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“Thank you, Knox, for being my friend.” Because I hadn’t been able to give him anything else. By the time I was old enough to fall in love, I’d been promised to Marco. But Knox was something more than family.
“You saved me,” he whispered. “I’ll be wherever you need me. Always.”
“And forever,” I said. Always for him, and forever for me. A secret vow to always be there for each other. No matter the cost.
He twisted toward me, tugged on my ponytail, then pulled me close and kissed me.
I rested my hand on his chest to push him away, but his lips were soft, and cigarettes scented his breath. One sweet kiss with my best friend to say goodbye. Then I pulled back and rested my forehead against his. These weren’t the lips I imagined kissing a thousand times. Being with Marco meant losing Knox. “I hate this.”
“Yeah, I know.” He brushed my bangs. “I love you, Ally. You’re so fucking special. Don’t change,” he whispered.
My phone pinged with a text message.
Deidre: He’s here. Get home!
“I have to go.” I scrambled to stand.
Knox rose and rested his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll keep my distance. You won’t see me, but I’ll be watching. If he lays a hand on you, mistreats you, if he hurts you, I’ll fucking kill him.”
“No. You have to promise.” I pressed the handle of the knife into his palm.
“It was a gift,” he said, staring at the weapon.
“I know. And I’m giving it back to you because it’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever been given. It represents my ability to take care of myself.” I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Stay safe,” I pleaded.
And then I fled.
This time, I didn’t heed caution. I sprinted along the tree line. In the distance, light reflected in most of the rooms of the mansion. Two stories of windows and balconies stretched across the backside of the house.
People gathered around the outdoor kitchen. Drinks were served as men in Armani suits smoked cigars and cigarettes. I clung close to the house and quietly made my way to the trellis.
Muffled voices drifted on the night air. Waiting to scale the house would be safer, but getting caught outside my room would leave me in the precarious position of lying to my mother, or worse my fiancé, on why I was traipsing through the woods when I was supposed to be primping in front of a mirror.
Strategically placing my feet, I climbed the trellis. The wood creaked and groaned with my weight. Sweat trickled along my spine as I climbed.
“How long do you expect to be here?” The whispered words were close.
I froze, the beat of my heart lodged in my throat. The accents were thick, the Italian perfect.
I clung to the trellis, waiting for them to pass.
The scent of a cigarette curled around me. I glanced down. In the muted light of the window, two men stood directly below me. One man slid his hand into the front pocket of his tailored trousers. They fit his slim hips and long legs. He stared out into the distance.
Please, don’t look up.
“Tomorrow, we’ll set the date. I have no wish to entertain a mouse of a woman for the next two weeks.”
The voice, familiar in the way it affected me, was deeper and smoother. I inhaled through my nose, breathing slow and controlled as my stomach clenched and a shiver skidded over my flesh.
The other man beside him chuckled. He was thick, tall, and menacing. Muscles burst in massive hills and cut valleys beneath his dark, tailored suit.
“Two weeks? Marco, marriage is a life sentence.”
Marco groaned and rolled his neck. “Allegra understands. Our marriage is business and babies. She is the least of my problems.”
“Francesca?”
Who was Francesca?
