Page 7 of Forgive Me, Father

“What always happens?They fuck someone else hours before the wedding.”

“Testa di cazzo,” he said, and I chuckled.I didn’t know Italian.The language never took with me.Still, I knew a few cuss words.If I’m not mistaken, this one meant that he was a dickhead.

The man was attractive, he was covered with tattoos, and bleach-blond hair that reached his ears with piercing blue eyes and a stud in his bottom lip.

He screamed danger, but I needed dangerous now to get out of my miserable life.Or at least to forget about it.

He smiled gently, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes."So, what’s your next move?"

I shrugged, knowing I had no choice.“My family will force me to marry him.”

The man frowned.“Force?On Christmas Eve?”

I nodded as I explained.“It’s arranged.I wish I could get out of it, but this is my life.”

“You don’t say.”His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.I stared, searching for any clue that might explain why he was smiling."What if I told you I could offer you a way out?Would you at least listen?"

I nodded.Everything in my body screamed not to.That I was only getting myself into more crap.This guy could be a drug lord or worse, work in the human trafficking department.I could be in a crate in an hour, just by agreeing to hear him out.But my broken heart and the betrayal, still fresh in my mind, were pushing me to be reckless.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.He laughed.

“It’s not funny,” I murmured sadly.

“Sorry,” he said before he switched over to Italian.I’d always loved the sound of the words rolling off people’s tongues, but hated learning new languages.I wasn’t as clever as my sister.My mother never hesitated to remind me, always telling me how lucky I was to have beauty, since brains clearly weren’t part of my inheritance.

She could be so cruel, in ways that left deeper scars than I’d ever admit.But I wasn’t without my own gifts, talents she constantly tried to stifle.Art, for one.I found solace in my drawings, in the freedom of creating something that was entirely mine, an expression of myself that didn’t require approval.

The man beside me ended his call and stared at me with a twinkle in his eye.He got up from the floor and held out his hand for mine.I looked up at him, hesitant to take it.

My eyes caught the flicker of ink, a serpent’s tail curling just beneath the edge of his cuff.It was subtle, almost hidden.

It was a warning in plain sight.

My body screamed at me to run, to escape the danger that radiated from him, but my mind was set.Slowly, I placed my palm, and my life, into his, sealing my fate in the grasp of someone I barely understood and he helped me up.

Once I was securely on my feet, he pressed the button again, and the elevator moved, this time all the way up to the penthouse.

“My name is Nico,” he said, his voice calm but edged with urgency.“I need you to keep an open mind.Because I’m not just offering a way out for you, but for someone else caught in a situation a lot like yours.And I think I have the solution.”

What?!

“What is your name?”

“Camilla Santore.”

“Santore?That’s very Italian.”

“I know.My great-grandfather came from the old country.I’ve struggled to learn the language.I’m not good with languages.”

"I'm sure you have other talents," he murmured, his gaze sweeping down the length of my dress with deliberate slowness.Then he licked his lips, the gesture subtle but unmistakably predatory.A chill ran through me, leaving my skin prickled and exposed.I felt almost naked beneath his stare, as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

My heart fluttered as white walls and windows from floor to ceiling welcomed us.

My shoes glided on the marble tiles and I grabbed Nico’s arm to keep myself balanced.The penthouse was a vision in white.

Pristine white furniture sat like sculptural art pieces against polished marble floors, while plush carpets softened each step with quiet luxury.Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, offering a panoramic view of the glittering skyline, as if the city itself bowed to whoever owned this space.

A sweeping staircase of glass and chrome curved gracefully to a second level, hinting at even more decadence above.I was no stranger to wealth, I’d grown up in it, surrounded by it, but this,thiswas something else entirely.Whoever stayed here wasn’t just rich.They were powerful.Possibly even more than Philip’s family.Maybe even more than mine.