Page 2 of Made for Reign

Then the cancer came.

Two years ago, we buried him on a Tuesday morning while snow fell on the mountains he loved. I thought the worst part was over.

I was wrong.

The debt hit us like a freight train three months later. Dad had been borrowing against the company for years to fund his expansion plans and my stepmom Lucille’s lavish lifestyle. When he got sick, he kept making deals, kept taking loans, convinced he’d beat the cancer and make it all back.

That’s when Giovanni Vega appeared.

Fresh out of a five-year prison sentence, the former MMA fighter and notorious mob boss came knocking on our door with an offer that made Lucille’s eyes light up with dollar signs.

“Clean slate,” he’d told her over lunch at the country club while I sat there like a piece of meat being appraised. “All debts forgiven. Worthington Sports stays in the family name.”

The price? Me.

And instead of telling him to take a hike like she should have, Lucille practically jumped across the table to shake his hand.

“Think of it as a merger, darling,” she’d said later that evening, sipping her evening martini like we’d just discussed the weather. “The Worthingtons and the Vegas. It has a nice ring to it.”

I’d stared at her in disbelief. “You’re talking about my life.”

“I’m talking about survival.” Her voice had turned cold, the way it always did when she was done pretending to care about my feelings. “Your father left us drowning in debt, Audrey. This is our chance.”

Our relationship had never been warm, but that moment crystallized everything I’d always suspected. That to Lucille Worthington, I was just another asset to be leveraged.

The server returns with our drinks, setting down three tall glasses filled with cherry-red liquid. I grab mine immediately and take a long sip, welcoming the burn.

“So, what’s the plan?” Iris asks after we’ve all had a drink. “You fly back tomorrow, get engaged to Scarface, and live miserably ever after?”

“His name is Gio, and he doesn’t have any scars.”

“That you can see,” Violet mutters.

I drain half my Dirty Shirley in one go. “Look, it’s not forever. Just long enough to stabilize the company and figure out an exit strategy.”

“And what if there is no exit strategy?” Iris’s voice is gentle but pointed. “What if Gio never lets you go?”

The question hangs in the air like smoke. I’ve been trying not to think about that possibility, but it lurks in the back of my mind constantly.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“Your dad wouldn’t want this for you,” Iris says softly.

“Seriously,” Violet says. “I always thought he was so normal for a famous guy. He would never want you to get married to a man you didn’t love. And especially not a crook like Gio.”

“Maybe not,” I admit. “But he’s not here to stop it.”

“Well, we are,” Violet says firmly. “The rope offer still stands.”

I laugh despite myself. “You’re not actually going to kidnap me.”

“Try us,” Iris challenges.

“Hold up,” Violet says suddenly, her attention caught by something over my shoulder. “Don’t be obvious, but check out what just walked in.”

I turn casually and pretend to survey the room.

My gaze lands on a small group that just walked in. Based on how they’re dressed, they clearly just left a wedding. The groom is impossible to miss. He’s massive, easily six-foot-four with shoulders that could span a doorway, and he’s got to be at least twenty years older than the petite blonde bride clinging to his arm. She’s curvy and gorgeous, and he’s looking down at her like she personally hung every star in the sky. But that’s not what makes my breath catch.

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