Page 23 of His to Keep (Reluctant Vows #6)

E ilidh

Trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden stool at the kitchen island, I browse through various social media sites.

Afraid that logging into my own social media will alert the men who’re looking for me to my whereabouts, I asked Rosalia if I could use hers.

Perhaps I’m being paranoid. It may not be possible for someone to track me like that, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Thankfully none of my friends have made their accounts private, so I’m able to snoop to my heart’s content.

Rosalia slides over a cappuccino and a piece of almond cake with an apricot glaze.

She’s also made a platter of fresh fruit and there’s a bowl of Greek yoghurt.

This is my type of breakfast. I’ve never understood the appeal of eating fried crap first thing in the morning.

I wonder what Gio prefers. He strikes me as the type to choose a healthy option.

Of course, I could be wrong. Perhaps he devours his own bodyweight in bacon every day.

Taking a large bite of the dense, flavorful almond cake, I scroll down the page in front of me.

I’ve already discovered that my best friend Lia is studying medicine in Edinburgh like she always intended to.

Sophia is at the same university getting a physics degree.

That is a surprise. I always thought she’d go down the drama route; she loved acting in the plays we put on with our high school theater club.

I guess she succumbed to pressure from her parents to follow a more conventional career path.

Lauren, who I did Highland dancing and gymnastics with from the time I could walk, is a mother of two small boys. Her partner is Fergus MacNeil who used to bully her in the playground. I guess he liked her all along.

The page I’m looking at now belongs to Callum Barclay.

He’s changed so much I had to check his information a couple of times to make sure it was the same person.

Sadly, it is. The boy I once thought was the cutest on the planet now sports a weird goatee and has an impressive beer gut for a nineteen-year-old.

“I can’t believe I had a crush on this guy.” I turn the laptop around so Rosalia can see.

She grimaces. “You liked this guy?”

“He was cuter when he was fifteen. I thought he’d go the other way, you know, that he’d get all buff and manly.”

“You thought who would get all buff and manly?” Gio asks as he comes into the room.

He slept longer than me, something I doubt is typical of him.

I guess he wore himself out. After his brief episode of breathlessness, my super-hot husband seemed to want to prove himself by fucking me into the mattress not once but twice.

Then he woke me in the early hours of the morning by mercilessly teasing my nipples and playing with my clit.

That led to more fucking. He didn’t have trouble breathing again, but I’m worried he’ll work himself into an early grave trying to prove his physical prowess.

As Rosalia excuses herself and leaves the room, I bring the laptop back around to show Gio what I was looking at.

“I fancied this guy like mad when I was in school.”

“Guess you traded up.” Gio puffs out his chest.

Though his arrogance is justified in this instance, I can’t let him get away with it. “You sound like your cousin.”

“Ugh! Shoot me now.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Is Lorenzo really so bad?”

“Nah, I don’t suppose he is. He’s a cocky asshole, but it is kind of a family trait. Wait until you meet Leo and Matteo.”

Not wanting to think about meeting his family yet, I rake my eyes slowly over Gio’s fine form.

He’s wearing jeans and a black button-down shirt with black boots that look like they were polished to please a particularly demanding drill sergeant.

There’s no disputing that he’s an upgrade from Callum Barclay and his burgeoning beer gut.

“Are you going somewhere?” His appearance is a little smart for lounging by the pool I’ve only just learned is in a building at the edge of the garden.

“ We are,” he replies. “I thought you might want to go into Florence and buy some clothes.”

That would be fun. “Is it safe?”

“Yeah. Damiano’s sending a driver for us and Lorenzo’s going to meet us in the city.”

“Okay. Can Rosalia come with us?”

A little crease appears at the bridge of Gio’s nose. “You want to take the housekeeper shopping?”

His tone bugs me. “She’s friendly and I’m not exactly drowning in friends right now.”

He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then motions toward the laptop. “Is this because you were looking up old friends?”

“What?”

“Do you miss them? Do you want to reconnect?”

It’s the damnedest thing. Every day I was Jason Henry’s captive I dreamed of getting together with my friends, just to hang out and enjoy each other’s company.

Now, I don’t really care if I never see any of them again.

Too much has happened. Their social media posts, filled with their day to day nonsense as well as images from the big events in their lives are proof that we’ve drifted too far apart now.

Seeing them would be weird. It would be even more jarring than my brother’s sudden reappearance in my life was.

“No, there’s been too much water under the bridge. I wouldn’t know what to say to any of them now.” The way Gio tilts his head to the side and purses his lips tells me he doesn’t believe that. I decide to move the conversation on. “So, can Rosalia come with us?”

Gio shrugs. “She seems nice.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever makes you happy, kitten.”

“You know, I could end up becoming seriously spoiled if you keep saying things like that.”

“And I’ll enjoy indulging your every whim.”

A tear pricks my eye at his determination to make me happy. “Damn it, Gio, why do you have to say things like that?”

“Because I mean them.” The sincerity in his eyes kills me. “Now, do you want to get changed or go as you are?”

Since I didn’t expect we would leave the house today I dressed in the most casual outfit in the closet, gray yoga pants and a light pink t-shirt.

“I’ll change. We’ll probably get turned away from the boutiques if I’m dressed like this.”

“Nobody would dare turn you away if you’re with me.”

“My hero.” Jumping down from the stool, I stop to give Gio a quick kiss on the cheek. “What would I do without you?”

As I walk away I realize I don’t have an answer to that question.

Gio

As I lounge on the sofa in the sixth boutique we’ve visited, I’m grateful Rosalia came with us.

Though I’m enjoying watching my wife as she shops for the first time in years, I’m not equipped to deal with the fashion questions that arise.

Rosalia, on the other hand, knows whether ballet pumps or high heels are best to go with a particular pair of pants.

I’ve spent a small fortune, but I’d willingly part with every last penny to see Eilidh so happy.

“Have you spoken to Antonio?” Lorenzo asks. He’s leaning against a pillar in what to the untrained eye would be a casual pose. In his signature jeans and leather jacket, he gives every appearance of being at ease, but he’s alert to any potential threat.

“No.” It’s been a few days since I spoke to my oldest brother who strictly speaking is also my boss.

“Your mother is pestering him to bring you home. She wants to throw a party to welcome your new bride. She’s talking about giving you a real wedding.”

I roll my eyes. Give me a real wedding? As if it would be for me.

My mother loves weddings, but her sons keep letting her down.

While Antonio had a traditional ceremony, it fell to the bride’s mother to organize everything.

Alessandro married at short notice with only the family in attendance while both Leo and Matteo got married without any fanfare.

“She just had Livvy’s wedding. I’d have thought that would be enough.”

Lorenzo shrugs. “She had only a week to organize it. I think she had to make compromises.” He snorts and shakes his head. “It was quite the production, though. You should have seen it.”

There’s a note of censure in his voice. Perhaps I should have returned for the wedding of my only sister, but I wasn’t ready to go home. It would have been hard to leave again. My brothers would have talked me into staying.

“What are they like together, Livvy and Reznov?”

I can’t picture my younger sister with the notorious Bratva boss.

“They complement each other. He has that ice prince thing going and she has the Volante temper.”

“It’s not the Volante temper. She gets that from the Angelotti side of the family.”

My mother is too much of a lady to allow herself to fly off the handle on a regular basis, but when she does lose her temper she’s terrifying.

“Tell my poor mamma there’s no Volante temper. She suffered at the hands of my father’s for years.”

Shit. What am I supposed to say to that?

I am such an asshole for forgetting Lorenzo’s father was a major abuser.

He beat his wife so badly she suffered a permanent brain injury.

It’s an open secret that Damiano killed him, but he’ll never admit it.

The older soldiers in his organization disapprove of patricide, probably because half of their sons would love to wring their necks.

“But we shouldn’t dwell on such unpleasantness,” Lorenzo says. “We will soon have another happy occasion to celebrate.”

“What?” Everyone is married now. Is he telling me one of my siblings has a baby on the way?

“Your mother’s wedding.”

“Of course.” I am the worst son in the world. It completely skipped my mind that my mother is engaged to Piotr Reznov’s uncle who recently handed his nephew the reins of his organization. “I guess I’ll have to go home for that one.”

“Your mother would never forgive you if…” Lorenzo trails off mid-sentence. He stands up straighter. “We have company. Grab the girls.”

I don’t need to check out the threat for myself. If Lorenzo says we have a problem, I trust that he’s correct. I fling open the curtain separating the dressing area from the rest of the shop. Eilidh is standing there in only a bra and panties.

“Get dressed. We need to move.”

Rosalia looks startled, but Eilidh doesn’t hesitate. She pulls her dress on over her head and slips her feet into the tennis shoes she wore since she knew she’d be walking a fair bit today.

Lorenzo appears in the room, his gun drawn.

“I’ve called Damiano, but he’s twenty minutes away. We need to get out of here.”

I take my own Heckler and Koch P30 from the waistband of my jeans and follow my cousin as he heads through the store until we come to a fire exit.

It leads into a back alley where we have to squeeze past dumpsters to get to the street.

We both conceal our guns as we step out into public view.

It’s impossible to get back to our car, which is parked outside the store we just left, so we walk quickly in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” Eilidh hisses.

“I know a place,” Lorenzo assures her. “You will be safe there until backup arrives.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Some cars pulled up outside the boutique. The men in them were not ours,” Lorenzo explains. “I suspect they were Russians.”

Blending in with the crowd, made up largely of groups of tourists, we walk for two blocks. A black SUV crawls along the road toward us, the passenger scanning the streets.

“This way.” Lorenzo ducks down a narrow side street.

We come to an apartment block. Lorenzo presses the buzzer, speaks to the woman who responds in rapid fire Italian and the door swings open.

We make our way upstairs to the third floor.

The building is old, the staircase narrow and winding.

When we get to the top, the door to one of three apartments on this level is open.

“A friend lives here.” Lorenzo explains as we head inside. “We can stay until Damiano arrives.”

As we follow my cousin along the corridor, Eilidh grips my hand tightly.

I squeeze reassuringly, but my confidence that everything will be alright vanishes as we step into the living room.

A young woman with hair closer to blonde than brown sits on the sofa.

She’s pretty, but I don’t have time to wonder who she is.

A man stands behind her, dressed in an expensive black suit.

A gun rests on the back of the sofa beneath his hand, the back of which is tattooed with the distinctive skull and dagger insignia of the Barevsky Bratva.

Both Lorenzo and I draw our guns, but the man doesn’t raise his.

“Let’s put our weapons away, gentlemen.” His accent betrays the merest hint of a Russian accent. “I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you?” I demand.

“Adan Barevsky.”

I tense and Lorenzo stiffens next to me.

“What do you want?” Lorenzo asks.

Adan’s eyes slide to Eilidh. Instinctively, I step in front of her. The Russian smirks.

“Calm yourself, Mr. Volante. I merely wish to talk.” He lifts his hand off his gun and steps away. “Perhaps Signorina Lazzaro would be good enough to make us some coffee?”

The young woman on the sofa looks to Lorenzo for guidance. When he nods, she gets up and walks through a door on the right of the room, shooting my cousin a filthy glare as she passes. I know now that this is Lucia Lazzaro, the young chef Lorenzo has been pursuing.

“Now.” Adan motions toward the sofas set on either side of a low wooden coffee table. “Shall we sit? We have much to discuss.”