Page 7 of Heartless Vows

Yet again, he’s perfect consigliere material, if he’d just get his head out of his ass and see reason.

I toss the bag into my trunk and slide into the driver’s seat before pulling away from the derelict building and heading directly to my familial home. My senses heighten as weight settles onto my shoulders. Driving through the ornate gates only increases the guilt lodged in the pit of my stomach.

Even though I’ll inherit the entire estate, I haven’t considered this my home in years. It feels more like a job—or rather an unwanted responsibility I can’t escape—so I bought a multi-family townhouse near our work building and outfitted it for increased safety.

Self-hatred curdles my stomach. If I had welcomed my sisters into my home instead of selfishly keeping my private space to myself, would their futures look less bleak than they do now?

As the thought crosses my mind, I push it aside. Serenity and Nico are happy. Dwelling on what ifs only leaves a man trapped in the past.

I must remain in the present—with my sights on the future—for the sake of my family. My parents have survived the cutthroat world, but it’s time for me to take over and accept responsibility, no matter how reluctant my father is to step down.

Fiero may not have said it directly, but he hinted at the truth. I let my emotions box me in for too long. Now I need to lean into cold, hard calculations.

For my family. My parents. Camilla. Serenity and her growing family.

I park in front of the family garage and wave away the attendant before striding in through the side door of the house.

“Mio figlio, you’re home,” Mamma says from the kitchenette.

I stop to exchange kisses on the cheeks and accept her open scrutiny as any wise son would. After admonishing me for being away too long, she points me toward my father’s study and warns me against keeping him waiting.

As I pass the dining room, I note the preparations for guests but pay little attention since my parents enjoy hosting small lunch parties often, but the somber air as I step into my father’s study sends my brain into overdrive. Knowing better than to skip the formalities with my father, I greet both him and my uncle before following their lead and joining them on the couches.

When my father splays his fingers over his armrest and squares his shoulders, I mentally brace myself while maintaining my attentive yet comfortable posture.

“There are rumors we need to dispel.”

My heart lurches, but I blank my mind and relax my face. I haven’t tried to keep my activities a secret from him, but I never asked his permission to go on a torturous rampage, either.

We should be beyond this. I’m not a child. He raised me to take over the family empire, and I’ve proven more than capable, yet he stunts my authority at every opportunity.

“We never expected Serenity to marry first. What happened to Camilla was horrible.” Uncle Narciso rolls his glass between his fingers as he considers his next words. “But we salvaged the relationship between the Vivaldi and Russo families with your younger sister’s wedding.”

“It’s only been two months since Serenity married, but we can’t ignore the rumors when they’re costing us business,” my father says.

I quirk a brow despite the dread settling in my gut. This is not the topic I expected to discuss.

“Which rumors?” I ask.

“The ones about you being gay,” my father says.

“Or infertile,” Uncle Narciso sneers.

A muscle ticks in my father’s jaw as he clenches his teeth in disgust. My mind refuses to grasp the ridiculousness of the conversation.

It’s true I haven’t visited our clubs recently, but anyone with half an ear to the ground would know it’s because I’ve been busy elsewhere.

“You’re getting married in four months. We expect a pregnancy announcement before the end of the first year.”

I blink at my father. He must be joking, but his unwavering gaze tells me otherwise.

My parents always made it abundantly clear my marriage would never actually be mine, so the news doesn’t shock me, but the timing fills me with unease.

I fix my suit coat and relax deeper into the couch as though I don’t give a shit and meet his watchful eyes.

“Who am I marrying?”

“Aurora Achilles.”

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