"I Do" for Revenge
Author
Abby Green
Reads
17.6K
Chapters
13
He ruined her life… but is he also the key to her future? Jilted by the Italian… Still craving his touch! Vittorio Vitale is feeling victorious. The Gavia family destroyed his own; abandoning their niece Flora at the altar is the perfect payback. Then Flora bursts into his office, demanding answers! Her anger is startling — as is their sudden searing attraction. Except she leaves before it can be explored… Jilted then disinherited, Flora is waitressing to survive. Until Vittorio spots her and presents a new deal — a mutually beneficial fake relationship! A Vitale proposal burned Flora before… but with chemistry this strong, can she resist saying "I do" again?
CHAPTER ONE
VITTORIO VITALE POURED himself a generous measure of whiskey. Irish. The best. He raised the glass to the view of Rome, bathed in early-afternoon golden sunlight. His domain. Finally. He took a sip of the golden drink and the liquid burnt a trail down his throat before settling in his belly, sending out a glow.
A glow of intense satisfaction. Today was the culmination of all of his—
He frowned when the buzzer on his desk sounded. He’d asked not to be disturbed under any circumstances.
Irritation needled over his skin. He pressed a button. ‘Tommaso, I specifically requested—’
‘Sorry, sir, I know. But...um...your—Wait a second! You can’t just—’
The door to Vito’s office swung open and a woman appeared on the threshold. His eyes widened. A woman in full wedding regalia. The white dress looked complicated and fussy, with a high neckline and long sleeves. Lace over lace. Stiff. Formal. The voluminous skirt filled the doorway.
Her face was bright pink. Hair sleek and pulled back. A veil was trailing from the top of her head. She clutched an extravagant bouquet in one hand; the flowers looked stiff. Even from here, Vito could see the whites of her knuckles.
His assistant appeared behind the woman. Vito sent him a look and said, ‘It’s fine, Tommaso.’
Vito put down his glass. He’d have to delay his celebration for a moment. He thought of the woman he’d arranged to meet later, one of Italy’s most beautiful models. Tall, willowy, long dark hair like silk. Stunning body. He really didn’t want this interruption to affect his plans.
But evidently he would have to deal with the woman he’d been due to marry, about two hours ago.
He flicked a glance at his watch and put out a hand. ‘Miss Gavia. Please, come in.’
Flora Gavia was so angry she could barely see straight. Had Vittorio Vitale just looked at his watch? As if she was inconveniencing him? The man who she’d waited for in the vestibule of the church for an hour? Before realising with sickening inevitability that he wasn’t coming?
The anger of her uncle was still palpable, his face mottled with rage—even more so after an aide had whispered something in his ear. He’d turned to Flora and screamed at her that it was all her fault, that everything was ruined. And just before he’d stormed off with his wife, her aunt, in tow, he’d said, ‘What little use you were to me is now gone. You’ve been nothing but a burden and a drain for fourteen years. You’re dead to me.’
In that moment, Flora had gone numb, putting her emotions on ice. It had been too huge to absorb that the people who had taken her in at just eight years old were effectively walking away from her, leaving her on her own.
But then something had broken through as the guests had filed out of the church whispering and staring at her—anger, at the man who’d done this to her. Vittorio Vitale.
And now she was here facing him and she was momentarily blinded by his sheer masculine beauty. Tall and broad. Powerfully muscular. He more resembled a prize athlete than a titan of industry. A billionaire.
Short, thick dark hair. Swept back from a high forehead. Bone structure that would make anyone weep with envy. Sharp blade of a nose. A hard jaw. And that mouth. When she’d first seen him she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off his mouth. Lush and tauntingly sexual.
Much to her shock—because she was extremely sexually inexperienced—she’d imagined him doing things to her with that mouth. And that had been so unsettling because no other man had ever made her think of such things, and the marriage between them wasn’t remotely based on romance. It was to be strictly business. Except there was no marriage. Because he’d stood her up.
Flora blinked. The anger surged back and it was disconcerting. She didn’t get angry. She was generally well disposed to most people and situations, believing in good outcomes. And that people had good intentions. But in the case of Vittorio Vitale, it was blindingly obvious his intentions had been nefarious all along.
He didn’t even look guilty or remotely contrite. He looked almost...bored. Dressed in plain dark trousers and a white shirt. Top button open, sleeves rolled up.
Flora shook her bouquet at him, scattering petals on the floor. ‘You’re not even dressed for a wedding. You never intended on marrying me, did you?’ That fact was becoming painfully obvious.
He came around his desk and perched on the edge, crossing his feet at the ankles and putting his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t have looked more louche.
He said, ‘Truthfully? No. It wasn’t cold feet.’
She looked around the office, taking it in for the first time. It was at the top of a sleek modern building right in the historical centre of Rome, which was saying something about the influence of the person who’d built something like this here.
Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides framed amazing views of the ancient city. The iconic shape of the Colosseum was just visible in the distance.
Flora dragged in a ragged breath. Her head was spinning. She looked at him again and this time tried not to notice how gorgeous he was. Feeling bewildered now, more than anything, she asked, ‘Why?’
Vittorio’s jaw clenched. He looked as if he wasn’t going to say a word. She bit out, ‘I think I have a right to know.’
Vittorio took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms. ‘That’s fair enough. What did your uncle tell you?’
Flora swallowed and remembered the tirade he’d subjected her to. ‘Not much.’ He’d never told her anything really.
Vittorio frowned. ‘Are you aware that your uncle’s business is disintegrating as we speak?’
Flora’s gut clenched. Her uncle had seemed more preoccupied than usual lately. Her aunt even less civil. They’d stop talking as soon as she walked into a room and rudely ask her if she wanted anything. The fact that she’d agreed to a marriage of convenience at her uncle’s behest seemed to have been forgotten pretty quickly.
‘No, I wasn’t aware. I’m not privy to his business dealings.’
‘You were privy to this marriage arrangement, weren’t you? You were under no illusions. You knew you had a way out in six months if you wanted it. You had nothing to lose.’
She’d agreed to the marriage for lots of reason but also because there’d been the get-out clause after six months. She’d always felt indebted to her uncle for taking over her guardianship after her parents and younger brother had died, tragically. He’d put a roof over her head.
It hadn’t been perfect by any means, but she’d been able to stay with family, and in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
Her uncle could have left her to an institution, or boarding schools.
But then he wouldn’t have had access to your trust fund, pointed out a little voice.
Flora reminded herself that he’d needed that money for her education and maintenance. To pay for the house staff to stay behind on holidays to watch her while they’d travelled around the world.
The fact that there was nothing left of her inheritance, according to her uncle, just showed how expensive it had been to take care of her. As he’d pointed out to her, this marriage was to be as much about protecting her future as for his benefit. He’d told her that he couldn’t live with himself if anything happened and he couldn’t provide for her or give her an inheritance. This marriage would protect them both.
She’d owed her uncle, for everything he’d done for her. But today that debt had ended in spectacular fashion.
‘You asked for the six-month get-out clause,’ Flora pointed out.
‘My insurance in case things didn’t go as planned, so I wouldn’t be caught out. Your uncle didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much choice.’
In case things didn’t go as planned.
Flora wasn’t sure what that meant. The acute embarrassment hit her again. The anger resurfaced.
‘How could you?’ she demanded emotionally. ‘How could you do something so heartless and cruel? Do you have any idea how it felt to stand there and wait? How humiliating?’
Vito looked at the woman before him. Something twisted a little in his gut. His conscience. So he did have one after all.
But then he felt something more disturbing. An awareness. Up to this point, because he’d known what he had planned, he hadn’t engaged much with Flora Gavia, seeing no point in acting out a charade of courtship. And she’d seemed happy that he’d kept his distance. The engagement had been short in any case, only a month from announcement to today.
So, he hadn’t really noticed her much, aided by the fact that she’d always seemed to hover on the edge of the room, or on the edge of a group, never planting herself in front of him, as most women did.
They’d had dinner together with her uncle and aunt, but her uncle had dominated the conversation. All Vito had had was an impression of Flora that she was quiet and a little mousy. Brownish hair. Brownish eyes. Pretty...but unremarkable.
But suddenly, here in his office, she was transformed. Maybe it was the dress, fussy as it was. Maybe it was make-up. Her hair was pulled back and sleek, showing off her face. She had high cheekbones. And her eyes were much bigger than he remembered and not a dull brownish at all, but a startling shade of gold and brown. Long lashes.
Her mouth was far more lush than he recalled. Lush enough to make him stare. To wonder how on earth he’d missed this before. An electric charge sizzled in his blood.
His gaze drifted down over the dress, where her breasts moved up and down with her agitated breath. They were high and full. Small waist. Shapely hips. A classic feminine figure and one she’d kept hidden under shapeless clothes before now.
Basically she’d never made an impression. He’d never wanted to look twice. But now he was looking. Twice.
She shook the bouquet at him again. ‘Well? Don’t you have anything to say?’
Vito dragged his gaze back up. Petals were strewn all over his floor. Her veil was askew, and then, as if realising that, she made a face and pulled it from her head, throwing it down. Her sleek chignon was coming loose and Vito had the absurd urge to go over and loosen it completely so that her hair fell down over her shoulders.
He’d never seen it down and the fact that he noticed, and, worse, had a desire to see it down, was very irritating.
She said, ‘Answer me. Please.’
Vito looked at her. There was a catch in her voice this time. His insides curdled. Was she going to cry? He went clammy at the thought, his head filled with unwelcome memories of his mother’s grief-ravaged face. Unwelcome memories of not being able to fix her pain.
But Flora didn’t look as if she was going to cry. She looked...confused.
Vito said, ‘You really didn’t know?’ He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Clearly she was up to something, perhaps trying to salvage what she could out of the debacle unfolding for her uncle. He would play along for now.
She held up her hands, the bouquet beginning to look very frayed. ‘Know what?’
The sense of triumph Vito had been feeling only a short time before was still palpable. ‘As of today, coinciding with the wedding—’
‘You mean non-wedding,’ Flora pointed out.
Vito inclined his head. ‘However you’d like to describe it. As of today, your uncle’s business is in free fall and I now own most of his shares, enough to take control. He thought we were doing a deal. We weren’t. I was. To crush him.’
Flora looked even more confused. She started to pace, trampling the veil under her feet, the bouquet an extension of one hand as she gesticulated. ‘So what...? You’re saying it was just a corporate takeover? Then why would you need a convenient marriage and why the theatrics?’ She stopped and looked at him.
Years of anger and grief had calcified into a hard stone in Vito’s gut. ‘Because this wasn’t just about a corporate takeover, there was more to it. A lot more.’
Flora looked at him. She stabbed the air with the bouquet. ‘Like what?’
Tension filled Vito. ‘Like the fact that your uncle was responsible for ruining my father’s business and ultimately for my father’s suicide and my mother’s subsequent death.’
Flora’s hand with the bouquet dropped and the flowers slipped out of her hand to the floor, joining the veil. She swallowed visibly. ‘I’m so sorry, that’s awful. I had no idea.’
She looked stricken. Her acting ability irritated Vito. He straightened up and looked at her. Right now she embodied the Gavia family, and he despised them.
‘Your uncle didn’t even remember me when we met. My name didn’t register. I was able to come in and decimate his business and social standing and not once did it occur to him that the name “Vitale” should mean something to him. That it should remind him of the man whose business he ruined from the inside out, causing my father to be accused of corruption, to lose his good name and standing. He almost went to jail, but at the last moment your uncle begged for mercy from the authorities, playing the saviour, when he’d been behind it all.’
He didn’t mention the way he and his parents had been ostracised overnight, by friends and neighbours. How they’d lost their home. How his very first proper girlfriend had stopped taking his calls, and had soon reappeared hand in hand with one of Vito’s best friends. The double betrayal had been immense. He’d learnt there and then that there was only one person you could rely on. Yourself.
Vito said grimly, ‘Your family name and business go back generations, my father was the first in his family to make a real success of the business and your uncle saw him as a threat, which was ridiculous. Your uncle could have bought him off a hundred times over, but he went after him, for sport, and to let him know that his ambition was to be punished. My father died of shame, by his own hand.’
Flora’s eyes were huge. ‘And your mother...’
Vito was angry he’d exposed himself to this woman. That her eyes and the manufactured emotion were affecting him. He’d never sought sympathy in his life and certainly not now from a member of the family who had destroyed his.
He said in a clipped voice, ‘She got sick and we didn’t have the money to pay for private health care. She died while waiting for treatment. Treatment that could have saved her. That’s all you need to know.’
Flora’s anger drained away. She was shocked. And yet, at the same time, she wasn’t shocked. Not any more. Not after her uncle had just cut her loose so brutally. Not after he’d so obviously used her in a business deal. ‘I had no idea.’
Vittorio made a dismissive sound. ‘Don’t make a fool out of me. You might not have known my story, but you were as invested in this marriage as your uncle. That six-month get-out clause would have ensured your wealth for life. There was no downside for you.’
Flora looked at him. His beauty mocked her now, because it was cold and cynical.
Her uncle had already told her that if she exited at the six-months mark, that money would be his. She hadn’t even cared. She’d seen it as a means to escape from a marriage in name only, if she’d needed it. The truth was that she’d agreed to the marriage primarily out of loyalty to her uncle but also for more complicated reasons. The fact that she’d found Vittorio Vitale totally fascinating. If unbelievably intimidating.
Somewhere, in a deep and shameful place, she’d known that a man like him would never choose a woman like her, and so she’d indulged in a little fantasy. Believing for a brief moment that when they married, perhaps a man who’d barely looked at her might look at her properly...see her as a woman.
The thought of anything more had felt far too audacious to even contemplate.
When he’d stood her up today, she’d been reminded in a very comprehensive and cruel way that nothing could incite a man like him to marry her. Not even a business deal. She’d even wondered if she’d been the one to ruin it all, just by not being alluring enough. Certainly her uncle had made her feel as though it had been her fault.
But it hadn’t been because this man had never intended on following through with his part of the arrangement.
She said dully, ‘I was just a pawn to try and maximise my uncle’s downfall. The marriage plan was a particularly creative and cynical touch.’
It wasn’t much comfort to know that she hadn’t necessarily been instrumental in this process. It was almost more insulting. She really was that inconsequential.
Now Vittorio was sneering. ‘Oh, please, spare me the self-pity. Your uncle was the one who suggested the marriage. He obviously saw an added bonus to going into business with me. Insurance for life. I won’t deny I saw the benefits of embarrassing him socially when he handed me the opportunity. You were in it together, why on earth else would you have agreed to a marriage of convenience with a total stranger if it wasn’t for your own benefit too?’
Flora clamped her mouth shut. She wasn’t about to articulate to this cold, judgemental and vengeful man her complicated feelings of loyalty and gratitude to her uncle, a man who patently hadn’t deserved any of it. If anyone was the fool here, it was her, the full extent of which was becoming horrifyingly clear.
No wonder her uncle had kept her inside like a hothouse flower for years, while all along planning on selling her off to the highest bidder. He’d been keeping her out of sight and away from any kind of influence. He’d even had her home-schooled!
She’d presumed he was just being overprotective and it had made her feel cared for. She felt nauseous now when everything began to make awful sense. Had she really been that starved for love and attention? Her twisting gut told her the answer. Pathetic.
Vittorio’s excoriating look just flayed Flora further. She felt as if she’d lost three layers of skin. She muttered, ‘I need to go.’
He put out a hand. ‘By all means, you know where the door is.’
Flora turned and went towards the door, the dress moving stiffly around her. His cruel callousness stopped her though. She turned around again. ‘I’m very sorry for what happened to you and I can understand your need to see justice done.’
She pointed to herself. ‘This was not the way to do it though, far from it. What you did today reduced you to my uncle’s level. You’re just as mean and ruthless. You humiliated me for sport.’
For a moment he didn’t react, then he said, ‘Nothing happened to you today that you won’t have forgotten about in a week. Believe me, I could have been far more ruthless with your uncle. He still has assets. He has a way back if he wants to work for it. And you have your own funds from your parents.’
Flora’s mouth opened. ‘How do you know about that?’
The fact that he obviously didn’t know that her inheritance was already totally depleted was something she wasn’t going to divulge. Sickeningly, a memory came back, of her uncle persuading her to sign a form allowing him access to her inheritance before she came of age—he’d told her it was for her benefit but after these revelations, she knew that that action had not been for her benefit. Her naivety made a hot flush of mortification rise up.
Vittorio shrugged. ‘It came up when I was investigating your uncle. If anything you should be thanking me. You’re free now to live your life, out from under your uncle’s shadow. You’re twenty-two, you have your inheritance. Today isn’t the cash-in day you’d hoped for, but I’ve no doubt you can manufacture a strategic marriage all of your own, once everyone has moved on to the next salacious news story.’
Flora, somehow, found it within herself to push down the rising nausea and lift her chin. She said, ‘You know what? I should have suspected something when you never pushed for us to meet alone or have a conversation. This is the most we’ve talked since we met. I thought you were just being a gentleman.’
Vittorio shook his head, eyes glittering like obsidian. Hard. Cold. ‘I’m far from a gentleman.’
Flora hitched her chin higher. ‘I know that now. And you’re right about something else. I am free to live my life. I hope I never see you again.
‘You—’ she pointed at Vittorio with a trembling finger ‘—are not a nice person.’
Something caught her eye and impulsively she pulled the engagement ring he’d given her off her finger. It was a large, ostentatious diamond, in a gold setting with more diamonds either side. It weighed a ton. She resisted the urge to fling it at him, and put it down on a nearby table. ‘You can have that knuckle-duster back. And by the way, I didn’t mention it at the time because I didn’t want you to feel bad, but you have no taste.’
It was probably the meanest thing Flora had ever said to anyone and she immediately felt awful, but before she could forget what this man—and her uncle—had put her through she turned and walked out.
Her dress took up most of the elevator as she descended and as she walked through the ground-floor lobby she willed the nausea to stay down and finally made it outside, sucking in lungfuls of air.
People stared as they walked past but she was oblivious. Panic now replaced the sense of nausea. She had nothing. No one. Nowhere to go. She was completely alone and she was only realising now that she’d been alone all along because her uncle and aunt had never really cared for her.
They’d taken her inheritance!
And that man back there? Flora couldn’t imagine him caring for anyone. He was cruel, cold, heartless, ruthless, cynical, mean—She stopped. Took a breath. And realised that amidst the panic, there was also something far more fledgling rising up. A sense of...liberation.
Vittorio was right about one thing. She was free now. Totally free. Free of that sense of loyalty and obligation she’d had since her uncle had taken her in.
She looked around her as if seeing the world for the first time. She was on the precipice of something both terrifying and a little exhilarating. What would she do? Where did she go from here? The panic crept back, but she forced herself not to let it overwhelm her.
As she stood there on the pavement outside Vittorio’s offices, in her wedding dress, with her hair coming loose, Flora said to herself, Think. Think. The first thing to do—find a bed for the night and get rid of this dress. And then...she would tackle tomorrow.
Flora turned left and set off, head held high, ignoring the looks and jeers from a group of young guys on mopeds. She would find a way. She would. She had to. She had no choice. There was no one she could ask for help. She was on her own now. And that was okay. She believed in the goodness of people—most people—and that good things would happen. With this blind faith guiding her, she disappeared into the streets of Rome, the train of her wedding dress trailing behind her.
Vito stood at his window for a long time, drink forgotten. He was unsettled by what had just happened.
You think? jeered a voice.
He ignored it. The truth was that his focus had been solely on Umberto Gavia for so long that when Gavia had proposed the marriage of convenience, Vito had gone along with it, seeing it purely as a bonus addition to his overall takedown of the man.
And, as Flora had never really made much of an impression, he’d found it easy not to think of her as a person, standing in a church waiting for him, because of course he’d always known he wouldn’t be there.
But she hadn’t known that. And he hadn’t really thought of those consequences beyond the inevitable social embarrassment they’d cause Umberto Gavia. But now he did think of her. Because she’d stood right in front of him reminding him she was a consequence. A person who, if she was to be believed, hadn’t had much of a clue as to what was going on.
And yet she’d agreed to the marriage. So he’d just assumed that she and her uncle were in cahoots. Therefore she’d deserved—
What? demanded a voice. To be humiliated in front of Roman society? To be judged and punished like her uncle?
Yes. A Gavia was a Gavia. It hadn’t just been Vito’s family that Umberto had decimated, it had been countless others. When Vito had looked into his practices to build his case against him, he’d found even more heinous acts committed against people.
But Flora hadn’t just behaved like a cold-hearted Gavia. She hadn’t come to him cajoling or begging or crying or looking for sympathy. She’d been angry. Confused. Bewildered. And she’d looked genuinely upset when he’d told her about his family.
Vito told himself he’d be an idiot not to suspect it had been an act. An attempt to salvage what she could for herself.
You are not a nice person.
Vito had never claimed to be nice. He’d stopped being nice right around the time when his mother had slipped away, her body ravaged by illness. That had been the moment when he’d set his sights on making sure that Umberto Gavia would one day pay for his actions.
And that day had come. He hardened his heart. Flora Gavia would be fine. She had a huge inheritance from her own parents—her father had been Umberto’s brother.
But he hadn’t been involved in the family business, so why punish her?
Vito pushed that aside. Her father might not have been directly involved, but she’d been brought up by Umberto since she was a child. She was practically his daughter.
No doubt he’d see her at a social function soon, looking for a replacement husband. Or, she’d have returned to join her uncle wherever he’d sloped off to.
She would be fine.
The Gavia family hadn’t survived for generations without brass necks, and, as Vito had told Flora, he hadn’t decimated Umberto Gavia as much as he could have. The man was badly wounded financially and socially, but he could return if he worked for it.
Vito knew that Umberto was essentially lazy though, so he didn’t expect to see him around any time soon.
As for Flora... Vito had to admit reluctantly that he would be intrigued to see her again. The Flora who’d just accosted him here in his office had shown a far more intriguing side of herself. If Vito had met that woman before today...he might have felt very differently about leaving her standing at the altar.
But he had. And now it was done. He could move on. He picked up his drink and threw what remained of the whiskey down his throat. But somehow, this time, the glow of satisfaction felt a little dulled and a distinctly acidic aftertaste lingered in his mouth and stomach for a long time.
