Vicious Promise by M. James
Sofia
My heart is galloping in my chest.
I know Luca is telling the truth. If I refuse this marriage, I’m as good as dead.
But I won’t walk out of one captivity just to face another. If I have to marry him, I’ll do it on my own terms. I won’t be his slave any more than I would for the Bratva. I’d die before I let them sell me or use me for sport, and Luca promised that he wouldn’t force me into his bed.
So now I get to see just how well that promise holds up.
Still, I don’t know what I’ll do if he refuses, if he insists that we have to consummate the marriage in order to make it legal. If it’s just once, is that worth my life?
The problem is, I’m not sure that it would be just once. I felt him last night, when he had me up against the door, and even as innocent as I am, I know the reactions of a man who desires a woman. Luca Romano wanted me, and violently. I’d felt it not just in the hard pressure against my thigh, but in every inch of his body. I’d felt it in the way he’d kissed me.
No one has ever kissed me like that before. And when I bit him, it wasn’t just because I wanted him off of me.
It was at least partially because I wasn’t sure that I wanted him to stop.
I’m being forced into an arranged marriage with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Everything about Luca is pure, masculine sexuality, poured into a bespoke suit and standing in front of me with the arrogance of a god. And that would be manageable, if he were bad at kissing. Selfish in bed. A terrible lover. Then I could grit my teeth and let him get it over with once and move on with my new life. But I don’t think he’s any of those things.
That kiss made me fantasize about things I’ve never even thought about before. The heat of his lips on mine had made me suddenly, achingly wet, so much so that I’d cursed the fact that Ana had convinced me to go out without my underwear, and terrified that he might notice somehow. The feeling of his heavy, muscular body against mine—
Just the thought of it is making me flush with heat all over again, aroused in a way that I’ve never felt. I should have hated his touch, hated the forceful way that he threw me up against the door, hated everything about his body against mine.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t hate it. And I can’t allow that.
I’ll marry him if I have to, but I won’t allow myself to want him. To give myself to him in any way other than the most basic, legal requirement of signing paperwork.
And in order to ensure that, I have to make sure that he never, ever touches me again.
“Well?” I stare up at him defiantly, making sure that he can’t see how terrified I am. How I’m shaking at the thought of him refusing to bend, insisting on taking me to bed, and leaving me with the choice all over again of whether to sleep with him or die.
I can see the frustration on his face, the anger. He wants me, I realize, and the thought sends a shiver of desire down my spine despite myself. Which is exactly why I have to keep him out of my bed, and from forcing me into his.
Luca might be the only one who can protect my life, but I’m the only one who can protect my heart. And that starts with protecting my body from him.
“Fine,” he says, his voice cutting. “You win, Ms. Feretti. If you want to stay as pure as the Virgin Mary, be my guest. There’ll be no shortage of women offering to warm my bed in your place.”
For some reason, that hurts. It shouldn’t, but the idea of him looking at another woman the way he’s looking at me right now, kissing and touching another woman with the same passion that he displayed last night, makes my chest ache. You’re being an idiot, I tell myself firmly. Besides, that painful flicker of jealousy is just another reason to deny him. If just the thought of him being with someone else hurts now, how much more would it hurt if I gave him my virginity, if I made him the first and only man that I’d ever take to bed?
He’s already made it clear that he has no intention of being faithful to me, or even returning to my bed after the first night. Giving in even once would just make it so much harder in the end. I can’t allow myself to want him.
And I absolutely, cannot ever allow myself to care about him.
That last should be easy enough,I think, looking up at the stone-faced man in front of me.
“So you’re agreeing to the marriage, then?” Luca looks down at me impassively.
“Yes. As long as—”
“As long as I don’t fuck you. I’ve got it.” He smiles coldly at me. “If that’s all, Ms. Feretti, there’s paperwork to sign. Agreement to wed, pre-nuptial agreements, the works. And the jeweler will be here in—” he checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes to provide you with a choice of engagement rings.”
I stare at him, momentarily dumbfounded. “Engagement rings?” I squeak, startled out of my sullen defiance. The way he says it is so bland, so contractual, for something that should be so intimate. A sign of a promise between two people who love each other.
But there’s not anything resembling love in this room.
“Oh, you like the sound of that?” Luca’s smile refuses to meet his eyes. “Women are generally charmed by my money, but I thought you’d be the exception to that, since you were so solidly against the idea.”
I clench my teeth, a fresh wave of anger washing over me. “You just caught me by surprise. I didn’t think you cared enough to buy me a ring. After all, you’re being forced into this too.”
“I don’t care,” Luca says bluntly. “But this marriage must appear to be completely real, and completely untouchable. That means we will go through every motion. You will choose an engagement ring, and a wedding dress, and we will have a very large, very public ceremony at St. Patrick’s, and a very large, very expensive reception after, as befits my position. You will be a beautiful, happy bride, and I will be a handsome and adoring groom. But most of all, Ms. Romano, you will be grateful.” He turns then, fixing me with his dark green gaze all over again. “And after that, as soon as I can install you in your own apartment, we will live our lives as separately as possible, except for when it is strictly necessary for us to be seen in public together.”
“And you’ll forget about me.” The statement comes out more pitiful than I’d meant for it to.
Luca smiles tightly. “My dearest wish, Sofia, is that we can forget about each other.”
* * *
Ten minutes later,I find myself seated at the table in Luca’s expansive dining room with stacks of paperwork neatly organized across it, a wizened man who looks older than the antique art on the walls sitting across from me, and a velvet tray with ten different engagement rings in front of me.
They’re all large, extravagant, and probably worth more than a year’s worth of rent on my apartment. Maybe even more than that. And they’re all beautiful.
“If your choice isn’t the right size, I can have that fixed and ready for you tomorrow,” the jeweler says, glancing between Luca and I. He looks nervous, and I can’t blame him. Luca’s expression is steely as he stands to the right of me, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at the tray of rings.
He’s probably adding up how much this is all costing him in his head.
Perversely, it occurs to me to just pick the one that looks as if it costs the most, regardless of my own personal taste. But the one that looks the most expensive is a princess-cut diamond that looks as if it would reach to my knuckle, surrounded by a halo of diamonds and a diamond-encrusted band. It’s far gaudier than anything I would ever wear, and I can’t bring myself to commit to wearing it forever just to spite Luca. Knowing what I do about him so far, he’ll insist that I keep it on my hand no matter what.
It’s not as if he plans to even see you all that often, once the Bratva are dealt with though.
I don’t know why that thought makes my chest squeeze tightly, as if I’m sad. Luca avoiding me is the best possible outcome. It’s not the life I’d hoped for, but at least I won’t be dead, and I’ll never have to worry about money.
And he’d said I could travel. Even if I can’t live in London and play with the orchestra there, I can still go to Paris, maybe—
It’s still not your life.It’s a life being chosen for you. One that you’ll have to get permission for every move you make. No matter how I try to turn it around in my head, nothing can change the fact that everything I’ve dreamed of, worked for, and hoped for has been taken away in an instant. And even though it isn’t Luca who orchestrated this, I can’t help but hate him for it. Especially since I can’t bring myself to hate my own father, a man who undoubtedly loved me, and who I’ve never stopped grieving for.
So Luca is the only person left for me to blame this on.
I pick up one of the rings, a round diamond encircled in a halo with a slim platinum band, and slide it onto my finger. It feels heavy and looks odd, taking up so much space on my slender hand. “Don’t you have anything smaller?” I ask curiously, and Luca makes a face.
“It wouldn’t look right for the wife of the future Don to have a small engagement ring,” Luca says flatly, in a tone that brooks no argument.
Of course. Never mind what I would choose. I gingerly set the first ring down, and pick up another, a pear shaped diamond solitaire set on a rose gold pave band that reminds me of Blake Lively’s ring. It’s less ostentatious than the others, and unique, but the diamond is still huge, covering the entire space between the base of my finger and the first knuckle. How does anyone wear something like this?
And then, as I look over the tray of rings with sinking spirits, I notice one that does stand out to me.
It’s not as flashy or modern as the other rings, in fact, it looks as if it could be an antique. It’s a radiant-cut diamond set in yellow gold, and although it’s large—probably still over three carats—it’s not nearly as huge as the other center stones. It’s flanked by two emerald baguettes, and the band is plain. Nestled next to it is the matching wedding band, a yellow gold eternity ring with the diamonds sunken into it all the way around.
I pick it up, sliding it onto my left hand. It fits perfectly, and my heart beats a little faster in my chest as I stretch out my hand in front of me, looking at the ring. I don’t want to love it as much as I do. It’s large without being gaudy, beautiful without being overpowering, and the green of the emeralds are the same color as Luca’s eyes. For a single moment, as I look at the diamond glittering on my hand, I wish with all my might that things were different. This looks like a ring that should have been chosen for me, a ring that I could pass down to a daughter or for a future son to give to his bride, a family heirloom in the making. A token of love, not wealth.
“Is that the one you want?”
Luca’s icy voice cuts through my fantasy, and I feel my stomach drop as I’m brought back to reality. This is a token of wealth, nothing more. The ring feels heavy on my hand as I let my palm rest on the table, the sunlight from the window sparkling off of it. This is Luca’s way of showing anyone who might threaten him that he owns me. That Sofia Ferretti, daughter of the late Giovanni Ferretti, is his bride. That he takes what he wants, and will do whatever he must to keep it.
I swallow hard. I want to rip the ring off and throw it across the room. Part of me wants to choose one of the others, simply because I do want this one, and I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want anything that this man chooses to give me. Certainly not something that could hold so much meaning.
But a part of me that I don’t want to examine too closely can’t bear to take it off.
Instead I hold it up again, smiling pleasantly at Luca as I turn to face him. “Yes,” I say simply. “This is the one I want.”
“Alright.” Luca turns to the jeweler. “That will be all, then. You can send me the bill. And box up the band,” he says, indicating the gold ring left in the slot on the tray.
“What about your band, Mr. Romano?”
“Just a plain yellow gold band to match will do. Five millimeters, nothing flashy.” Luca gives him a stiff nod. “Have it here by Friday. The ceremony will be Saturday afternoon.”
“Very good, Mr. Romano.”
The moment the jeweler is gone, Luca takes a seat, pushing the first stack of paperwork towards me.
“Sign,” he says curtly.
