Page 14 of Broken Vows

“That’s Burley, my bodyguard,” Matteo says behind me. “Best you let him in before he breaks the door down.”

“Wouldn’t that be a nice way to thank Don Trapani for lending you his family yacht,” I sass him. I can’t show my fear, but I also know when I’m outnumbered. Between Matteo and Burley, I’m a matchstick. I unlock the door, and Burley slides it open, stepping into the room with a limp.

“Boss. What the hell? We’re almost out to sea again?” he huffs in a British accent. “I thought we were staying put for the night.”

Matteo grunts. “Ask her what’s going on. Stephano just took Tasha?—”

“You let her go then? Motherfucker.” Burley limps along, and I notice the bandage around his biceps and the way he presses a hand to his butt cheek.

Bullet wounds.

“She wanted to go!” Matteo shoots up, hands pulling at his hair. “What the actual fuck, Burley? Why would she do that if she wanted to cut my throat two weeks ago?”

That girl wanted to cut his throat? I like her already.

Burley stares at Matteo for a full minute before he slowly shakes his head. “Damn, you’re thick sometimes. She’s doing this to test you, you idiot!”

“What?” Matteo’s eyes widen. Then he swallows impulsively, as if this knowledge is a pill he is taking without water. “Fuck. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“She likes to push your buttons, boss, just saying. You’ve met your match.”

My gaze jumps between the two men. “What’s going on?”

“This is none of your business,” Matteo hisses. “And who the fuck invited you here in the first place?”

I quietly blow a fuse.

“Don Trapani, my Papa and owner of this yacht, asked me to comewelcomeyou to Cannes, totally oblivious of the human trafficking going on here,” I bite out, holding my finger up to let them know they better not interrupt me now.

Don Trapani is a powerful man. I don’t know anything about the Scaleras, but the fact I haven’t been gagged and tied up at gunpoint yet speaks volumes. This is a delicate diplomatic situation with scope for negotiations between two equally powerful parties.

“Now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, I know too much, don’t I? Maybe your business is none of my business, but once you’ve decided it’smy yacht, my business,let me know.” I level Matteo in my most cutting tone, straight from Swiss finishing school. “I’m not dealing with petty little Mafia mantrums today. I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.”

“Mantrums?” Burley blurts out, eyes wide.

“You heard right. Mantrums.” I volley my gaze between the two men. “Just like a tantrum, but the male version.”

I shake my hair over my shoulders, open the sliding door, and walk off, leaving Matteo to verbally spar with his bodyguard. I’m not waiting around for them to realize they aren’t going anywhere except the open Mediterranean. I’d rather take a nice long bath in my cabin to wash off this incessant heat.

I can read between the lines. At some point, Matteo will realize he hasn’t got a minute to lose to shut down that auction, to make the exchange—himself for the woman. With this yacht going at top speed, he better make sure he has enough time to turn back to prevent the worst from happening.

I take a detour to the bar where I grab a chilled bottle of champagne, head up to the bridge to make sure the captain understood my instructions, and then go down to my cabin. That innocent woman was wearing my clothes, so Matteo and his Mafia paws have been digging in my closet, too. Disgusting.

But as I sink into a warm bubble bath, the last thing I think about is Matteo rummaging through my closet. All I can think of is his brother’s hands. Stephano’s touch, the warmth of his hard chest as he held me tight, and the promise of every desire fulfilled when he whispered to me tobehave, as if he’d let me come only if I did exactly as he commanded me to.

Thatcouldn’t have been our last interaction. I know my style, and I know my type. Sexy as sin and completely in charge. He’s already managed to turn me on and gets bonus points for being from the States with sub-zero chances of me ever running into him again. He is the perfect man to meet all my needs tonight.

An hour later, a knock sounds on my door. Matteo took his sweet time, didn’t he? Dressed in a robe with my wet hair twisted in a towel, I get up from my bed where I’ve been reading a book I’d downloaded on my phone. Being without internet sucks, but I’ll take one for the team. I had to do something to get my mind off Stephano Scalera and his hands on me.

I open the cabin door. Matteo stands there, looking as if he’s aged a year in the short time we’ve been out at sea. Poor guy, getting seasick on this yacht that has zero rolling or pitching. But no, that isn’t his problem.

“Gigi, I—” he breaks off. “We need to head back to Cannes.”

“Oh. Why?”

“For fuck’s sake, woman,” he mutters, so soft it’s barely audible. “I need to stop this virgin auction from happening.”

I lean against the door jamb and fold my arms over my chest. “And why’s that?”

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