The Vows He Must Keep

‘My company is in good hands.’

‘Our company is in brilliant hands—considering I’ve been running it alone for six months.’

She sat and surveyed him like a queen on her throne, which was not inaccurate considering the Avelar family name was practically royalty in their native Brazil.

‘But your employees don’t respond to my own particular brand of authority, it seems. They’re practically begging for the return of their playboy CEO and his infamous parties.’

‘Final warning. Untie me and get the hell off my yacht, Daniela.’

‘You don’t remember anything about last night, do you?’ She raised one brow, watching him with curiosity and the faintest ghost of a smile.

Valerio looked around the room once more, the pain in his head sharpening. The last thing he remembered was storming out of his brother’s sprawling villa in Tuscany after an embarrassing display of temper and popping open the first alcoholic beverage he could find. He’d drunk alone and brooded silently in the back of his chauffeur-driven car the entire way to where his yacht had been moored in nearby Genoa.

He’d always known that yesterday would be a difficult day, considering he’d avoided his family for so long, but he’d thought he’d done enough work on himself to get through a couple of hours in their company. He had expected pity and tiptoeing around him. He hadn’t been prepared for their anger. Their judgement. They didn’t know anything about what he’d gone through...what he’d done. All they cared about was the precious Marchesi image and the worrying rumours that he’d gone insane.

His rages were unpredictable, and tended to fog his memory, so he didn’t remember much. But he was pretty sure he had smashed a few of his brother’s expensive vases on his way out.

Wincing, he tried to sit up more fully against the wooden headboard, only managing a couple of inches before he inhaled sharply against the sudden throb of pain that assaulted his cranium. What had been in that whisky?

‘Don’t move too fast. The doctor gave you a mild sedative.’

‘You drugged me?’

‘You tried to take on my entire security team one by one. You were in some kind of a trance. We couldn’t...’ She swallowed hard. ‘You weren’t yourself.’

Growling, he pulled hard against the bonds once more. A satisfying creak sounded from the wooden beam above him. He saw the first glimmer of unease flicker in her eyes.

‘This was the only way I could think of to make you listen.’ She stood up, her eyes darting to the door at the opposite side of the room. ‘I didn’t mean for it to go this far... I didn’t think you were as out of control as your brother said.’

‘You spoke to Rigo?’ His brother—the damn idiot. He had promised Valerio that if he accepted the invitation he would keep his appearance in Tuscany to himself. But then, Valerio hadn’t planned on causing such a scene. Once again, he’d lived up to his reputation of being the reckless wild-card Marchesi brother.

The shame burned his gut.

Daniela cleared her throat. ‘Look, I’ve been patient. I’ve given you more than enough time, considering what happened, but now it’s time for you to come back. The board members are not happy with my choices as acting CEO. There’s a motion in place to sell off my brother’s design projects and pull out of a large chunk of our charity commitments, and I’m the only one blocking their way.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose, a deep sigh escaping her chest. ‘This kind of unrest is bad news. With the pressure of the new Sirinetta launch coming up, I just don’t have time for it.’

Her words rang in his mind, fuelling his anger and disbelief. Nettuno

Design was Duarte’s brainchild—an offshoot of the Velamar brand—and the maritime engineering firm had created the very first Sirinetta mega-yacht. It was the yacht that had launched their modest luxury yacht charter firm right up into the upper echelons of society five years ago. It had been the catalyst that had brought them in contact with figures of royalty and power across the globe, and wealth beyond their dreams.

‘So you decided to kidnap me to tell me this?’

She narrowed her eyes on him with barely restrained irritation. ‘A second meeting is being held the day after tomorrow in Monte Carlo, with more board members flying in. I have information that they are planning to vote me out.’ She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes. ‘I need your help. I need you to get over whatever this is and come back.’

‘I know it’s not technically official, but I named you acting CEO in place of both me and Duarte,’ he gritted out, his friend’s name sounding wooden and unfamiliar in his mouth. ‘They can’t vote you out. They’re bluffing.’

‘Considering Duarte is about to be declared legally dead, and what with all the recent rumours in the press about your mental instability... I’m afraid they can.’

Valerio froze, the news sending his blood cold.

Duarte’s official death certificate had not been issued—he’d made sure of it. As executor of the estate, he’d specifically given the authorities more time before Daniela could legally inherit all her brother’s assets.

And now she dared to barge on to his yacht and calmly make demands while she was sitting on a bombshell of this magnitude? Dio, she had no idea what this meant.

Oblivious, she continued. ‘Apart from the fact that our reputation is being pulled under the proverbial bus...they know I’m not qualified. I mean, to be honest, I know it too. I’m a PR strategist—not a leader or a figurehead. I’ve never done this before.’

‘Let me free,’ he growled.

‘Not until you agree to come to the meeting.’