fought with us.” He shrugs.
No one can question my loyalty to the family. Hell, I’m the equivalent of two men in battle.
I glance at Renalto. We all know his wedding would have never happened without me.
“I can’t complain. She saved my wife,” he says. “We’re indebted to her for saving our asses.” He walks casually to the glass doors that lead to a courtyard. He turns, as if he’s in the army, minus the heels tapping. “We’re at Bianca’s mercy because the Serb won’t take no for an answer.”
The room is stilled, because everyone here knows there’s no retreating once I draw a line.
“I think she has us over the barrel, and she knows it,” Niccoló smirks.
Everyone reverts their attention to Matteo.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warns me, straightening his back.
Leave it to my oldest brother to tell me I’m likely to fail, like I didn’t have a father who said that to me daily. I will never tolerate that again.
And perhaps that’s why I’ve never fallen in love.
Because I can’t trust anyone.
