Chapter Two
Vittoria
Earlier that day
“Papa, please.” I begged, “Don’t make me!”
My father stood at the threshold of my bedroom while my maid hustled around the room opening blinds and pulling suitcases from my walk in. Apparently, I was to get married today, to a man I’d never met.
“No need to pack her belongings,” Papa instructed the maid without glancing in my direction. “Her husband will provide for Vittoria now.”
Panic clawed at my throat. “But Papa, who will take care of you? You know you need me. Who else will make sure you take your medication on time?”
It was a stretch, but I played the only hand I had left and held my breath, waiting for his response.
When he turned around, his eyes were cold with fury. “My medication? You think I am an old man who needs nursing, eh?”
“No, Papa,” I mumbled, bowing my head.
His gaze softened and he came to lay a hand on my arm, wrinkled but scarred and still strong.
“I will be fine, Colombina. And you will obey me in this and do your duty to this family. I have allowed you to cast your other suitors aside, but not this one. There will be no escaping your fate this time.”
He turned and closed the door behind him.
The breath I’d been holding escaped in a strangled gasp.
Colombina. Little dove.
He only used the childhood nickname when delivering bad news or making it clear that what he was saying was non-negotiable. Which meant that if I didn’t come up with a plan quickly, I’d be married in just a few hours.
I swore I’d never be forced into a marriage of convenience, and I wasn’t about to let it happen after successfully avoiding it not once, but three times.
My maid stood with her head down, wringing her hands in front of her.
Her body language expressed my sentiments…
that today felt more like a funeral than a celebration.
With her busy organizing brought to an abrupt halt, she appeared at a loss for what to do.
Poor Lise, she wasn’t much older than I, and her time serving me had been a dramatic one, but never had she looked so upset.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Calogerà.”
“Don’t be sorry, just help me.” I moved to my walk-in and rummaged around. “First, I need a disguise, Lise.”
No response.
“Lise?” I poked my head out. “A little help here.”
Unshed tears glistened in her eyes.
“I can’t. Your husband-to-be sent a small army of men to ensure you are escorted from the premises, and the staff have been told by your father that anyone who helps you will be fired on the spot.
I just can’t, I’m so sorry.” Lise turned and fled the room, leaving me to pick my jaw up off the floor.
A small army? Who the hell was I marrying?
For the first time, a thread of panic wound itself through the fury and outrage tying knots in my heart.
I had no illusions. I knew from a very young age what it meant to be part of the Calogerà family, let alone the only child of an aging Don.
No, not a ‘child’. A daughter. Not a son, who could take on the responsibilities and authority of the family, but only a daughter.
It was no secret that my role in the family was to someday further my father’s prospects through marriage.
Many offers had been made, and three had even come to a formal engagement before I’d managed to run them off for good.
In a higher-ranking mafia family, my behavior would never have been tolerated, but despite his reputation for cruelty, my father was never strict with me.
Indeed, in the last ten years, he’d scarcely been home long enough to notice my indiscretions, let alone punish me for them.
I’d always been able to navigate around his half-hearted efforts at controlling me to live almost freely.
If it hurt my reputation, so much the better.
Fewer suitors to contend with. I was not completely blind to the harm I might have done to my father’s reputation as well, but he ruled his small piece of the underworld well, and as long as he did that, my place seemed assured.
But in our world, nothing was ever truly secure.
Winds change. Alliances shift. Fathers start wars that daughters must end with marriage vows.
I knew this, even if I never believed it would happen to me.
But even in the highest ranking families, I was sure the daughter being married off like cattle knew to whom she was being married.
So far, I hadn’t been told. Didn't I at least have the right to know his name?
If I could get Papa to tell me that much, maybe he'd listen to a few more of my thoughts about this last-minute marriage... perhaps even a way out of it.
I opened my bedroom door and made to step out when two large men in suits sporting holsters on their hips blocked me.
“Excuse me. I need to speak with my father.”
“Sorry, Ms. Calogerà, but our orders don’t allow for you to leave your room until it’s time to leave.”
I would kill my fiancé with my bare hands when I saw him. But right now, anger wouldn’t help me get out of this room. I needed to think. “Was I also barred from having visitors?”
The men exchanged a look. Ha! I had them.
“Just as I thought. Please send for my maid to help with my hair.” And before they could respond, slammed the door in their faces.
I couldn’t help the smirk. Finding a way to get one over on those apes in suits was just the ego boost I needed.
When Lise arrived, I’d soon convince her to help me, but as the minutes ticked by and no Lise was in sight, my smirk soon turned to a frown.
I worried my lip. Now what? Think… think…
you know what you have to do, Vittoria, just do it!
Nabbing my purse off the dresser I grabbed two credit cards and a bank card from my wallet and whatever cash I had.
Pinning up my long wavy hair allowed me to hide the cards and cash in the bird’s nest on the top of my head.
I giggled, admiring the mess in the mirror.
Let my fiancé behold his vision of loveliness.
Oh, good idea, V. I patted myself on the shoulder.
Digging through my closet at the very back under the last shoe rack was a pair of unflattering grey sweatpants and a faded ACDC t-shirt.
I added mismatched socks and a pair of sneakers that had somehow escaped the garbage.
I wrapped a scarf around my hair and then tackled my make-up.
Adding black and brown under my eyes not only made for some serious bags, but also made me look older and a little unhealthy.
If all else failed, maybe my fiancé would call off the wedding himself once he got a good look at me.
If he had so many men at his disposal, he must be rich, and rich men expected polished, obedient wives.
They were about to be deeply disappointed.
I was running out of time, only fifteen minutes before the goons would collect me.
With guards at every door, sneaking out the back of the house was out of the question.
But, if I could get down the trellis outside my window in one piece, I could pass myself off as one of the gardeners working in the shrubs below.
I opened the window and peered down. It seemed a lot higher than I remembered, and the trellis was shorter. Previously, the lattice reached within a few feet of the ground, but my father had it cut halfway up in his attempts to stop me from sneaking out.
This right here, if I pulled it off, would be my greatest home escape in some time.
Despite my excitement over a plan, my heart hammered as I slithered over the window frame and leaned on the edge until I could take my first step.
I gripped the trellis tightly, when the worn wood groaned under my weight.
No more pasta if I survive this, I swore as I moved unsteadily down a structure meant to support flowering vines, not human beings.
With each step, a creak, groan or crack made me hesitate.
There was no point in attempting to escape only to fall and break a leg.
I bet the beastly man would still make me walk down the aisle even with a cast on.
But at this rate, my time would run out and they’d catch me before I made it to the bottom.
"Damn that man, whoever he was!" I kicked the trellis in frustration. The brittle wood gave way beneath my foot. I scrabbled to find purchase with my feet, but the wood had taken enough punishment. Above me, the lattice pulled away from the exterior of the house.
“Argh!” My last cry lingered in the air as a strange calm settled over my panic. Closing my eyes to hide from the inevitable, my body floated, defying gravity for one moment. The air whooshed out of my lungs as I plummeted straight down.
At least if I died, the wedding would be called off.
Whoomph! My breath slammed out of my body as I crashed into the solid form of a person rippling with muscles.
The scarf flew off my head with the impact, cards and money scattering on the ground around us.
I groaned inwardly, cracking one eye open, taking in the most handsome face I’d ever seen.
His eyes were a smoky amber, like expensive cognac, and the primal expression in those smoky depths told me that he was a man used to getting what he wanted.
But as he spoke, his eyes sparkled becoming more gold, the edge from a moment earlier lightening with something akin to humor. “That’s a first,” he said nonchalantly and gently placed me on my feet. “Do you make a habit of falling out of windows, Ms…?”
Oh, the man had a growly husky tone to his voice that had my insides turn to goo.
“Uh.”
He bent down and picked up the contraband, not looking at my identification. Thank goodness. He handed it to me, his lips pulled into a smirk. “Your name is Ms. Uh?”
“How silly of me. It’s Ms. Neapolitan.” I grasped the first thing that came to mind, and it was ice cream. Not just any ice cream but my favorite flavor. Creamy and slathered with fudge sauce, smeared all over his—