Page 30 of Not Mine to Keep

“Is that why you never pursued music professionally? You didn’t want to be like her?”

“A little bit, yeah. But in my twenties, it felt like there was a piece of me missing, and I finally gave in to my passion. I devoured anything and everything I could music-related and never looked back.” She let go of her ring and gripped the chair’s arms. “But yeah, Armani forced me to get bloodwork after the funeral, and that was when I discovered why she really abandoned me.”

“And he’s been the bane of your existence ever since.”

“Yup, and this is the first time I’ve talked about this with anyone other than Aunt Tia.”

“How’d your aunt handle the aftermath of Armani finding out?”

“I used to tease my aunt for being so paranoid my whole life. No listed number. No social media, either. Turns out, she was trying to protect us from Armani and not just worried Big Brother was listening in. Once the cat was out of the bag—God, I hate that saying—she blamed herself for taking me to the funeral and dug in her heels even deeper on the whole paranoid and overprotective thing.”

“So what changed?”Because something must’ve, or she wouldn’t be on a cruise now.

“She said she had a plan for before Armani tried to force my hand at marriage. Some former military guys she knew in Kentucky who’d helpout, and she wouldn’t tell me how.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I forced her to take the dream trip she’d been planning for forever, reminding her I had time and protection—whether I wanted protection or not.”

The more I heard, the more I liked her aunt.

“Just sounds so strange when I say everything aloud. Like how can this be my life?”

“I ask myself that almost every day about my own,” I slipped and admitted.

“You do?” Her brows lifted in surprise.

I shifted in my seat, shocked at how candid I’d been with her. “Maybe we should talk about something else now instead?” My suggestion came out a bit rough, probably more like a demand. “I think you should know about Rocco Barone. Why he’s so dangerous.” I needed to focus on the mission. “In case you have any doubts about me as who you should marry, you should—”

“I don’t want to get married, and I’ll do my best not to let that happen.”

“Ditto,” I rasped, eyes meeting hers again. “But Rocco, you should know about him anyway.” She nodded, and I took that as my cue to give her the CliffsNotes version that was inside the envelope I’d given her, which she’d yet to read. “Rocco’s family is in the business of war. They’re hired by everyone from corporations to terrorist groups to create conflicts in certain regions.”

“I teach history, so I can guess why.”

“War is a profitable business for some.” And that was the messy truth. “It can also create instability and a power vacuum, and there’s usually someone looking to fill that space, and they’re willing to do what it takes to get that power. Rocco’s father has been in this business since the 1980s. Rocco is being groomed to take over, but he’s a sadistic son of a bitch and takes pleasure in being the one to help create conflict. There’s no man, woman, or child that will stand in his way from completion of a job.”

Her eyelashes fluttered closed at the truth, but she needed to hear it.

“His family is Italian, but no one knows where they currently live. Heavily protected. Always moving around. But an alliance through marriage with the oldest mafia group in Italy, and well, all of Europe, would make them truly unstoppable. So there are many reasons this mancannotbecome your husband. Not to mention the fact he’d take you off the grid.”

“Well, you said you won’t let that happen, so I guess it’s time I start trusting you to keep your word.”

CHAPTER TEN

Calliope

Catania, Sicily

“I thought Gabriel would be here. Where is he?” Alessandro blocked my path down the steps with his body, not ready to trust the men waiting for us.

The Monday morning sunlight fell overhead, and I had to shield my eyes when peeking around him to see if I recognized the goons Armani had sent. “Frankie,” I said under my breath, not a fan of my father’s guard who shared an uncanny resemblance to Sylvester Stallone circa the 1990s.

Frankie broke through a pack of five other guards and hung back at the bottom of the steps.

“Gabriel’s back at the estate. He’s in a meeting with Mr. DiMaggio about the information we learned.” I was kind of surprised Frankie had bothered to speak English for me, considering from what I remembered he deplored anything and everything American.

“What new information?” I piped up before the six-one (maybe six-two?) blockade of muscle before me could. My knees were weaker than my stomach right now, so I snatched hold of the railing at my side.It was three in the morning Nashville time, so my body was trying to remind me where I belonged, and it wasn’t on a tarmac in Sicily.

Frankie answered, “Not for me to say.” He beckoned us with a flick of his wrist, waving us over to three blacked-out SUVs. Tinted-to-the-max windows. Black rims. Not a lick of silver in sight on the Escalades. “We have a little over an hour drive. Let’s not keep Mr. DiMaggio waiting.”

Alessandro turned to the side, and I was still holding the railing with both hands like I was a mermaid with new legs, unsure how to use them. Okay, maybe it was more than fatigue hitting me. I was about to face Armani and potentially marry either Alessandro or a psychopath. Reality of my hell had caught up with me, and hard.

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