Page 2 of Vow of Vengeance

CHAPTER 2

Haze

I saw her, I wanted her, now I’m here to take her.

I need a wife. I demand revenge. This girl will give me both.

When I moved to Italy at the age of twenty-five, my boss offered to arrange my marriage. Liam thinks young men transplanted from New York should marry upon arrival. He worries that the beautiful Italian women drawn to the Villa distract us from our work. Lydia, a local vineyard owner’s daughter, was offended when I politely declined to arrange a meeting with her father.

A decade later, I’m still single.

I don’t do relationships.

I prefer casual, one-night-only hook-ups with women who know I will not be calling the next day or any day after that.

Frustrated by my never-ending bachelor status, Liam’s now holding the promotion I want over my head, telling me I’d be better suited for the position if I “settled down.” Despite everything inside me screaming to run back to the family branch in New York, I decided to take advice from Liam’s sweet, well-meaning wife.

Sitting beside Emilia in her private library at the Villa, I allowed her to create an online dating profile for me.

The profile was the catalyst for beginning the chain of events that now, eight months later, with no promotion in sight, have led to me standing in the bedroom of an eighteen-year-old girl?—

And a boy standing beside her who’d best get his ass out that window.

“Now,” I say.

The boy asks me what I want.

It’s simple. “I’m here for Ophelia.”

Her gaze stays steady on mine—wary but brave.

Petite with porcelain skin, her bright, blue eyes starkly contrast with her dark, almost black hair. With rosy cheeks and lips, she resembles an edgier version of a fairy-tale Snow White. Her long hair is still damp from showering. She wears cream pajama bottoms adorned with Christmas trees and a white tee. Judging by the peak of her nipples under the shirt, she wears nothing underneath.

No makeup, tattoos, or jewelry, other than the unique string of three intertwined strands of pearls hanging around her slender neck that I’ve been told she never takes off. I want to tear her shirt and pants off and have her stand there in just those pearls, dark hair spilling over her bare breasts. Feeling my eyes on her chest, she crosses her arms in front of her.

My revenge, my retribution in the flesh. My fingers itch to reach out and touch her, to punish her for her mother’s actions.

It’s wrong—she’s only a child. I should punish the mother.

The boy pipes up again, saying something about calling the police. He’s like the midges, the non-biting flies we have at the lake—a bother, but not worth killing. My full attention is on the beautiful girl in front of me.

“The boy should be going now,” I say to her. “I’m here to discuss your mother’s debts. I believe she owes me something.”

The pink in her cheeks slowly drains as my words settle in. She knows. She must. How could she have afforded such an expensive necklace?

“My mom…” Her words trail off as if acknowledging her family’s guilt.

Under thick, dark lashes, her attention flits from me to him, then back to me.

She speaks to him while never taking her eyes off mine.

“Go,” she finally says. “I’ll be fine.”

He’s unsure, but with an encouraging glance from me, he’s scrambling over the windowsill, calling, “Call me later, Phee.”

There’s a thud and a groan.

She runs to the window, looking out. “Who are those men? What are they doing to him? Carter!”

“Nothing to worry about. Just a few of my men letting him know he’s not welcome back,” I say, crossing the room.

She moves away from me as I approach. I close the distance between us, shutting the window. I stand before it, blocking her view of the boy on the ground below. Two of Liam’s younger brothers gather Carter up and carry him to the back of the waiting black Escalade.

She moves further away from me, pacing to the doorway of her room. At no point does she consider running. With my men outside, there’s nowhere for her to go.

She glances down the hall. “My family will be back any minute.”

She’s a terrible liar. “I don’t think so.” I know exactly where her family is right now. “I’ve given them the evening off from babysitting.”

“You know where they are?” she questions and eyes me. “Are they safe? Are they okay? What are you doing to them?”

“Nothing. They’re perfectly fine.”

“Where are they?”

“The Villa at Bachman Villa.”

Her blue eyes widen. “The Bachman Villa? I know they said they were going to a place called the Villa, but the Bachmans’? Why would they be there?”

I’m sure she has some preconceived notions about us Bachmans—most do. I humor myself. “What have you heard?”

Looking at the ground, she stutters, “Y-you have branches in New York, Greece, here in Italy. Dangerous, violent. You’re some kind of…I don’t know…”

Unwilling to say the word, she shrugs.

“Mafia?” I ask.

The color comes back to her cheeks. “Something like that.”

“We prefer to think of ourselves as a family—a band of brothers.”

She drags her gaze up to mine. “What does any of this have to do with my family?”

“They’re discussing our arrangement.”

“Whose arrangement?”

“The one my family is making with yours. Your family owes me.” I eye her clutter-free room. Books line some shelves—all organized by color—her bed is perfectly made, the quilt's corners tucked in tight. It’s nothing like the messy space I’d imagined. “A lot.”

Looking uncomfortable, she shifts her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms tighter around her body. Now, she looks as if she wants to run. I should let her go and find the woman who is truly at fault, but the mother would demand some deeper connection from me, which I’m unwilling to give.

“You know something about what your mom has done, right?” I ask.

“I don’t know what I know,” she says, shaking her head and looking away.

“What does that mean?” I wait for her answer.

Finally, she shudders a sigh. “I don’t know what she did to bring you here, but recently, I felt like something was… off.”

“Like what?”

“My school stopped offering scholarships last year. I’ve got a job, but fast food only covers enough for books and supplies. I was supposed to transfer to the local school for my final year, but a week before term began, somehow, my mom magically came up with the money. She told me she’d paid for this semester. In full.” She stops her fast-talking to catch her breath, then shakes her head. “That school costs a fortune. How did she come up with that kind of money so fast?”

She eyes me, searching for answers.

“And the necklace?” I eye the pearls that hang below the lovely curve of her chin. “Did your mother suddenly come up with the money recently as well?

“It was a gift.” Her fingers go to the pearls, clutching them lightly. “From a lifetime ago. Someone gave them to my mom. She gave them to me the day I turned eighteen.”

“June ninth.”

She narrows her gaze. “How do you know my birthday?”

“I know everything about you. And your mother,” I say. “And your grandparents, as well.”

Soon, I’ll know everything about her. I’ll memorize every inch of her beautiful, virgin body, as well as how she tastes. The sounds she makes when she moans in pleasure and when she cries out in pain.

“She conned me out of ten thousand euros.” I bite back the hit to my pride. “Through an internet scam,” I say. “And you’re going to pay it back. Every. Single. Euro.”

“You want me to pay mom’s debts?” Her voice rises. “One semester of tuition is ten thousand? How can I come up with that kind of cash?”

“Ten thousand? It was ten times that.”

Her jaw drops open. It takes her a moment to recover. She says, “I’m eighteen! I microwave burgers for a living.”

She’ll never have to lift a finger when she’s mine... unless it’s to please me. “I don’t need money. The debt she owes me is one side of a two-sided coin. Heads, she will repay the money by giving me something precious,” I say.

“And tails?”

“I want to make her suffer.”

Her eyes flick to mine. Her words drop to a whisper. “That’s cruel.”

“It’s a cold, cruel world. The sooner you accept that fact, the easier it will be for you to join it.”

“Me? Join your world?” Her gaze hardens. “Why do you want me? You know nothing about me.”

I need to touch her. To hold what is now rightfully mine.

I cross the room to her and take her in my arms. I pull her against me. Her body is taut, rigid, stretched tight like the string on a violin waiting to be plucked. To make beautiful music for me.

I move my mouth to her ear. My words heat against her skin, stirring her coconut-scented hair with my breath. “I know your mother owes me a hell of a lot of money. I know you’re the most precious thing in the world to her.” She begins to tremble in my arms. “And she must pay back the greatest debt of all.”

“What would that be?” she whispers.

“Respect. Your entire family will learn—if you disrespect a man of the Bachman Brotherhood, the consequences will be painful.”