Chapter 9
Adora
“AVici, in my fucking house.”
Dad’s voice echoes off the marble, sharp enough to shatter glass. I press myself against the wall, trying to disappear into the wallpaper, while he paces the length of the entrance like a caged animal.
In the center of the room, Matteo Vici stands perfectly still, dressed in a black suit with a narrow black tie.
His hands are clasped in front of him, and his face is carved from stone.
Vincenzo’s cousin, brother to Dante Vincenzo, who was murdered at my engagement party.
My heart aches as I think of all the pain he’s been through because of the Montonis.
Now he’s forced to be my bodyguard.
He doesn’t flinch at my father’s tirade, doesn’t react to the creative insults being hurled at his family name. He just stares straight ahead with those cold eyes, so like Vincenzo’s.
Sharp. Dangerous. Implacable.
“This is an outrage,” Dad snarls, jabbing a finger at Matteo. “A deliberate fucking insult. One of his dogs in my house, under my roof.”
Matteo’s expression doesn’t flicker. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.
That only makes Dad angrier. He stands rooted to the spot, a war going on behind his eyes.
I can guess what he’s thinking. If he throws Matteo out, he’ll anger Vincenzo and put him on his guard.
If he allows this, Vincenzo may start letting his guard down around me and I’ll have more opportunities to poison him.
My stomach clenches in knots whenever I think about the poison.
The vial is still in my nightstand drawer where I left it after the restaurant.
Dad made it abundantly clear during our argument that he expects me to go through with killing my fiancé, but how can I poison a man who apologized for hurting me, one who stepped between me and Dad’s fists without hesitation?
Dad keeps asking when I’ll do it. Each time I lie, tell him I’m waiting for the right moment, building Vincenzo’s trust. The excuses are getting thinner. Soon Dad won’t accept them anymore.
And then what?
Death is circling ever closer, and I feel completely trapped.
“From this day forth, the Vicis had better be grateful for my tolerance,” Dad finally snarls, then storms past me without a glance, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the chandelier.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Matteo turns to me, and his transformation is so sudden I almost gasp. The ice melts from his features. His shoulders relax. And when he smiles, it’s warm and genuine and nothing like the stone-faced soldier who just weathered my father’s storm.
“Man’s a peach. No wonder you ran away.” He catches my eye and winks.
I’m so shocked that I can only stare at him, lost for words.
“Miss Montoni.” He inclines his head, almost a bow. “Don Vincenzo told me a lot about you.”
A Vici being kind to me, after everything we did to his family. I don’t deserve his warmth and courtesy.
“Don?” I repeat, and then feel a stab of guilt. My face flames red as I hastily say, “Oh, yes. Of course he’s don.”
Matteo’s smile turns wry. “Don’t tell him I said that. I can call him Don Vincenzo behind his back, even if I can’t say it to his face.”
“Oh? Why is that?” I draw closer to Vincenzo’s cousin without meaning to, hungry for any scraps about Vincenzo.
Matteo talks eagerly, as though he’s been dying to confide in someone. “He hates the title. Refuses to wear the ring, and won’t sit in his father’s chair and give his capos orders. Can you believe it? But he’s our don whether he likes it or not. Someone has to lead what’s left of us.”
What’s left of us. Such sad words about a once formidable family.
“I’m so sorry about your brother, Dante,” I whisper. “About all your family.”
Grief flickers in his eyes, but it’s quickly buried.
“Don’t you be sorry, Miss Montoni. Vincenzo’s explained everything to me.
It was your father who—” He stops himself, jaw tightening.
Then he exhales, and the warmth returns, deliberate and professional.
“But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to keep you safe. Don Vincenzo’s orders.”
The way he says Don Vincenzo’s orders carries weight and reverence. Even pride. Like protecting me is an honor, not a chore.
“I have class this morning,” I say awkwardly. “At the university. You’re probably busy. You don’t have to come if you…”
But Matteo is already smiling and gesturing toward the door. “I’ll drive and escort you to class. After you, Miss Montoni.”
The drive is a revelation.
For weeks, I’ve been ferried around by my father’s silent, watchful, and oppressive men. They never speak to me except when politely but firmly giving me orders. Never look at me except to make sure I don’t bolt for freedom.
Matteo is different. He asks about my classes and laughs when I describe my business professor’s monotone lectures.
Tells me about his own “education” with dark humor that makes me smile despite myself.
He was taught to fieldstrip a Glock and put it back together at record speed, how to throw a punch, and how to lose a tail in traffic.
How to make a man talk. How to know when someone’s reaching for their weapon. The Vici curriculum.
It should shock me, but I grew up in a house with armed guards and violence hovering in the wings. Violence is our families’ business. His family just teaches it more explicitly than mine.
Sunshine pours through the windshield, warming my face. The city slides past in a blur of color and light. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel almost normal.
Almost free.
My phone buzzes in my purse.
I pull it out, still smiling, expecting maybe a text from Lucy.
It’s from Dad.
Be careful around Vincenzo’s guard dog. If he catches on to what you’re up to, he’ll wring your neck. The engagement means nothing. You’re not safe. It’s them or us.
Matteo couldn’t possibly see my screen from where he’s sitting, but I hastily lock the screen and put my phone face down in my lap.
The sunshine suddenly feels cold.
I stare out the window, my good mood crumbling to ash.
“Everything okay?” Matteo glances at me in the rearview mirror.
I smooth my features over with a smile. “Of course. Everything’s fine.”
Class passes in a haze. I take notes without absorbing a single word, my professor’s voice washing over me like distant static.
When it’s finally over, I find Matteo waiting outside the lecture hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking supremely unbothered by the curious stares from passing students.
“Good class?” he asks. “Shall I take you home?”
I nod wordlessly, wishing I had an excuse to go anywhere else. The bottle of poison is in my nightstand, and I’ll feel its deadly presence silently demanding me to use it on the man who promised to keep me safe.
Matteo gazes at me, his lips pressed together in concern. “You know what? I’ve got a better idea.”
I look up in surprise. “Oh?”
A smile spreads over his face. “You hungry? I know a place. The best Italian food in the city.”
“Yes, please,” I say quickly.
He escorts me back to his car and opens the back door for me. I slide inside, relief lightening my heart at the thought that I’m going anywhere but home.
As we drive, I feel my phone vibrate in my bag. Wincing, I glance inside, praying that it’s not Dad. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it’s Lucy.
Damiano just told me he saw you at dinner with Vincenzo Vici last night.
Does this mean that Vici–Montoni relations have been mended? Perhaps with a kiss? More kisses??
I stare at Lucy’s messages as I wonder how to reply. A minute later, she texts me again.
Was Damiano with a woman? Was it that politician’s daughter? Ugh. I can’t stand her.
I smile and roll my eyes. Lucy has hated every woman her brother has ever dated. She’s as possessive of his affections as he is protective of her.
I’ll call you soon and tell you everything. Promise.
I pocket my phone as Matteo drives through a set of iron gates I don’t recognize. “Where are we? I thought you were taking me to a restaurant.”
Matteo smiles as he meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “This is better than a restaurant. Come in and meet my ma.”
Sofia Vici’s kitchen is nothing like the sterile, gleaming, and utilitarian space in my father’s mansion.
This kitchen is loved. Copper pots hang from a rack above a scarred wooden island.
Herbs grow in pots on the windowsill, filling the air with rosemary and thyme.
Afternoon light pours through lace curtains, turning everything golden.
A massive pot bubbles on the stove, releasing steam that smells like garlic and tomatoes.
A large wooden table surrounded by chairs stands to one side, its wood gently marked by decades of family meals.
Sofia stands at the center of it all, wooden spoon in hand as she tastes the bubbling sauce. She’s an elegant, attractive woman with waves of thick hair and an apron tied over a brightly printed jersey dress. When she hears us come into the room, she greets Matteo with a smile.
A smile that falters when she sees me just behind her son. I was already wary about stepping into this house, and now I know I’ve made a huge mistake.
But Matteo nudges me forward before I can turn. “Ma, this is Adora Montoni. Miss Montoni, this is my ma, Sofia.”
Recovering quickly, Sofia Vici wipes her hands on her apron and comes forward to embrace me.
After what happened to her family, it wouldn’t shock me if she picked up a kitchen knife and stabbed it into my heart.
I stand stiffly and wide-eyed with my cheek pressed against her shoulder as she gives me a warm, motherly hug.
“It’s so good to meet you at last, Adora. Can I call you Adora? What an ordeal you’ve been through, you poor sweet girl.”
Her sympathy makes guilt lash at my insides. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I can go if you prefer. I don’t want to intrude.”