Page 5 of Sacred Vow

This right here, if I pulled it off, would be my greatest home escape in some time. Despite my excitement over a plan, my heart hammered as I slithered over the window frame and leaned on the edge until I could take my first step. I gripped the trellis tightly, when the worn wood groaned under my weight.

No more pasta if I survive this, I swore as I moved unsteadily down a structure meant to support flowering vines, not human beings. With each step, a creak, groan or crack made me hesitate. There was no point in attempting to escape only to fall and break a leg. I bet the beastly man would still make me walk down the aisle even with a cast on. But at this rate, my time would run out and they’d catch me before I made it to the bottom.

"Damn that man, whoever he was!" I kicked the trellis in frustration. The brittle wood gave way beneath my foot. I scrabbled to find purchase with my feet, but the wood had taken enough punishment. Above me, the lattice pulled away from the exterior of the house.

“Argh!” My last cry lingered in the air as a strange calm settled over my panic. Closing my eyes to hide from the inevitable, my body floated, defying gravity for one moment. The air whooshed out of my lungs as I plummeted straight down.

At least if I died, the wedding would be called off.

Whoomph! My breath slammed out of my body as I crashed into the solid form of a person rippling with muscles. The scarf flew off my head with the impact, cards and money scattering on the ground around us. I groaned inwardly, cracking one eye open, taking in the most handsome face I’d ever seen. His eyes were a smoky amber, like expensive cognac, and the primal expression in those smoky depths told me that he was a man used to getting what he wanted.

But as he spoke, his eyes sparkled becoming more gold, the edge from a moment earlier lightening with something akin to humor. “That’s a first,” he said nonchalantly and gently placed me on my feet. “Do you make a habit of falling out of windows, Ms…?”

Oh, the man had a growly husky tone to his voice that had my insides turn to goo.

“Uh.”

He bent down and picked up the contraband, not looking at my identification. Thank goodness. He handed it to me, his lips pulled into a smirk. “Your name is Ms. Uh?”

“How silly of me. It’s Ms. Neapolitan.” I grasped the first thing that came to mind, and it was ice cream. Not just any ice cream but my favorite flavor. Creamy and slathered with fudge sauce, smeared all over his—

I felt a blush snake up my neck and spread across my cheeks. If he noticed; he said nothing.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Neapolitan. I’m Mike, but my friends call me Mikey.”

The man had a chiseled jaw with a slight tick I couldn’t drag my eyes from. Now, why couldn’t I be this guy’s fiancée instead of… Hell, I didn’t even know whom I was marrying.

“I guess you work here?”

“Hmm?” I startled out of my musings. “Yeah, I, ah, was leaning over dusting the mistress’s room and leaned too far, I guess. Thanks for rescuing me.”

“You are very welcome.” His eyes sparkled. “Is she ready, your mistress? It’s time to leave.”

Perfect! This guy was stupid. Super handsome, but what an asshat, falling for my lame story. I would have rolled my eyes if he hadn’t been gazing so intently into them.

“That is a good question,” I purred. “Just let me hustle back upstairs and find out for you. I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to the front of the house. Standing there were my father and his guards, along with men I didn’t recognize, who I assumed belonged to my husband to be.

Before I could bolt for cover, my father called everyone’s attention straight to me, pointing at me like God in judgement as he bellowed, “There she is!”

Mikey gripped my arm and held me tight until the others joined us and quickly hustled me into a waiting car. As the line of cars sped down the driveway, I peered out the back window and watched until Mikey and my childhood home disappeared from sight.

Great. From the frying pan and into the fire. What did that accomplish other than almost getting myself killed? I did meet Mr. Handsome and he’d proven to not be too bright. Maybe I could seduce him and get him to help me escape from the wedding. He’d be going there next, I bet. Sitting back in the car, I began to lay out plan B, escaping the wedding location.

Poor whomever he was would never know what hit him. It was hard not to chuckle aloud, but remaining quiet and angry was the best way to keep my plans to myself. Let them think I was stewing about being caught when really, I was tickled pink. By the time this day ended, I vowed I would be sipping a Mai Tai on a beach somewhere.

We pulled up to a set of gates set back off the road and surrounded by mature forest. Whomever this guy was, he liked his privacy. The gates opened and we pulled through. My breath caught when the home came into view. To say it was opulent wouldn’t give it the justice it deserved.

I’d grown up wealthy and had anything I wanted, but this wealth was several steps higher than even I’d been exposed to, this right here was royalty. Suddenly I had to know who had purchased me, because in the mafia, daughters were bargaining chips and marriages were simply business. How my father had managed such an arrangement after I’d done my best to sabotage all his efforts to marry me off was beyond me. Maybe he’d made up a lie like I could spin straw into gold, like in the fairy tale. Nothing else could explain the sheer lavishness before me.

The home appeared to be built in the late twentieth century, and resembled an expansive villa, such as one would see touring estate mansions in Tuscany. But the Boboli-styled gardens were more reminiscent of Florence during the Renaissance. Whoever designed the gardens had created a marvel. The hedging weaved patterns to either side of the property with a huge fountain carved out in the center a few hundred feet from the grand entrance. Flowers and vines heavy with grapes grew abundantly in sun dappled clearings weaving an intricate pattern with its surroundings. In short, the place was magnificent, and never had I seen anything like it… except I had. I’d seen this house, not one like it but this self-same house, on a recent episode of Home Is Where the History Is, a web-series that showcased heritage properties.

Try as I might, no amount of playback of the television episode featuring this home came back to me, except that I knew the owners name began with a V. Darn! Vigaro? No, Vitare, no, that wasn’t it.

“Excuse me, but whose home is this?”

Neither guard answered. They completely ignored me, but the answer became evident when we pulled under the three-story high portico that extended out far enough to accommodate up to four cars in depth. The thick stone columns that held the enormous roof had a family crest engraved into their surface. I stepped out of the vehicle and ran my hand over the image of the crest and the name Vitale. Hmm. It was Sicilian. Oh my God... not the Vitale. Luciano Vitale. The most feared mafia don of his generation. My family's sworn enemy. Oh, Papa, what have you done?