He shook his head. “This is a moot point anyway. She’d never agree to this plan.”
“She will. If you ask her.”
He barked out a laugh. “Sure. And get my head ripped off in the process? No, thanks.” He softened his tone. “I don’t want you to worry about things. I promise La Dolce Famiglia will never falter, and I will always remain in your daughter’s life. Va bene?”
He got up to leave, satisfied he’d done all he could.
Sawyer turned toward the door.
“Do you remember your promise to me?”
The room shifted. He swayed for balance as his words trapped him in a vicious vise that echoed the squeeze of a boa constrictor around his neck. He bowed his head as his fate stepped forward and sucker punched him in the jaw.
He gritted his teeth together. “yes. I remember.”
“La devo un grande debito. Se lei mai ha bisogno di me, farò che lei chiede.”
“I owe you a great debt. If you ever need me, I will do whatever you ask.”
“I need you. This is what I ask. I want you to marry my daughter.”
He didn’t remember much after that. The loud roaring in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the sweat dampening his palms. He refused to meet her gaze, knowing he couldn’t trust himself with his emotions right now. Could he refuse?
She had no idea what she truly asked of him. His acceptance of her request would set in motion a chain of events that scared the hell out of him.
Sawyer teetered on the edge, then realized there had never been a choice.
His marker had officially been called in.
He dragged in a shaky breath and accepted his fate.
He might have to satisfy the debt, but he didn’t have to be happy or gracious about it. Trying not to stumble, he made his way toward the door and clasped the handle in a death grip.
“So be it. But you better talk to her first. And God help you if she agrees.”
Sawyer lurched out the door without a backward glance.
…
Julietta sat in the Piazza del Duomo. A heavy fog shrouded the cathedral’s soaring, elegant lines, and a cold mist bit through vulnerable skin in an effort to nip bone. The wind whipped in late-March fury and pedestrians huddled past clad in long wool coats and hats. She stared at the gorgeous structure that had been a mainstay since childhood: the mingle of style and grace of each individual bronze carving on the massive gate; the sharp points of marble thrusting toward the sky. The gilded copper statue of La Madonnina dominating the sky.
She had loved sitting inside the cathedral, gazing at the rays of colored light as they filtered through the Gothic windows. The sense of peace and tranquility amidst great works of art and the mythical search for spiritual perfec-tion. Afterward, Papa would take her to the square at lunchtime, where they would feast on fresh paninis and drink cappuccino, washing the meal down with pancetta and ripened grapes from the market. She’d watch the women— fashionably dressed in designer suits and heels—come and go, and wish to transform into one of them someday.
Well, she had. At least on the outside. Her wool coat and matching fur hat bespoke a confident, stylish executive on her lunch break. Her green Prada handbag and Manolo shoes screamed refined elegance. Though she’d never left Italy to travel like Carina or her brother, she always felt safe at home. Never empty from not seeing other places.
Never strangled.
Until now.
She was going to marry Sawyer Wells.
Humiliation burned in her blood. Her own mother wished to marry her off so she wouldn’t become a cold, lonely spinster counting her gold coins. Their discussion had turned from amusing, to concerning, to enraging. She had shouted horrible things while her mama remained calm. Like an implacable statue, she’d repeated the same thing over and over.
You deserve happiness, my sweet girl. And if you won’t do it your way, I’ll do it mine. Sawyer Wells will give you what you need, though you don’t believe it now.
No. She didn’t believe it. Would never believe it.
Somehow, Sawyer owed her mother a great debt, and he’d marry her to satisfy it. Her mother craved a clear conscience where her children were traditionally married and settled.
obviously, she didn’t trust Julietta to run the business successfully alone, so she’d decided to add an extra layer of protection in the symbol of a big, strong man. oh, how she hated both of them with a passion right now. Her mother for her betrayal.
And Sawyer for his agreement.
A shadow fell upon her. Sawyer sat beside her on the bench, keeping a polite distance between them. Her gaze roved over the shine of his rolex watch, the radiance of his white-blond hair, the cool charcoal tones of his cashmere coat. The red scarf tucked neatly around his neck gave a hint of his boldness and ability to not care about other opinions.
They sat together for a long time in silence while the wind roared and their skin numbed. Pedestrians hurried past them, tilting their heads up toward the sky to try and gauge the magnificence of the Duomo with its intricate architecture and soaring grace. A large flock of pigeons descended from the sky and clogged the piazza, their wings bright blue and heads bobbing furiously for leftover crumbs.
Julietta watched in silence as a younger couple squished together for warmth and laughed at the bird invasion. The woman was pretty, with brilliant red hair. She knelt down and put her hands out, and a bunch of the winged crea-tures hurried over and hopped onto her body. Her laugh was bright and tinkled through the fierce wind. The man laughed with her, knelt down beside her, and kissed her.
The picture burned into her lids and reminded her of the things she’d never have.
She finally spoke. “Do you owe her that much?” she whispered. “enough to give up your life for a sham of a marriage?”
“yes.”
Julietta nodded, already anticipating his answer. A yawning emptiness and grief roared up and pumped through her veins, looking for some type of outlet. She squashed it like an ant under the heel of her stiletto. Never again. She wouldn’t let herself go back to that place of feeling, surrender. Not with him.
“I said no, of course. Walked away and swore I’d never return. I called her names. raged at her. She just took it and said she believed this was for the best.” A crazy laugh escaped her lips. “you know the worst part of this charade?
She believes she’s right. She’s not doing it to hurt us, or make us suffer. What do they say about good intentions?”