Vicious Promise by M. James
Luca
Two things became apparent to me last night.
First, Sofia wasn’t going to be convinced of the gravity of the situation merely by my explaining it to her.
And second, I needed to put some distance between her and myself. I hadn’t expected for her to have the effect on me that she does, but that doesn’t mean that I have to allow it to control me, or my actions. The more space that there is between Sofia Ferretti and I, the better.
Once the Bratva threat is contained,I tell myself, I’ll arrange for her to have her own apartment in one of the other buildings that I own. Something luxurious and spacious, with plenty of security and amenities, so that she has no reason to complain, but far enough away from me that I can return her to the place in my life that she was meant to occupy—a line item on a budget. A contractual agreement that I’m forced to honor.
I’ll pay for anything she wants,I reason, tapping my fingers against my desk. I don’t deny that this situation is difficult, that she’s undergone more grief and trauma than anyone should have to, and that it’s unfair that she’s been thrust into this out of no fault of her own. If she wants shopping trips, vacations, a beach house in the Hamptons—anything she wants, once this threat is over.
As long as I can keep her out of my mind, and most importantly, out of my heart.
The last thought makes me grimace. It’s ridiculous to think that my heart could be in danger from any woman, let alone little orphan Annie sitting in my kitchen. I glance over at the security feed with a heavy sigh, wondering how much longer its going to take Anastasia Ivanova to convince Sofia to come around.
But before last night, you didn’t think you’d want her at all.The thought intrudes uncomfortably, and I do my best to shrug it off, switching away from the video feed. Anastasia will convince her of the foolishness of fighting this, the jeweler will come by the apartment with a choice of rings, and within a week the entire matter will be settled. I’ll satisfy myself with one good, long, hard fuck, and then Sofia can be neatly shelved away with the other fires that I’ve put out over the course of my time as underboss.
Calling Anastasia really was a stroke of genius on my part. I’d known that she was Sofia’s roommate, of course—I pay for the apartment, so the fact that Sofia made the odd choice to rent out a room despite the place being paid for was noted, along with anything else that needed to be monitored. The fact that her roommate turned out to be a Russian ballerina with family ties to the Bratva was a concern—and I recalled Don Rossi briefly discussing whether or not Anastasia Ivanova was one of those potential loose ends that might need to be neatly tied off.
I’d had that discussion, and my part in convincing Rossi that Anastasia had no intimate knowledge of her father’s dealings, ready in case the girl needed any push to come to the apartment and urge her best friend to come to her senses. But in the end, Anastasia hadn’t needed any encouragement or threats. Just the mention of the Bratva and a brief explanation of what had transpired the night before to and with Sofia had been enough to bring her running.
At least she had enough sense to be terrified of them.
Now all that’s left is for her to convince Sofia that it’s in her own best interest to marry me, without further argument.
I glance at my watch. It’s already taken longer than I’d hoped. My phone buzzes on the desk next to me, and I reach for it, grateful for the interruption.
“Mr. Romano?” It’s my secretary—Carmen, I remind myself.
“Yes?” My tone is even more curt than usual, but I can’t help it. The mix of frustrated desire and eagerness to get this whole messy business done and over with has my temper at the boiling point.
“The jeweler said he will be there within an hour, with a selection of appropriate rings.”
Within the hour. Anastasia doesn’t have long to wrap things up. “Thank you, Carmen,” I reply tightly, and I can almost feel the pleasure from my remembering her name wafting over the line.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, wishing with everything in me that I could call a justice of the peace to the apartment and be done with this whole mess. But the wedding needs to be a spectacle, something to show the Bratva and anyone who might consider helping them that Sofia Ferretti has been removed from the game.
Check and mate.
“Find out who might be available to dress Sofia for the wedding. They need to be able to produce a gown within a week. The ceremony will take place on Saturday, at St. Patrick’s. Call the cathedral as well to arrange whatever Father Donahue requires.” The last isn’t much of a concern, the good Father has enough of a history with our family that he’ll do nearly anything that I or Rossi ask of him. And since he was the one who was present when Sofia’s father extracted his promise from mine, I expect he’ll be even more inclined to hasten the wedding.
“Right away, Mr. Romano.”
I hang up the phone, checking my watch again. If this goes on too much longer, I might have to go down to the kitchen myself, and—
A faint, hesitant knock sounds against my office door.
There’s no explanation for the knot in my stomach when I hear it. If Sofia still refuses to fall in line—
She won’t, I tell myself firmly. And my anxiety is only due to my eagerness to get all of this finished and done with. It has nothing to do with the girl herself.
“Come in.”
The heavy mahogany door creaks open, and Sofia steps inside.
Her face is pale and her eyes are red-rimmed, but none of it takes away from her beauty. She looks like a princess trapped in a tower, come to beg for her life, and the irony of it isn’t lost on me. Sofia thinks that I’m her jailer, but in truth, I’m the only one standing between her and death.
A knight in somewhat tarnished armor, if you will.
“Is Anastasia still here?”
Sofia flinches at the mention of her friend’s name. “No,” she says quietly. “She went home.”
Good.The girl is brighter than I gave her credit for—she clearly knew when it was time to leave. I can hear the resentment in Sofia’s voice when she says home, and I hope that’s a sign that she’s come to accept the fact that she can’t return to her former apartment. That this penthouse, and whatever living arrangements I make for her in the future, will be her home going forward.
“She said you called her.” Sofia’s voice is flat, toneless. She sounds broken, and I know I should be grateful for it. She’ll be more manageable this way. But something inside of me revolts against the idea of her losing her spirit despite myself.
It’s just another sign that I need to get all of this over with as quickly as possible.
“I did,” I confirm. “Clearly you wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to explain the gravity of the situation to you. And I understand, in a way—you don’t know me.” I steeple my fingers in front of me on the desk, watching her from across it. The space between us is good, it helps me to keep this formal. Businesslike. “I assumed that Anastasia might be able to appeal to you in a way that I couldn’t. And from the look on your face, I think that I’m correct.”
“Don’t pretend like you know me that well,” Sofia says, a tiny bit of her anger returning. “I want you to answer one thing for me, Mr. Romano. Something that Ana said I should ask you.”
So it’s Mr. Romano now. I narrow my eyes at her. “Yes?”
“She said that I should ask you what would happen if I don’t agree to marry you.”
Goddamn it.My goodwill towards Anastasia Ivanova evaporates immediately. But if even her friend explaining the threat of the Bratva to her wasn’t enough, perhaps this will be. It’s all that I have left to convince her.
“I’ve already told you who my boss is.”
“Yes.” Sofia doesn’t move to step away from the still-open door. It doesn’t matter, she wouldn’t get far anyway, even if she tried to run again.
“He is not a merciful man, Sofia.”
“And you are?” She lifts her chin, glaring at me. “You’re keeping me prisoner here.”
A surge of frustration verging on anger ripples through me, and I stand up from the desk despite myself, nearly knocking my chair over. “I am keeping you safe!” I thunder, my voice carrying out of the office and echoing in the hall, and I see Sofia flinch backwards again. To her credit, she doesn’t try to run. “Was your friend not able to convey properly what those men, the Bratva, would have done to you?”
“She said they would have sold me, and she mentioned—worse things,” Sofia admits. She swallows hard, and I see her slender throat convulse.
My cock twitches, swelling in the confines of my tailored suit. Just the sight of that makes me think of her throat convulsing around my shaft, the way it would feel while I gripped her hair and thrust myself deeper, fucking her face until—
Goddamn it, Luca, get yourself under control.My reaction to this girl is ridiculous. I consider myself exceptionally virile, but at thirty-one and with half of Manhattan notched in my bedpost, I’d thought my days of uncontrollable erections were behind me. And yet here I am, standing in my office as achingly and inappropriately hard as a teenager who has yet to fuck anything other than his hand.
“You’re right,” I say calmly. “The Bratva are well known for their treatment of women. Their primary source of income is selling concubines to wealthy men, and sex slaves to all parts of the world. The women who aren’t deemed valuable enough for sale are used for sport for their own men.”
“Trafficking,” Sofia whispers, and I can see the fear in her eyes.
“Not only that, but the women they keep aren’t treated much better. Maybe you’re thinking that as a daughter of a Russian woman, they might have married you off to someone in their inner circle. Maybe you wouldn’t have been sold. But their wives are little more than chattel, too, living in fear and at the whims of their husbands.”
“And would that be any different from being married to you?” Sofia lifts her chin defiantly.
I can feel my jaw clench. Slowly and purposefully, I step around the edge of my desk, coming to face her a few feet away. “Our marriage will not be loving, Sofia. I will not be a faithful husband, or a devoted one. But I can promise you this—I will never lay a hand on you in anger. I will never force you into my bed against your will. You will be protected from anything that might harm you, provided for in every way, with every luxury that money can buy. I can’t give you romance, or a family of your own, but I will see to it that in whatever way I can make up for that with material things—your home, travel, anything you wish—I will do so. I don’t intend to make you unhappy, Sofia. But I do intend to bring this entire matter to a close as quickly as possible.”
“You already laid hands on me,” Sofia points out. “Last night.”
This girl is insufferable. I let out a slow, measured breath. “You were trying to escape.”
“Still—”
“Alright!” I grit my teeth. “I won’t touch you again, without permission. Is that enough for you?”
“You still haven’t answered my question. What happens if I refuse?”
It takes all the effort I can muster not to clench my hands into fists, or shout. But I can’t afford to frighten her—at least not when it comes to me.
But I’m done playing games, and dancing around the truth.
“Don Rossi will have you killed,” I say simply.
The words have the desired effect. Sofia goes bone-white, and for a second I think she might pass out again. I’m wondering whether my promise not to lay my hands on her again includes keeping her from falling to the floor in a dead faint, but she manages to stay upright, gripping the side of the door to steady herself.
“What do you mean?” she whispers.
“I mean exactly that. You are a loose end, Sofia. A chess piece, a card to play, whatever you want to call it. By marrying you, I am taking you out of play. Off of the board. You will be safe, and the Bratva can no longer use you against us. But if you refuse to marry me, and I let you leave here, they will be able to take you again. Don Rossi will not allow that to be a possibility.”
Sofia frowns, her forehead creasing with confusion. “But if you don’t want to marry me, how can they use me as bait? Why do I matter, if I don’t mean anything to you? Surely a promise between two men who are long dead doesn’t mean so much to this Viktor, or to your boss—”
“Sofia!” I grit my teeth, trying to hold my temper. “There are things that you don’t need to know, and that I can’t tell you. But what I can—what I am telling you, is that you actually do have a choice. You can agree to marry me, here and now, or I can call Don Rossi and tell him that you refuse. And after that, there is nothing else I can do to save you.”
“And will you be the one to kill me, if I say no? Maybe pull out a gun here and shoot me?” Sofia glares at me.
“Not here,” I say simply. “And I hope not.” It’s not something that I can picture Rossi doing, truthfully. He’s not the kind to play games, to take Sofia and put a gun in my hand in hopes that she might be convinced to change her mind. He’d simply have her killed, clean and quiet, and wash his hands of the entire mess. In fact, I know that’s what he’d prefer. As long as she’s alive, even married to me, there are variables. She might try to run again. She might be kidnapped. She might become pregnant, and the baby used against us.
Death is the best guarantee that a potential problem won’t come to pass.
But I don’t want that to happen. I want to fulfill the promise that was made for me, tuck Sofia somewhere safely away, and put enough security on her that she’ll never be in danger. If I’m careful the first night, and never touch her again, there will be no possibility of children. The matter of Sofia Romano will still be handled—and she’ll be alive.
“I don’t want you dead,” I tell her simply. “That’s why I’m doing this, Sofia. It’s the only way to solve this problem.”
“So I’m a problem to you?”
In so many ways.
“Yes,” I tell her bluntly. “You have been a problem to be managed since the day you were twelve years old. And you have been managed, without your knowledge, all these years. Now you’re simply aware of it.”
Something about the coldness in my tone seems to jolt her out of her defiance. “So it’s that simple. Marry you, or die.”
“Yes.”
“How will he do it?”
I blink at her, startled. “I—I don’t know.”
“Will he come here to take me? Drop me off of a pier? Or will someone break into my bedroom at night?”
“I don’t know, Sofia. But it doesn’t need to be this way—”
“I’ll do it.”
“What?” I blink at her, caught off-guard by the sudden change.
Sofia looks at me coolly, her face as impassive as mine was moments ago. “I’ll marry you. But I have conditions.”
It takes everything in me not to laugh. “You have conditions? Haven’t I just explained to you that—”
“Yes, I get it. I marry you, or your boss has me killed. Which, like you told me last night, is no choice at all. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t have some say in how this marriage goes.”
This ought to be interesting.“It does mean that I don’t have to accept,” I tell her bluntly. “But go ahead. What are these conditions?”
“I don’t want to live with you.”
Well, that one is easy enough, at least.“I have every intention of giving you your own residence. You’ll have to stay here until we’re certain that the Bratva threat is neutralized. But after that I’ll allow you to choose your own apartment from among those I own, and you’ll be given your own security detail and access to certain bank accounts and credit cards. I told you that I intend to provide for you, Sofia.”
She doesn’t even blink. “I’ll be allowed to see Anastasia still.”
“I don’t think—”
“You can’t force me into a loveless marriage and take away my only friend.”
“Your only friend is Russian, with a dead Bratva father.”
“She’s all I have.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine coming on. “Fine. But only here or at your apartment once you’re installed in one, and with heavy supervision. If the two of you go anywhere, it has to be cleared by me, and extra security will go with you.”
“Fine.” Sofia doesn’t look pleased, but at this point, I don’t care. This was never supposed to involve negotiations. How is it that I can tell my future bride that the alternative to a simple yes is death, and yet she is still standing here arguing with me?
“Is there anything else?” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Just one thing.” Sofia takes a deep breath. “I meant what I said last night. This will be a marriage of convenience only, Mr. Romano. You will not try to come to my bed, and I will not go to yours. You will not lay a hand on me in any way. You will not ever—” she takes a deep breath, flushing a lovely shade of pink. “—take my virginity. I will remain untouched.”
Apparently the doctor was right.And the very mention of her virginity coming from Sofia’s lips is enough to make my erection return with an alarming speed. I can’t even adjust myself without her noticing, and all I can do is hope that she doesn’t glance down, where the evidence of how much I want her is very, very visible. “So it’s going to be Mr. Romano from here on out, is it?”
Sofia presses her lips tightly together.
Well, two can play that game.“I’m sure you’re aware, Ms. Ferretti, that a marriage must be consummated in order for it to be legal.”
“I think we’re a little past blood on the sheets. It is the twenty-first century,” Sofia replies sweetly. “You can say whatever you need to in order to satisfy your boss and the Bratva threat, Mr. Romano. Say you fucked me all night long, for all I care. But it won’t ever be the truth.”
Christ.I’m fairly certain that if I get any harder, my cock is going to burst through the fly of my suit. Hearing Sofia’s soft, innocent voice mention me fucking her all night is enough to make me want to forget my promise and bend her over the desk here and now. She’s still wearing that ridiculously short, tight dress, and the only thing stopping me is the fragile remainder of my sense of honor—and the lingering desire to enjoy taking her virginity on our wedding night, when I’ll have all the time in the world.
All the time I could desire to enjoy my bride once—and only once.
It’s the one thing that’s been keeping me sane since I saw her yesterday, and realized that for some inexplicable reason, I want to fuck Sofia Ferretti more than I want to breathe.
“I’m not in the habit of lying, Ms. Ferretti.” I smile at her. “Besides, you would enjoy it. I’m told that a night with me is quite—pleasurable. I’m in the habit of being a generous lover.”
Sofia smiles too, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sure most of the women in Manhattan could attest to that, if I asked them.”
“Maybe you should.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “Don’t tell me that my reluctant bride is jealous.”
“Not a bit.” Sofia holds firm, her dark brown gaze meeting mine, and she pauses, taking a deep breath. “You say I don’t have a choice. Well, I will have a choice in this. I’ll marry you, since you leave me little option to do otherwise. But I will not sleep with you.”
She meets my eyes fearlessly, and for a moment, I can’t help but respect her bravery. She believes me, I’m sure of that. But she’s refusing to bend regardless.
Despite how desperately I want her, and how frustratingly infuriating all of this is, I feel a flicker of admiration for my future bride, even as she narrows her eyes at me.
“I’ve made my choice, Mr. Romano. What’s yours?”
