32. Betrothed
32
BETROTHED
RORY
B y the time I get myself back into the mansion, I’m ready for a nap. Between going over my routine, running into Aidan, and climbing the freaking wall to get my ass back into the mansion undetected, I need to check out.
Easily dodging security, I made it to the East wing in the clear. I’m in my room with the door shut behind me before I sense him.
Caught red-handed, I linger by the door, staring across my bedroom at my brother.
Niko watches me from where he sits, shadowed from the sunlight streaming through my window in my plush reading chair, like some kind of vampire. Casually flipping through one of my books.
I tense, checking to be sure it’s not the one I hollowed out to stash my escape fund in.
“Where were you?” He doesn’t even look up, his eyes still scanning the pages.
“Around.” I wave my hand noncommittally, still working on how to play this off.
My brother lifts his head, raising a brow as his gaze drops pointedly to my skate bag—still hanging off my shoulder. I drop it at my feet and kick it a little behind my hamper.
Niko’s face remains unchanged, and it’s next to impossible to read his mood.
“How did you get out of the compound?”
“I didn’t,” The lie comes out too quickly. I’m already on edge after my encounter at the rink with Aidan and Niko’s always made me feel unbalanced. He hates me. And he’s never wasted an opportunity to remind me. But I double down. “I was down on the synthetic ice...” It’s a lie. We both know it’s a lie. But I have plausible deniability…
My brother rises slowly, setting the book down on the chair as he stands to his full height. Towering over me, he casually buttons his suit jacket. This gives me pause and I take him in. Our father wears a sharp suit every day, but Niko… Niko usually prefers dark jeans and t-shirts. “Father sent me to find you,” he says, and my eyes snap up.
“What for?” My voice is quiet. Nothing good ever follows those words.
There’s a bored expression on Niko’s face as he turns his attention to the books I have lining my shelves. “The Italians are coming for brunch.” He says it like that’s a normal, everyday occurrence.
“And what does that have to do with me?” I am well aware that when father takes meetings at the mansion, I’m to stay quiet and out of sight in my room. Niko’s eyes slide to mine. “You’re coming.”
I blink back at him in confusion. That is until it hits me… “Matteo?” My voice weak, remembering the discussion we had with our father before the Irish took me.
Niko gives a slow nod before passing by, pausing for a moment on the threshold. “One hour. Put on something nice and don’t—” he looks at me with narrowed eyes, “—be late.”
As soon as he’s gone, I crumple to the floor. Hugging my knees to my chest, wondering how I fell so quickly into this mess and how the hell I’m going to survive it.
An hour later, I’m walking down the ornate stairs of the foyer dressed in a simple black dress with a flared skirt that sits just above my knees. Funeral colors seemed the most appropriate for the day I officially meet my fiancé .
“Here she is,” Adrik’s voice booms as I enter. My heels click against the cold marble floor. He beckons me closer and pulls me into him in a loving gesture before he spins me to greet his guests. “Gentleman, I’d like to introduce my daughter, Aurora Kostalova, at last.”
I look up to find two very Italian—very attractive —men looking at me.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kostalova.” The taller of the two men steps forward with a pleasant smile on his face.
I smile politely back as he takes my hand in his and deposits a light kiss atop it, his face carefully blank. What I see in his dark eyes reveals his true depth, as though he can read my soul. “Cole DeLuca,” he says, introducing himself.
My body instantly tenses at the realization the man standing before me is the notoriously ruthless Italian Capo. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Signore DeLuca,” I stutter out.
I know Cole is the youngest capo in the DeLuca family history, but I’m still shocked to see just how young he is. He appears to be around the same age as Niko, and well… Koen O’Rourke, for that matter, too. My father is the last of his generation to hold a boss seat in the city.
Cole’s lips twitch. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” He still holds my hand, looking at the man standing next to him, he transfers my hand to his. “Aurora, allow me to introduce my cousin, Matteo Carroza.”
Matteo steps forward and I take in the man I am to marry. While not as tall as his cousin, Matteo’s still over six feet. Dark hair, slicked back in the Italian style, falls to his collar, neatly highlighting his tan skin and sharp features. Caramel brown eyes smile down at me. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Aurora.”
I’m tempted to ask him to call me Rory, but I know my father won’t like it.
“Aurora has talked of nothing else all week!” my father gushes.
I have?
“We’re so glad you could both join us for lunch today. I had the chef prepare an Italian special!”
I catch Niko’s eye and he raises a single brow while I tilt my head in confusion at our father’s lie. It’s the closest to sibling camaraderie I think we’ve ever come. I notice Cole’s eyes on me as he turns for the table, his lips tilted up in a faint smile.
Oh yeah, this man doesn’t miss a trick.
Matteo gallantly pulls out my chair, and I sink daintily into it. He takes the seat next to mine and I remind myself to not fidget. Which means I’m probably sitting too still now… Everything feels wrong. The fit of my dress is off. My heels pinch at my toes and one curl keeps falling relentlessly into my face, no matter how many times I try to tuck it back behind my ear.
The men chat for a bit as our cook serves the food. Small talk about the weather and horse racing—one of my father’s favorite past times. I know better than to interrupt, so I wait to be asked a direct question, pushing the leaves of my salad around my bowl.
“We were disappointed last week when we had to reschedule our initial meeting. I heard Aurora had quite the run in with some Irish recently?” Matteo smiles at me, but directs his question to my father.
Adrik chuckles in response, laughing off the building tension in the room. I don’t miss the way he and Niko exchange a quick look. The Russians had hoped to keep my kidnapping quiet from my future fiancé. “That she did. And we got her back, no worse for wear.” He takes a sip of his wine—looking uncomfortable.
I don’t know why, but it grates on me to hear my father taking credit for an exchange I orchestrated. They didn’t even know who had taken me until Koen called to propose the trade for Alexei.
Matteo moves his hand to cover mine and I nearly jolt at the surprise contact. His hand is icy cold. “Still, it must have been horrible to endure. The O’Rourkes are nothing but a bunch of savages. A bunch of heathen devils.” He squeezes my hand, and I give him a tight smile.
“You know the O’Rourkes?” I ask carefully, taking a casual sip from my wine, jumping into the conversation for the first time.
Matteo scoffs, sitting back in his chair before looking across the table at his cousin. “I don’t know Cole, do we know the O’Rourkes?” My eyes dart between the two Italians.
“Oh, we go way back,” Cole muses darkly. There’s a quiet danger in the way the man talks and moves. Like a big cat, coiled up and just waiting to be set loose.
“Koen only hopes he and Cole never end up in the same room together is all I gotta say…” Matteo takes a sip of his own wine, his caramel eyes dancing maliciously. I draw back from him. “Don’t worry Aurora, the Irish will pay for thinking they could touch you.” He raises his glass at my father, who returns it with a tight smile.
“They didn’t touch me.”
Silence falls over the table at my sudden words, spoken in clear confidence. I clear my throat, “What I mean to say… is they… didn’t hurt me.”
From across the table, Cole eyes me with curiosity.
“Maybe not, but we’ll make them bleed for it, anyway,” Matteo boasts, pumping out his chest.
“Salud!” My father raises his glass up, higher this time, in the Italian style cheer, and Matteo cheerfully clinks his glass.
I don’t miss the subtle glare my father gives me as he drinks from his glass, reminding me to mind my place.