His Vow (Barbieri Billionaires #1)

Prologue - Lucia

Nineteen Years Before

S weat beads at my hairline. A wrinkle creases my forehead, and my lungs burn as I force my stick-thin legs to run faster up the stone steps.

We form a conga line of children racing up the rocky path that snakes from the sea to the villas on the clifftop.

Bruno and Giovanni up ahead, Antonio a couple steps above me, and Dante, my little brother, pushing his tiny legs to keep up.

I can’t be last and give Bruno another reason to call me “a weak girl.”

“ Ahhh ,” I squeal, missing the next step, landing hard and sprawling across the next two. My palms sting from the gravel pebbles embedded into the soft skin dotted with blood. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing heavily through the pain.

Don’t cry . Don’t. Cry . Bruno’s earlier nasty words still ring in my ears. He’s a bully who gets meaner with each passing summer, and normally, I stay well clear of his vicious tongue. But Papa insisted I take Dante to hang out with the older Barbieri boys next door.

Scuffed trainers land on the same step within my eyeline, but I don’t look up until the boy asks, “Are you okay?”

Antonio Barbieri is the American boy I’ve been crushing on ever since he arrived at his family’s villa on the Isle of Capri, along with his three brothers. Humiliation heats my cheeks more than the scorching afternoon sun that beats down on us.

“Sì,” I mumble as I roll over to sit on the step before burying my face in my curled-up knees. I don’t want him to see the evidence of my lie.

Dante slides in beside me, his little arm stretching up to reach halfway around my shoulders.

He’s only eight, and while at thirteen my shoulders aren’t much wider than his, I’m a head taller.

“Don’t cry, Lucia.” He offers the words of comfort, giving me away to the taller boy still towering over me, his body providing some welcome shade from the blistering heat.

“Your knee is bleeding,” Antonio states matter-of-factly before offering me his water bottle.

I take it, not sure if he means for me to drink it or use it to wash away the blood.

I do both, biting down on my bottom lip as the cool water hits the inch-long cut.

Despite my desire to remain strong, fresh tears well, then fall.

Antonio grabs the beach towel wrapped around his neck and bends to pat my knee dry, and I scrub my fingers across my face, removing all traces of the traitorous tears.

“Let’s go back to the beach,” he suggests. “We can have another swim before walking back to the villa.”

I nod. And with a helping hand from each of them, I stand.

At fourteen, Antonio is eye level with me, but if he’s like his older brother Gio, I’m sure that won’t always be the case.

“Thank you for stopping to help me,” I mumble, my head tilted down, still focused on my knee. Antonio’s pale-blue gaze, filled with kindness, is hard to hold.

“Lean on me too, Lucia,” Dante offers, and between them, we descend the stairs toward the beach.

When we reach the rocky shoreline, Antonio drops his towel and strides into the sea, paying no attention to the pebbles underfoot.

Dante, more cautiously, follows him, already showing signs of having found a new hero to worship.

The salty water is bound to hurt as it touches my raw flesh, but I can only hope the coolness will numb the pain a little.

I tread toward the sea in an awkward gait that’s half limp, half tiptoe.

The pebbles digging into the soles of my feet barely register.

And once the water laps at my knee, I bite down on my bottom lip and plunge in.

After the initial wave of pain rolls through me, I dive beneath the surface and let the refreshing water wash away the fresh bout of tears and any residual blood.

The sea has always held the power to soothe my frustrations and lift me up from disappointment.

It’s like a magic cure for everything, and by the time my head emerges from the blue again, the hurt has all but gone.

“Does that feel better?” Antonio asks from a little farther out from the shoreline.

“Sì,” I reply, a smile already pulling at my lips as the salty water runs down my face and drips off my chin. With slow strokes, I glide out to where Antonio and Dante are now floating on their backs, then turn on mine to join them, the three of us buoyant starfish.

“What’s New York like?” Dante blurts out, surprising me with his question.

But not Antonio, who tells us all about his home on the top floor of a high-rise in the middle of the city.

Living in Florence, I’ve never even seen a building that tall, and the idea of being up in the clouds sounds completely alien to me as I listen, just as awestruck as my brother.

One day, I’ll go to New York and all the other big cities, though I’ve never told anyone this, because I know it would anger my father. And Papa angry never ends well for anyone.

Dante continues to pepper Antonio with more questions about his life, and I smile. My brother is a shy, serious boy who is happiest when reading a book or playing a game on his computer. I’ve never known him to be so talkative, except with me.

The afternoon turns out to be one of the best, Dante firing random questions, Antonio giving them careful consideration before answering, all as we float in the Tyrrhenian Sea.

But as we climb the stairs to our villas with slow, lethargic steps, my limbs feel heavy, and I suspect I’m not the only one wishing today didn’t have to end.

“Here come the girls,” Bruno shouts from a balcony above us as we near the top, and my shoulders slump like a dark cloud has obliterated my sunshine.

I keep my head down, ignoring him. As he’s one of Antonio’s many cousins staying in the villa next door, my father would be furious if he heard me saying anything impolite to a Barbieri.

Antonio stops beside me, squinting up. “Shut up, Bruno,” he shouts, then mutters, “Jerk,” almost to himself.

Another couple of steps and we’re hidden from sight again, and I tug on Antonio’s arm, making him stop.

“Please don’t tell the others that I fell and cried,” I beg. “They’ll just tease me about being a girl.”

Confusion fills his gaze as he stares at me. “But you are a girl.”

“I know, but I don’t want them to notice.” I look away, unable to hold the intense expression turning his pale eyes darker.

“I don’t see how they can’t,” he mutters. “But I won’t say anything.”

Bruno bounds down the stairs to meet us, and Dante edges closer to me.

I know Bruno scares him. The horrible taunts are bad enough, but when they’re delivered with his special brand of threatening posturing to someone half his size, it’s downright mean.

I drop my arm around Dante’s shoulder, but Antonio moves to stand in front of us.

They are the same age and of similar size, though I’d guess Antonio is more athletic just from what I’ve seen and heard.

“What do you want, Bruno?” Antonio says with barely disguised disdain, and Bruno’s cheeks color. I cover my smile with my hand as I silently cheer Antonio on. It’s about time someone stood up to the bully.

“Just wondering why you stopped. I was winning,” Bruno whines.

Gio appears behind him, a taller, broader version of Antonio.

“As first to the gate, I’d say I was the winner.

” Antonio and Gio share a look I’m sure would be followed by a fist bump if they were standing closer.

I’d already gathered from the few times I’ve seen the boys together that all four brothers are close.

And as the two oldest, Gio and Antonio take their roles seriously, particularly when it comes to the younger two, Leo and Nico.

“Nice one.” Antonio steps around Bruno like he isn’t even there. “We decided to have another swim. It’s too hot for running.”

Bruno frowns at my brother and me, rather than his cousins. Of course he aims his malice at us, the weakest links, and Dante leans closer into my side.

“We’re going home,” I say, continuing up the steps to our villa next door. And as we draw level with Bruno, he blocks our path, ripping a gasp from my throat. We take a step sideways, but so does he.

“Leave them alone, Bruno,” Antonio says, grabbing his arm. “If you want a fight, pick on someone your own size, like me.”

Gio stands shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “Don’t be an asshole, Bruno.”

I bump Dante to go, and we run up the remaining stairs to our gate without looking back. Losing our chance to thank Antonio properly or even say goodbye.

When we’re safely back on our terrace, Dante voices the same thoughts in my head. “Antonio is nice.”

“He is,” I agree, trying to keep my voice neutral, as he’s the nicest boy I’ve ever met, and merely admitting that to my brother makes me blush.

“And I hate Bruno,” he adds, screwing up his face like he ate a plate of broccoli. Dante detests broccoli and will sneak it onto my plate behind our father’s back to avoid getting into trouble.

“Hate is a strong word, but I don’t like him either.” I turn to look down at the glimpse of blue far below.

What I don’t add is that Bruno just ruined my perfect afternoon.