Page 8 of The Don's Prisoner

At the end of the hall was an open door. Apparently, this was where we were headed because the Quiet One stopped right outside it, standing in the way of the continuation of the hallway that hooked to the right. Vito walked right into the room, and I followed, immediately noticing all the books that lined the walls on the right. On the left was a display of vinyl records that surrounded a very nice and very expensive-looking refurbished record player sitting atop a black metal entertainment center. In the center of the room was a big black wood desk, and behind it was another wall of glass.

In the chair behind the desk sat a man that looked like luxury and danger had come together to bear a child.

He had dark brown hair that was about three inches long and mostly slicked back with gel except for a few locks that fell onto the right side of his face. He had a strong jaw and was so clean-shaven that I could see the dimples on his cheeks. I bet when he flashed a charming smile—and I had no doubt his smile would be charming—those dimples came to life and made his face radiate with a childlike glee.

He wore a white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing a flash of a smooth chest as he leaned forward in his seat to put his elbows on the table. His dark eyes immediately found me and, instead of making polite eye contact, he let his eyes trail down my body as if taking in every little detail. Something in his jaw tensed, and when he looked back up at me, there was an emotion in his eyes that I couldn’t read.

“Gio! Good to see you, man!” Vito greeted him and walked up to shake his hand. The man behind the desk stood up and shook Vito’s hand, but his eyes traveled back to me again.

“This her?” he asked, and Vito looked over his shoulder to me.

“Yes. Giovanni De Carlo, this is my sister, Victoria Aldi. Vic, this is Gio De Carlo. He’s…” He paused for a moment and cleared his throat a little nervously. The two bodyguards who had taken us here shifted in their spots behind me, both of them blocking the way out.

“The man your brother signed you off to,” Giovanni said, looking at me with a serious face.

“Excuse me?” I said, looking from Giovanni to Vito, who had the good sense to look sheepish. “Mind explaining what he’s talking about?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Gio demanded, his annoyance clear.

“I… I tried, but I knew she wouldn’t come if I told her exactly what this was about,” Vito insisted. Gio rolled his eyes.

“Do you mind telling me now?” I asked, the stress leaking into my tone. My voice was so tight with apprehension, I was afraid my vocal chords might snap.

Giovanni met my eyes again and gave me a slight smile.

“Your brother here was playing poker with me, and in a hand he couldn’t match, he bet you to make up the difference,” he said and my jaw dropped.

“He what?” I shouted and looked at my twin. He refused to meet my eyes; he was too busy looking at the floor.

“He bet you, and he lost the hand, which means you now belong to me,” Giovanni said, and I stared up at him in disbelief. There was no way this was real. No way they were going to go through with that, right? Who on Earth bets other people in a poker game?

“I belong to no one,” I assured him, giving him my best glare, “and I sure as hell didn’t belong to Vito to begin with. I may be his sister, but he does not own me.”

“He seemed to think he did,” Giovanni pointed out, and I glared daggers at my brother.

“Yes, well it seems that V and I need to have a conversation about that,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gio responded. “I take my bets very seriously. As far as I’m concerned, Vito and I have a binding contract, which means you are mine. Now, you and I need to discuss a few things, and I don’t wish to have an audience.” He turned to his bodyguards, “Derek? Sawyer? Will you please take Vito home? Victoria will be staying with me.”

The two large men behind me moved into the hallway, waiting for my brother. I had half a mind to leave with them and just go back to work. I had shit to do and no time to deal with this mess. My brother bet me? His own sister? What even made him think to do that? Did I mean so little to him that he would, what, sell me? My mind refused to wrap itself around the situation, which was probably why I just let Vito walk past me without a second glance. I was so mad at him, so hurt, that anything I said to him would just fall flat or would have me wanting to bash his face in with my fists.

My emotions were trying to figure out if they wanted to be pissed or hurt. I guess at the moment they were choosing pissed, which worked well enough for me.

Once the room was vacated and the door was shut, I stood looking at Giovanni, unsure of what to even say. Luckily, I didn’t have to figure anything out because he broke the silence for me.

“Your brother must not think very much of you if he is willing to use you as a poker chip,” he said and walked around the desk so he could lean against the front of it, folding his arms over his chest.

He was tall, taller than me with heels by a few inches, and he was built. He had the kind of body that went along with going to the gym every morning and maintaining disciplined eating habits. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his kitchen cupboards contained a few different brands of protein powders. He filled out the black slacks and the white shirt well, though. If I wasn’t so confused and angry, I would have asked him if he ever modeled and, if so, I would pay top dollar to put him in some of the tuxedos in my photoshoots. He was drop-dead gorgeous and so damn tempting.

At least he would have been if he hadn’t been standing there telling me he owned me or something.

“Yeah, I guess not,” I answered, letting the realization sting as it set in. After everything I had done for him over the years, he had gone and done this.

“Well, I can assure you that I do not treat my property the way Vito does. I’ve seen him squander his money and talk about people behind their backs like they will never find out. He’s a decent enough person to hang out with, but he’s shit for commitment. But I assure you. I am nothing like him. I take everything and everyone attached to me very seriously,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. On the one hand, I appreciated that he was being so candid with me, but on the other hand…

“I am not your property,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at him and giving him the most menacing look I could muster. Apparently, it was not menacing enough because he just smiled.

“Oh, but you are, my dear. And you are going to help me out with a big problem I’m having. You see, my grandmother has decided that I need to settle down, start a family, and provide at least one heir to the family business. She has decreed that if don’t marry within a six-month time frame, she is going to excommunicate me from the family, which is essentially a death sentence for me. So, you are going to marry me and have my children so that I can carry on the De Carlo name,” he said nonchalantly. My mouth dropped, shocked that he would have the balls to actually say something like that.

---