Page 4 of Heartless Vows

“Hurry, she’s grumpy,” I whisper.

He closes his mouth with an invisible zipper and tosses the imaginary key over his shoulder. I place a kiss on his forehead and usher him down the stairs without another word.

We say good morning to the chef and eat toast and eggs—and my favorite morning spinach mix—while sitting at the bar as he prepares for my mother’s more elaborate meal. Before she glides down the stairs, I rush him out the front door, shake hands with Mr. Hearthright, and wave goodbye as our driver maneuvers the SUV through the front gates.

I turn around and freeze at the sight of my mother standing in the front doorway. She summons me into the ornate diningroom with a tilt of her head and perches in her normal seat at the table as I drop my duffle on the floor beside the wall and settle in the seat beside her.

“You’ll meet your betrothed today.”

My entire body locks in shock. I stare at her as my brain struggles to process her words.

“He needs an heir. You’ll agree to give him one. Don’t speak a single fucking word otherwise, or you’ll never see your brother again.”

I blink and wonder what hellhole I fell into this morning.

She scoffs, picks up her steaming coffee, and glares at me out of the corner of her eye.

“What do you say, Aurora?”

I swallow but can’t force myself to respond.

“Don’t pretend this is a shock. You’re eighteen now. This was going to happen eventually.”

She sips her coffee and leans toward me. The evil gleam in her eyes curdles my stomach. I flick my attention between her face and the scalding coffee as it teases the rim of her mug. Just before it escapes onto my arm, I nod.

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

As my father’s footsteps sound on the stairs, she sneers, sets down her drink, and demands I be presentable by lunchtime before shooing me away.

I grab my duffle and escape out the side door without greeting my father. As I approach the car, the bulky driver snaps to attention and rushes to open my door for me. I thank him and request a ride to the gym as I drop into my seat.

He shuts the door, closing me in deafening silence as my mind reels from my mother’s decree. I press my palms over my eyes, uncaring about my makeup, and take several calming breaths before staring out the window in mute shock as the world rolls by.

Nothing matters so long as Tristan is safe. I don’t even care who I’m marrying, why an heir is so important to them, or how dangerous it’ll be for me to be pregnant. All I need is more time. Just a little more time.

My pep talk doesn’t work.

Dread builds in my chest.

Chapter 2

Giorgio Vivaldi

I toss the bloody knifeon the table with the other rusty tools and wipe my hands on the white rag but grimace as it smears sticky crimson over my skin. With an angry snarl, I fling the useless fabric onto my latest victim’s face and stomp to the adjacent room—the abandoned diner’s kitchen—to wash my hands.

Fiero chuckles and leans against the counter, far out of my reach.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You fuckingstronzo,” I snarl.

He crosses his arms over his chest and gives a smug shrug.

“Serves you right for not checking your surroundings before you started slicing and dicing,” he says.

I roll my eyes and lather up to my elbows before rinsing the last of the suds from my arms. When I start a second round of scrubbing, my closest and most annoying friend sighs and stands with a shake of his head.

“I’m guessing they didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear?” he remarks.

“You’d know if you’d stayed in the room,” I growl.

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