I stared at him, my breath coming in short bursts now. I didn’t know what to expect here today, but it sure as shit wasn’t this. “What is she trying to do?”
His eyes grew cold. “Find every person who’s ever hurt her and take her revenge. I believe she’s down to one person.”
“Who is it?” I questioned.
He shrugged, giving me a vague response. “A woman.”
“Fine, you have my vow,” I growled, done playing games. “Now. Where. Is. She?”
He grinned, pulling out his phone. “I’ll send you the coordinates.”
My phone chimed with the notification and I stood up.
“Thank you for your time.”
“Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
SEVEN
GIOVANNI
Eight Years Ago
This wedding was a lavish affair, with white, red, and yellow lilies as far as the eye could see.
My uncle stood at the altar with a self-righteous gleam in his eyes, waiting for his bride.
I only arrived this morning, so I had yet to meet her. However, I heard plenty about her from my mother, who currently sat next to me in the pew with a look of disgust on her face. She didn’t like the idea of Santiago Tijuana marrying some young woman and producing male offspring that could potentially push me further down the inheritance line.
As if I gave a shit about that.
I was ready for this to be over so I could get back to Boston.
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed, leaning closer so nobody else could hear her. “He’s four times her age.”
I rolled my eyes. “Love works in miraculous ways.”
Although, I knew firsthand that my mother didn’t believe in love or fidelity. Needless to say, learning of my true parentage last year came as a shock.
From birth, I’d been bound to the Agosti empire that my father—or the man I’dbelievedto be that—and his family built, and that wouldn’t change until my death. When my parentage came to light, I was sure that Mateo, the head of the Agosti family, would renounce me, but he’d surprised me.
Instead of burning me off the family tree, he made me the head of our family in Italy, under the Thorns of Omertà. It gave us a wider reach with my blood connections to the Tijuana family and induction into the Agosti famiglia.
The music started and everyone turned to look at the bride. Everyone except for me.
I stared at the elaborate cross made out of gold and decorated with rubies for blood as soft clicks of heels neared.
The scent of wildflowers fragranced the air as the bride passed the pew and joined her intended at the end of the aisle. I shot a curious glance her way, slightly surprised by her size. She was petite, her figure slim beneath a white satin dress that hugged her body. She wasn’t the type that Santiago went for; he usually liked them curvy.
It seemed he was smitten by the young woman that currently stared up at him, a veil covering every inch of her face looking like a snow princess.
But then he lifted her veil and, for the briefest moment, I was awestruck. Not by her porcelain skin. Not by her beautiful face. But by the courage and hope that shone in her eyes. By the stubborn tilt of her chin.
No wonder my uncle had changed his type.
“I, Santiago Tijuana, take you, Louisa Volkov, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sicknessand in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”
Jesus, he didn’t sound sincere in the slightest, and I pitied the young woman.
