Page 40 of Vengeful Vows
I ball my hand into a fist.
“Jesus, Nico. Pull your head out of your ass. You’re wasting time we don’t have.”
I have no response. He’s correct. Roberto’s health continues to deteriorate, and the Moretti family needs me more than ever.
“This is a business arrangement, not a personal one,” Matteo reminds me.
He’s right, though I don’t acknowledge it.
Numerous times, Roberto has informed me that detaching from my emotions will be the key to my success as the future consigliere. I must be able to consider every angle of each complex problem that arises. It will be my job to give advice that mitigates risk and keeps law enforcement at arm’s length. I will need all my resources to be a counselor in addition to gazing into the future to avoid problems before they happen.
But when it comes to Isabella, it may already be too late.
“Don’t fucking let her carry your balls in her purse.”
Matteo’s crass words bring my back up straight.
Fuck you.“No woman leads me by the dick.”
Since that night at Alessandro’s engagement party almost six weeks ago, I’ve been biding my time.
The trip to Vegas was a turning point, and she is under my spell. Of that, I have no doubt. If my suspicions are correct, she’s more than a little in love with me already.
We spend many of our evenings together, and I talk to her first thing every morning. And even though she doesn’t realize it, I’ve assigned a soldier to look after her.
There are times our schedules conflict, and those gaps leave me ravenous for her, and I’m an asshole to those around me. I want her back in my arms, looking up at me with trust and adoration in her luminous hazel eyes.
Last week, I spoke with my uncle, asking for advice about a ring. He offered a Moretti family heirloom, but with sincere thanks, I refused. They belong to his children, not me.
Understanding, he recommended a jeweler, and I had a ring crafted to my specifications. It has a large, square diamond with four smaller accent stones—one for each child I’m determined we’ll have.
Once I picked up the exquisite piece, I carried it home and locked it inside the safe in my bedroom closet.
But the time hasn’t been right to take it out and propose.
Matteo and Don Raffaele are not the only ones wondering what I’m waiting for. I want to know as well.
But the truth is there, even though I don’t want to look at it.
Once I’ve claimed her publicly, I will no longer be able to hide my identity. The idyllic time we’ve shared will be shattered, and I know she’ll be devastated. A kinder part of me—one I had no idea still existed—doesn’t want to hurt her.
I shove aside the nagging voice that reminds me every move I’ve made for years has been driving me toward this point, righting a wrong.
After all, that’s the code I live by.
“Hit it or quit it.”
That’s as crass as it is insulting, no doubt as Matteo intends.
Much as I hate it, I understand his impatience. To him, there are much larger issues pressing in around us, threatening our livelihoods and potentially our lives.
“The Four Corners Alliance will meet for the first time in mid-February.”
Things are progressing.
After several rounds of revisions, from Matteo and his other brothers, Dario and Dante, Roberto, the don, and his lawyers, the letter I drafted was sent to the heads of the other families.
Typically, Roberto is the one to provide me with these kinds of updates, but we spoke earlier, and a coughing fit prevented him from sharing all he knows.