Mila Finelli

That I’d willingly cross an ocean and marry a man I hadn’t met, just because my father screwed up with some mysterious shipment.

They should have known better.

I walked around to the other side, fury boiling inside me until I nearly choked on it. She had embarrassed me in front of my men. Drawn my blood and made me look weak.

She would pay for this when we arrived home.

“Please. Don’t do this. I will literally freak out.”

This generation. So damn dramatic.

“You didn’t see her, Papà. I think she’s afraid of the dark or claustrophobic. She was nearly catatonic when I found her.”

I ignored the pang in my chest that might have been guilt. I had to. I couldn’t afford weakness. So, was this Giulio’s attempt to play the hero? To make me appear the villain?

You are the villain. And she should prefer him to you, stronzo.

The jeans were a perfect fit, though the shirt was a bit tight across my breasts. I decided to leave it on. Maybe my boobs might distract some of the guards from my escape efforts.

I frowned. I didn’t want to see this side of the elder Ravazzani, the one that teased his aunt, whom he obviously loved. I needed him to remain one-hundred percent cruel and heartless.

“Just wait. I’ll be a nonno and still get more pussy than you.”

Giulio was polite and complimentary, but he didn’t seem attracted to me.

I couldn’t picture Ravazzani as a boy in school. I’d sooner believe he popped out of his mother’s womb fully formed, fully evil.

I didn’t feel jealous, though, not even when a woman ran her hands all over his back.

He looked at me, probably to gauge my reaction, so I gave him two thumbs up. “Yes, Giulio,” I shouted. “Get it!”

He shook his head, though his lips twitched. “We are supposed to be engaged, no?”