Page 109 of Fake Dark Vows
It’s a little treat. Something I’m giving myself before my life totally goes to hell, and I turn into the villain in so many stories.
It’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means that our parents will finally be avenged.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the light scent of the orange blossoms from the trees that are scattered through my property.
I love it here. This is the only one of our many familial properties and holdings that is truly and completely mine. I bought it seven years ago, intending for the villa to be a wedding gift for the beautiful and young Caterina De Luca.
She never saw it, so it became a gift to me. It’s a haven, of sorts, that I have used many times since that horrible night.
If I had to, however, I’d trade it to have my parents back in a heartbeat.
I’m brought from my reverie by the crisp sound of heels clicking down the marble hallway to my office. “Boss,” my twin sister Gia, knocks on the doorframe in a very cursory gesture of respect before entering my space. “New intel.”
I grimace.
First, Gia only calls me ‘boss’ when she’s got some really fucking bad news.
Second, if the intel is new, I don’t want it.
The plan was perfect as I had it. If there are any adjustments, any pivots…
That perfection is gone.
And I demand nothing but perfection.
Softly I curse in Italian before looking at my sister. “What, Gia?”
She raises her eyebrows, and her hands crack like she’s holding back from punching me in the face.
Well.
That makes two of us, I guess.
“Your bride to be is suspicious as hell.”
I snort. I know that’s the truth: for years she was simply beneath my notice, and so I didn’t invest any time into finding or keeping her in one place.
Quite honestly, I never wanted to lay eyes on Caterina De Luca ever again.
And yet.
I sigh.
Being a Rossi is sacrifice. It costs us everything and gives us everything.
I’m sure my father didn’t intend for that to include the cost of his life when he said it, but here we are.
Both of our lives, gone.
Given to the family. To the business. Given in service of a deal with the devil that wore the face of a friend.
The De Lucas were close with us once. American, though their ancestors had come from Italy, they were my family’s ‘in’ to the ocean of untapped buyers that the States offered us.
Somehow, every last one of them landed behind bars. Which meant their ability to operate ports and find markets for our particular brand of exports diminished.
Which meant their usefulness to us ended.
It never made sense to me that Father had entered into such a stupid bargain with the De Lucas. We didn’t need them.