Merciless Vows by Faith Summers

20

Lucca

It’s been a long fucking day, and I’m glad to be home.

It’s been one of those days that had all sorts of shit thrown at me to deal with. At least the one thing I was fixated on is underway.

I hope allowing Hector to live wasn’t a mistake. I don’t think it was, but I have to be on the alert at all times because no one is truly trustworthy. Definitely not a man like him. A man people call the snitch. He’s only been kept alive as long as he has because of the hookups he can arrange.

I’m no exception to those who allowed him to live.

What will piss me off is the waiting game.

Waiting to hear from him and never truly knowing if he screwed me over or if it is a mere case of waiting for Raphael to strike.

Either way, I got Alexei to keep a close watch on him. In my lineup of men, he’s as ruthless as I am and loyal to me. So if Hector crosses me, he’s dead.

He’ll be dead before he gets the chance to fuck with me.

I walk up the stairs and make my way down the path leading to my office. This is the way from the back of the house. I like taking it most times for the view.

I’ve always liked this part of the house from as far back as I can remember, and that’s a very long time.

The passageway is wide, and the walls host my father’s art collection— the only thing of value he inherited from my grandparents when they were killed.

Their deaths were the reason my parents came to the States and also why I don’t have any extended family.

Death has always followed us in the worse of ways. It’s the price you pay when you belong to the Bratva.

With the exception of my immediate family, the entire line of Dyshekovs were killed because my uncle killed the son of one of their enemies.

That was all it took for generations of my family to be wiped out.

Men, women, and children.

My mother and father escaped with my sister and me to the States. I was two-years-old at the time.

When they came here, they worked for the owner of this property, who treated my father like a son and in turn gifted the entire estate to him. He got the manor four years before he was killed. By that time, he’d worked his way up through the ranks for his skills in accounting. Up until that point, we had nothing.

My father started out as a shestyorka–an associate, the lowest rank in the Bratva. That was from back in Russia, and my family was a servant family. All of them from generations going back.

Father was little more than an errand boy to the Pakhan, and as his eldest boy, I was the same. That’s why Raphael keeps calling me scum. It’s because I was.

I remember him when I was little. I remember bringing him drinks when I was a boy and him treating me like shit. Like a fucking animal nobody wanted.

Grigori took care of us, though, making sure their enemies didn’t follow them here. That is why I will always be indebted to him even though my family is gone.

My only allegiance is to him and Damien. That is all.

I don’t even have that sense of duty to myself.

The view from here also allows me to see the grand hall below where my parents used to host dinner parties when things got better for them.

I stop now in my tracks when I catch sight of the truly beautiful woman standing on a block wearing a wedding dress while the seamstress fusses over the trimmings on the long trail.

Aria already has the kind of beauty that would make you stop and stare. But her in that fairytale dress makes her look like she stepped out of heaven.

Her hair is up in that bun again, but this time it looks sexy as fuck in the dress because of the loose tendrils hanging about her face and her delicate doll-like shoulders in velvet wisps.

The dress hugs her petite frame and shows off all her finest assets.

It’s going to cost me a small fortune, but I told the seamstress to give Aria what she wants, no matter the cost. I’m glad I said that now because it looks like she got the best.

That dress is perfect, and I hope she picks it. Not only will I enjoy taking it off her, but I will also like looking at her wearing it.

She’s something good. Something that’s too good for the likes of me, but something I own and can’t tamp down my fascination of.

I stare at her and want her all over again. I want that repeat of last night I promised, even though I have a shit load of work to do.

That damn, Violet, I’m sure she’s adding shit to my plate to be spiteful because I won’t sleep with her.

I don’t know what she thinks that will achieve because it’s pissing me off. I don’t like what she said to Aria either about pleasing me. It means I’ve given Violet some cause to think she can screw with me like that, and she can’t.

I know why she’s doing it, though, and it’s not just because I won’t sleep with her; it’s because of how I’ve been with Aria.

It’s because of how I’ve been with her in every aspect since she came to live here. People who know me or are used to me can see I’m secretive and protective.

It’s not hard to figure out from those two things that I care more than I’m supposed to.

Caring or obsessing? They both seem like the same thing to me.

Aria turns around on the block, she looks up, and our eyes lock.

She seems momentarily stunned to see me, and I’m not the kind of man to look away until I’m ready to. So I don’t. I continue to look at her and feel the sexual tension from all the way up here.

We must be at least forty feet away, but I feel it so strongly she could be right next to me. We’ve certainly had enough sexual encounters for me to feel the essence of the arousal that sparks between us when we’re near.

It’s something not even I can deny. All I can do is try to control it.

Or not.

That’s the fucking devil riding my shoulders again, telling me to indulge in what’s mine. After all, why shouldn’t I?

Now, I just want to taste the beauty all over again, but I want her to taste me too—more than last night.

The footsteps that approach make me break eye contact. It’s Marylin.

She gives me that motherly smile she always greets me with, and there’s a spark in her eyes when she sees what I’m doing— who I’m watching.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” she states with a little smile.

“Yes. She’s very beautiful.”

“You’ll be happy to hear that everything is in order for the wedding.” Marylin looks proud of herself, as she should be. “Everything is done, and all the invites to those you wanted to be sent are done. The wedding dress is the last thing to finalize.”

“I am happy to hear that. You did well. Did you encounter any problems?”

“No, there was nothing. I thought I’d have some trouble delivering Raphael’s invitation, but he accepted.”

I wanted that bastard’s invitation hand-delivered. I sent Marylin to his office so he wouldn’t try any shit.

“Great. It’s all ready to happen then. I’m getting married.” It still sounds odd to my ears.

“I’m aware this isn’t a conventional relationship, but I think she might be having a good effect on you. She’s a nice girl,” Marylin points out, and I don’t know if she realizes how bizarre that sounds.

It’s not as if Marylin doesn’t know what I am. Who I am is another story.

I can’t even put it down to the fact that Marylin is from a different generation. She is, but she’s seen and knows enough to realize that nice as Aria is, everything about me and her is wrong.

I know there’s no reality where she would think a girl like Aria should be anywhere near a devil like me.

Besides, I’m about to dirty up the nice girl all over again.

“When she’s done with the fitting, send her to my office. There's something I need her to do.” The sweet woman that Marylin is would be mortified if she knew what I have planned for the princess.

“Of course. I’ll send her right up.”

I take one last glance below at my bride-to-be, who is now talking to the seamstress, and continue down the path to my office.

The first thing I see to put me off is the stack of customs and import duty documents I was supposed to work on last night. That right there is all the paperwork for the cars coming in from Japan next month that is worth a few million dollars.

I stand to make a sweet little profit. The summer months are always good for me. There’s always some playboy or trust fund prick who wants to make up for the size of his dick with a fast or fancy car to impress the ladies.

Then there are the genuine exotic car lovers and racers who always buy from me. They keep me in business all year round.

I make a start on the paperwork while I wait for Aria and fantasize about all the things I want to do to her.

I just manage to make a dent in the load when the little knock on my door heralds her presence.

“Come in,” I say, and the door opens, revealing a nervous Aria and of Marylin walking away.

This is the first time she would have seen this section of the house or my office. It’s on the same side the ghosts live.

She comes in, and when the door swings shut behind her, she brings in the sexual tension and energy we can’t escape.