Twisted Vows (Beautiful Gods #1)

Chapter 1

CARMELA

Ipull my car into the circular driveway of the Bianchi estate, gravel crunching under the tires.

The imposing stone mansion looms ahead, all sharp angles and old money.

This place hasn’t felt like home since our parents died, but Gio still insists on living here, keeping up appearances and tradition.

“Twice in one week, must be my lucky day,” I call out as I spot my brother waiting at the entrance, his tall frame rigid against the ornate doorway.

Gio’s face breaks into a smile. “Maybe I just missed my little sister.”

“Bullshit.” I kiss his cheek. “You never invite me over without a reason.”

“Can’t a man want to see his sister?”

I follow him through the marbled foyer into his study. The room smells of leather and cigars—Dad’s smell. Gio has done everything possible to become our father’s ghost, right down to sitting in the same chair behind the massive mahogany desk.

“You look tired,” I say, pouring myself a drink from the crystal decanter without asking. “Business keeping you up?”

“Business always keeps me up.” He loosens his tie, watching me. “How’s that gallery job going?”

“Boring as hell. Rich people buying art they don’t understand to impress people they don’t like.” I perch on the edge of his desk. “Cut the small talk, Gio. Why am I here?”

He laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Still impatient as ever. Remember when you were six and couldn’t wait for Christmas? You unwrapped all your presents two weeks early.”

“And you rewrapped them all so Mom wouldn’t find out.” I smile at the memory. “But you’re stalling.”

Gio sighs, leaning back in his chair. His playful expression melts away, replaced by something I rarely see—uncertainty. His shoulders tense as he drums his fingers on the armrest, jaw clenched tight.

My stomach knots. I’ve seen this look before, right before he told me Dad’s rivals had put a price on my head last year.

“Gio?” My voice sounds smaller than I intend. “What’s wrong?”

The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words. Whatever he’s about to say, I already know I won’t like it.

“Carmela.” Gio’s voice drops, all business now. “I’ve made an arrangement with another family. For you.”

I freeze, glass halfway to my lips. “What kind of arrangement?”

He meets my eyes, unflinching. “A marriage arrangement.”

The crystal tumbler slams onto his desk, whiskey sloshing over my hand. “You’ve done what?”

“It’s a good match. Strategic. The paperwork is already—”

“Paperwork?” I laugh, but it sounds more like a growl. “Are you fucking kidding me? You sold me off like I’m property and you’re sitting there talking about paperwork?”

Gio rises, palms flat on the desk. “I didn’t sell you, Carmela. This is an alliance—”

“An alliance?” I’m shouting now, heart hammering against my ribs. “This isn’t the nineteenth century, Gio! Women aren’t traded like baseball cards anymore!”

“You know how this works. You’ve always known—”

“Known what? That my brother would betray me? That I’d be shipped off to some stranger’s bed because it’s convenient for business?”

His jaw tightens. “Our family needs this. We need the protection, the strength this alliance brings. You’ve always understood what our name means, what it requires.”

“Don’t you dare.” I step closer, jabbing my finger into his chest. “Don’t pretend this is about family duty. This is about power. Your power.”

“Three families have moved against us in the last month alone. We’re vulnerable, and everyone knows it.”

I cross my arms, trying to contain the trembling rage. “So, I’m the sacrificial lamb? Your little sister for your seat at the table?”

Gio’s eyes soften. “I wouldn’t do this if there was another way. You know that.”

“Who is he?” My voice cracks despite my best efforts.

“A good man. Powerful. Respected.”

“His name, Gio.”

He hesitates. “You’ll meet him soon enough. The arrangements—”

“Fuck your arrangements!” I snatch my purse from the chair. “And fuck you for making them without me.”

I storm toward the door, tears burning behind my eyes that I refuse to let fall.

“Carmela, please—”

“Don’t.” I whirl around one last time. “You’re not my brother today. You’re just another mobster who thinks he owns me.”

The heavy door slams behind me with a satisfying bang that echoes through the marble halls of our family tomb.

I storm out of the mansion, heels clicking angrily against the marble steps. The midday sun hits my face, but I barely register its warmth against my flushed skin. My hands shake as I fumble with my car keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock my Mercedes.

“Fuck!” I slam my palm against the steering wheel once I’m inside, the leather cool against my burning skin. My breath comes in short, angry bursts as I start the engine. The tires squeal against the gravel as I peel out of the driveway, barely missing one of Gio’s pretentious garden statues.

Traded away. Like property. Like I’m nothing but a bargaining chip in his power games.

My vision blurs, and I pull over a few blocks from the estate, unable to drive through the rage clouding my mind. I need to get out, I need to do something before I explode. My fingers find my phone and dial the only person who might understand.

Sophia answers on the third ring. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemaker. What’s up, babe?”

“I need a night out.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Something wild enough to make me forget this whole fucking day.”

“Whoa, sounds serious. Are you okay?” Concern colors her tone.

I bite my lip, the urge to spill everything almost overwhelming. But no—I can’t talk about it yet, can’t make it real by saying it aloud.

“Just family bullshit. Nothing new.” I force a lightness I don’t feel. “You in or what?”

“Always in. Where are we going?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Ironically, I’m thinking of Gio’s club. Free drinks and the best DJ in the city. Might as well take advantage of the Bianchi name for something fun.”

“Perfect. I’ve got that new dress I’ve been saving for something special.”

“Wear it. We’re not holding back tonight.” I check my makeup in the rearview mirror, noticing the fire in my own eyes. “Meet me there at ten?”

“You got it. And Carmela? Whatever happened, we’ll fix it.”

If only it were that simple. “See you at ten.”