Page 47 of Not Mine to Keep

“Haven’t heard from him yet. But looks like Costa beat the suitor I’d hoped you’d marry to the punch in killing the targets,” Armani shared, and I faltered at the second part of what he’d said.

“Wait, you sent Rocco Barone there, too?” Gabriel pushed his hands into his pockets, his forehead creasing as he stared at his boss, mirroring my own shock. “Rocco is in Rome?”

“You don’t need to know everything I plan.” Armani wrapped a hand over Gabriel’s shoulder. “But of course, I had to give him a chance as well.”

“Looks like the best man won, then,” I couldn’t help but remark, hating the idea Rocco was currently in the same city as Alessandro. What if that monster was why I’d yet to hear back from Alessandro?

“You should’ve told me.” Gabriel backed away from Armani’s touch, eyes on Marcello now. “And the fact you let him back in your home when he has the most to gain from her death ...”

“Watch yourself.” Marcello stretched his neck, tugging on the lapels of his suit jacket as if itching to strangle the life from Gabriel. Or more like me.

“You two were like brothers before—”

“She came into your life,” Marcello cut Armani off, earning him a sharp look from his boss. “Rocco is the better choice. I stand by that.”

“And he lost. If he can’t kill the man who tried to murder my daughter, then he can’t protect her when one day I’m not around to do so.” The idea of needing Armani’s protection was insane; I wanted nothing to do with him or his empire. If only he didn’t care so much about his bloodline, I could make him see that, make him understand I could never be like him or replace him. “I’ll be notifying the Baronesthe deal with their family is off. Calliope will marry Alessandro.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and produced his phone. “An unknown number calling. Answer it.” His attention volleyed between Gabriel and Marcello as if unsure who he wanted on the call, then he tossed the phone to Gabriel.

Gabriel brought the phone to his ear and quickly shared, “It’s Emilia Calibrisi on the line, and she wants a word.”

Armani looked at me instead of taking the phone from him. “Tomorrow morning, you get fitted for your wedding dress. You’re to be married in the church where I wed my wife. No formal reception. Just dinner. Then straight to consummating your marriage.”

“Wait, what?”Consummate?“You can’t be serious.”

Armani snatched the phone from Gabriel but didn’t bring it to his ear. “I need you to take this seriously. Tomorrow night, you’ll start the process of providing me with a grandson.”

The process?“Sex,” I cried under my breath. “You can’t even say it yourself. You don’t want your own men checking me out in a dress, but you think you can force me to—”

“There are more efficient ways the doctors can ensure you wind up pregnant. The choice is yours.” Armani then brought the phone to his ear, talking in Italian on his way out.

“Artificial insemination or your future husband,” Marcello, the prick, remarked, as if I couldn’t read between the disgusting lines. “Your choice.” He looked to Gabriel and hissed, “Stop treating her like glass. If she’s going to become the head of this organization, she needs to toughen up. And if you ever come after me again or try to get Armani to turn on me, I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

Chills racked my spine as I watched Marcello leaving. “He can’t force me to get pregnant.”

Gabriel reached for my arm, urging me to sit, but I could barely budge, too repulsed and shocked. “At least Alessandro is the one marrying you tomorrow and not that psychopath. Well, as long as he—”

“Makes it out of Rome alive?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Calliope

Me:Tell me you’re okay.

After ten minutes and still no response from my text to Alessandro, I went into the en suite bathroom and started the tub, prepared to take my second bath that day in the hope that it’d somehow calm my nerves. Drown out my wild, panicked thoughts. Well, technically it was after midnight, so it was a new day.My wedding day, dammit.

I double-checked the door to ensure it was locked, then texted him again. Of course, I’d called, too, but the line kept going to voicemail.

Me:I’m worried. I know Esposito is dead. But I also heard Rocco’s in Rome. Please, please tell me you’re okay.

Nothing.

If he was fine, why wouldn’t he message me? Call me?

I removed my cotton pajamas that had cute little bananas with sunglasses on them (a gag gift from a coworker) and tossed them and my plain cotton underwear on the counter. I’d packed the least sexy nightwear I had, preferring no one in Armani’s home ever see me in anything I’d normally wear to bed—an oversize sports tee and panties.

One more check of my phone before I went into the clawfoot tub, goose bumps forming all over my skin. With my foot, I stretched myleg, turning the water on at full blast to help fill it quicker, then startled at the knock on the door.

Another loud knock, followed by, “It’s me,” had me bolting from the bath.

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