Vicious Promise by M. James
Sofia
Ican feel the weight of the ring like a brand as I pick up the pen, and I feel sick to my stomach. None of this is normal, or right. There was no proposal, no getting down on one knee, no question to answer. Luca didn’t even put the ring on my hand himself. Everything about this is stiff and formal, businesslike.
That’s good, though, I tell myself. The more detached this is, the easier it will be to deal with it.
I can’t help but feel that I’m losing something, though. I’d never been the kind of girl who dreamed about marriage and family, who pictured her wedding day in every detail. I’m still a virgin not because I was saving it for my future husband, but because I simply haven’t had the chance to lose it. I’ve hardly ever dated, and the few dates that I’ve gone on were with men who were far from being interesting or handsome or fascinating enough to make me want them. I hadn’t even really enjoyed the few clumsy kisses that I’d experienced.
Luca’s kiss, last night, was the first time I’d ever really felt what it was like to be truly kissed by someone who knew what they were doing. Not a sloppy attempt to smash our mouths together, or the sort of brief, bored kiss a guy gives you when he’s hoping you’ll hurry up and let him move to the next base. Luca had kissed me as if he wanted my mouth more than he wanted to breathe, as if he were hungry for me. There had been fire and passion in that kiss, and if just one kiss was like that, what would—
I press my lips together tightly as I look at the first page. I can’t let myself think about it. Not about Luca’s kiss, or the fact that this marriage means giving up any chance at love, ever, or the fact that I’m going to be stuck a virgin for the rest of my life. At least I’ll be alive, I tell myself, and in the end, that’s all there is to it.
“If you’re planning to read every page, we’re going to be here all day,” Luca says dryly.
“Are you suggesting I sign something that I haven’t read?”
Luca sighs, a sound that he seems to make around me more often than not. “That document is your agreement to marry me. In it, it states that you will remain married to me until one of us dies, albeit from natural causes or otherwise, and that you will not seek a divorce. If you attempt to separate from me, take up residence in an unapproved place, leave the city, state, or country without my permission, or file for divorce, you state that you understand that I can no longer guarantee your safety, nor will I attempt to safeguard your person in any way.”
“That’s a lot of fancy words to say that if I try to leave, you’ll let me die or have me killed.”
Luca’s jaw clenches. “I will never have you killed, Sofia. It’s not my belief that the Bratva pose so great a threat that your death is necessary. But Don Rossi and I have different ideas about some things. And I will not stick my own neck out to protect you if you insist on leaving.”
Hmm.I file that tidbit away for safekeeping. Luca has just unwittingly shown me a little of his own hand. So long as Rossi is the head of the Italian mafia, my life is forfeit if I leave Luca. But once Luca is Don—he’s just all but told me that he wouldn’t have me killed for leaving.
There’s still the Bratva to consider, of course. But if I plan carefully enough, and bide my time, it’s possible that I might one day be able to be free again.
“It also states that I agree to provide for all your material needs. Your housing, food, utilities, and other necessities will be paid for, and you will be given a monthly clothing and discretionary allowance,” Luca continues, not noticing the change in my demeanor. “As my wife, you’ll be expected to attend certain events with me. You’ll also be expected to perform certain functions—sit on the boards of a few charities, that kind of thing.” He pauses. “Are you following all of this?”
“Of course.” I smile pleasantly at him.
“As the wife of the future Don, and eventually the wife of the Don himself, you’ll be in a position of authority over the other mafia wives. They’ll come to you for advice and company.” Luca makes a face, then. “I don’t know what the hell you’ll have to offer them, honestly, but do your best. Everyone must believe that this marriage is real, and that involves you playing your part to the fullest.”
I wince. I hadn’t thought that I’d have to make friends, or be a real part of this “family.” I’d assumed that I’d be able to hide away in my apartment, traveling when I could and amusing myself. It had honestly sounded like the only tolerable part of the deal. Now I’m finding out that I’m going to have to preside over this grotesque kingdom with Luca and pretend to like it, and my stomach turns over. I don’t want any part of this.
But I still don’t have any choice.
“Is there anything else?”
“For that document? Only that you understand that no children will come of this union, or be expected. If you should fall pregnant, the pregnancy will be terminated.” Luca smiles tightly. “But since one of your conditions is that I don’t touch you, I don’t think that will be an issue.”
“I thought Catholics didn’t believe in abortion?”
Luca frowns. “There are—other concerns that take precedence over any religious ones. But that’s not your concern. Nor is it something you’ll need to worry about.” He taps the paper. “That’s something else. Father Donahue said that you were baptized, but never confirmed in the church?”
“Um—no. I was baptized as an infant, and took first communion, but my father died before I was confirmed. And my mother only converted for marriage, she grew up Russian Orthodox, so—”
Luca waves his hand, cutting me off. “Father Donahue will expedite that, then.”
“But I think there’s a process—”
I can see the irritation plainly on Luca’s face. “Father Donahue knows the family well, and he knew your father well, also. He’ll do what we ask.” Luca rubs one hand over his mouth, and I see a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. “There’s no delaying this, Sofia. The wedding will be Saturday.”
“Is there anything else in the document I should know about?”
Luca shakes his head.
“Did you include my stipulations?”
“Sofia—” The warning in Luca’s voice is clear.
“So the contract has everything you demand, but nothing that I—”
Luca slams one hand down on the table, getting to his feet so quickly that I flinch backwards and almost topple the chair. “My agreeing to your conditions is nothing but me being a merciful husband, Sofia. I don’t have to agree to anything. One phone call, and you are dead! Do you understand me? So instead of insisting that I have all of this typed up again to suit your desires, you’re just going to have to trust me.” His jaw is clenched as he leans over me, his green eyes blazing. “Or you can tell me that’s impossible, and I’ll call Don Rossi and let him know the marriage is off. It’s your choice, my lovely bride.”
He hisses the last word, and I can see in that moment the toll that this is taking on him. I don’t feel sorry for him, not even a little bit, but my heart is racing as I look up at his chiseled face, at his green eyes blazing like emeralds, his gaze hard as flint. He reaches out, a hand on either side of the back of my chair, and looms over me.
“I could demand anything I want of you,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, low and deep. I feel it shiver over my skin despite myself. “I could demand your body, your submission, every part of you given to me without question, in exchange for your life. But despite the man I am that disgusts you so, despite the blood on my hands, I won’t. Do you know why, Sofia?”
“No,” I whisper. I’m shaking like a leaf, but my skin is humming with something I’ve never felt before, some electric sensation traveling over me until it feels as if every hair on my body is standing up. Luca’s full lips are hovering over mine, every inch of him rigid with anger, and I know without a doubt that if I reached down, I’d find him as hard as he’d been last night. There’s something between us that I don’t understand, some chemistry in our undeniable hatred of each other, and a twisted part of me wants to arch upwards, to press my lips against his and wrap my arms around his neck, bringing him down to me until we topple onto the gleaming wooden floor of the dining room together.
Luca stays very still over me, his gaze fixed on mine. “Because I’ve committed a great many sins in my life, Sofia, many of them mortal. But I’ve never forced myself on a woman. I’ve never taken one who didn’t want me.”
He pushes himself away from my chair then, his jaw still clenched. “And I’m not about to start with my wife.”
My hands are shaking. I’m not sure if I can even manage to sign the papers, but Luca shoves them towards me. “Oh,” he says coldly. “There is one more thing.”
“What?” I try to stop my voice from trembling, but I can’t.
“Your hair color. I don’t care what it costs, or what a stylist has to do, but that ghastly dye will be out of your hair by Friday, and you’ll be as close to your natural color as she can manage. It looks ridiculous on you.” He spits the last words out, sitting back down in his chair. “I’ll have my secretary send a stylist up tomorrow. And when we’re finished here, someone will be coming with a new wardrobe for you, something that doesn’t make you look like a whore.”
I know that he’s being intentionally cruel, undercutting the desire of a few moments ago with anger instead. But it doesn’t make the words hurt any less. Nothing he says should hurt me, but it does, nonetheless.
The sooner you can get this over with then, the better. Soon, you’ll hardly even have to see him.
Letting out a long breath, I reach for the pen.
* * *
An hour later,I’m standing in one of the guest bedrooms in the penthouse, looking at an array of clothing, undergarments, shoes and jewelry scattered across the bed. There’s a garment rack with more clothing against the wall. It’s the most overwhelming display of wealth I’ve ever seen in one place, because every single item has a designer tag.
I’m still reeling from the paperwork. In the end, none of it had been anything that I could find a reason to argue about. The part in the marriage agreement about children had bothered me, but as Luca had pointed out, since I was insisting that I would remain a virgin—what was there to worry about? And even if I changed my mind, or he changed his and forced the issue, would I really want to have a child with him? Or would I want to take care of that particular problem as soon as possible?
I’d never thought it would be something I’d even consider. But the thought of giving Luca a child sends a shudder through me, and not a good one. I can’t imagine raising a child in this life—after all, my father had hoped that I would escape it for exactly that reason. All the more reason to stay out of his bed, I tell myself, running my fingers over a silk shirt. If I don’t sleep with him, it’s not even a possibility.
The rest of it was just standard prenuptial agreements—nothing that I hadn’t expected, and nothing that I took issue with. I don’t want Luca’s money, or his property. I don’t even want this marriage, and he’s made it clear that there’s no way out. And if I do manage to exploit the tiny loophole I think I’ve found, I won’t be stopping to try to take half of his possessions in court.
I’ll be running for my life.
“Mr. Romano was very insistent that you should pick anything you like,” the prim blonde woman standing off to the side tells me. The bedroom that we’re in is more like a hotel suite, with a massive king-sized bed, a wardrobe, dresser, and a walk-in closet, and a fireplace with two wing chairs in front of it. I haven’t even explored the bathroom yet, but just a glimpse of it told me that it’s as big as my entire bedroom in my own apartment.
The memory of my room sends a jolt of sadness through me. I want to go back, but I’ll never be able to. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to convince Luca to get some of my things, or if I should even try. I’ve taken some pleasure in irritating him and seeing how many of his buttons I can push before he explodes, but his reaction this afternoon told me that I’ve just about pushed him to the limit. I can’t afford to be petty and immature, no matter how much I’d like to be. I’m going to have to learn to play this game his way if I want to survive.
I’m all but certain I’ve gotten all the concessions out of him that I’m going to manage for a long time.
There’s thousands upon thousands of dollars of clothes and shoes and jewelry spread out in front of me, but I can’t take any joy in it. Anastasia would be drooling over this, I think, running my hand over a long black velvet evening gown. It’s beautiful, but all I can think is that this is Luca’s way of mollifying me and controlling me all at once, dressing me up like a beautiful doll, to take out when he needs me and put out of sight when he doesn’t.
Isn’t that what you want, though?I chide myself. If there’s no way out of this—and it’s clear that there isn’t—shouldn’t I want as little to do with Luca after our marriage as possible? I look down at the ring on my finger, sparkling brilliantly. A daily reminder of who I’m bound to for the rest of my life. There’s no escaping him, even when I’m alone.
The sleek blonde woman remains mostly silent while I try on clothing and pick my way through the items. Luckily, Luca’s taste runs similar to mine—simple and elegant—and if the situation were different I might have enjoyed having free rein to choose whatever I like. In the end I wind up with a few pairs of designer jeans, a handful of silk and linen tops and a stack of t-shirts that probably cost more than a t-shirt ever should, some light sundresses and shoes to go with them, ballet flats and heels. There’s workout gear too—all branded and expensive, and I grab items without paying much attention. To me, yoga pants are yoga pants, regardless of where they come from. The evening gowns are the hardest to choose—they’re a reminder of what Luca told me earlier, that I’ll have to attend events and galas with him as his perfect, happy, glowing wife. The epitome of a good and loving marriage.
But I also remember that he’d told me that he’d hoped we’d mostly forget one another, and that makes me think that those might be few and far between. I can only hope that’s the case.
I try to avoid the jewelry—I can’t even imagine how large of a bill I’ve racked up this far, and even my petty instinct to spend as much of Luca’s money as I can isn’t able to overcome the frugality that was instilled in me all my life. “Mr. Romano insists,” the blonde woman says, pushing a tray of diamond earrings towards me, and I sigh.
In the end I pick out a few sets—one each in yellow, rose, and white gold—and a pair of small silver hoops. A pretty rose gold cuff bracelet studded with diamonds and a matching cocktail ring catches my eye, but I push them reluctantly away.
“And for the honeymoon?” The woman pulls out another garment rack, this one full of silk and satin and lace, pieces of lingerie both innocent and provocative, and I can feel myself blushing bright red.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say quickly.
She frowns. “Surely you want something beautiful for your wedding night, at least? Mr. Romano—”
“Mr. Romano has nothing to do with my underwear, I assure you,” I tell her firmly. Her expression is thoroughly confused, but I ignore it. I might have to play the happy, satisfied bride for the rest of my life after this, but I refuse to pick out lingerie that I’ll never wear, for a groom I’ll never sleep with. That’s taking the ruse too far.
“I think I’m done,” I say firmly. “Tell Mr. Romano, if he asks, that I’m very grateful, but I’m also exhausted. This is it for me, today.”
“Very good, Ms. Ferretti.”
When the woman and her extensive collection of shopping is gone, I collapse backwards on the bed amidst all the clothing. My entire body aches from the events of yesterday, sleeping briefly curled up on a couch, and tension. I open one eye and see the bathroom door, and despite my stubborn insistence not to enjoy anything in this place, I can’t help but give in to the idea of a hot bath. My muscles are screaming at me.
The bathroom itself is astonishing. The tiles are heated, something I find out as soon as I step barefoot into the room, and it’s as massive as I’d thought it might be. The counter stretches along most of one wall, with double sinks and a huge mirror with recessed lighting all around it. The shower is separate from the tub, with porcelain tiles and rainwater showerheads on either end, and the tub has whirlpool jets. It takes me only a second of opening one of the lacquered black drawers to find sachets of scented bath salts and ampoules of bath oil, and there’s literal candles underneath the sink. The other drawers are empty, just waiting for someone to fill them with their own things.
Of course there’s nothing personal here,I think dryly, as I turn the bathwater on. Luca doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who calls a girl for a second date, or lets them leave a toothbrush or lipstick behind. Everything about this guest suite is carefully curated, undoubtedly by someone else, for any guest he might have. And I’m sure the girls don’t stay in here. They probably don’t even stay the night. He probably fucks them and just calls a cab, and they thank him for it.
I’m not quite sure why I feel so bitter about it. Truthfully, I should be grateful. The busier he is in his own bed, the less trouble I’ll have keeping him out of mine. And I don’t believe for a second that Luca is a man who lacks for female company, even if he hadn’t bragged about it. But the same way that my skin feels as if it’s electrified every time he looms over me, the thought of another woman in his bed makes my stomach feel queasy with anxiety.
Jealousy. It’s a strange emotion to feel over the man who is essentially my captor. It’s just because you’re marrying him, I tell myself, sliding into the vanilla-scented bathwater and stifling a groan of pleasure as the hot water closes over my body. You just feel obligated to be jealous of other women in your husband’s bed. But that was never going to change. All you can do is stay out of it yourself, and look the other way.
Luca had made it clear that he expected to be allowed to do whatever he wanted. Was my father like that? For the first time, I allow myself to wonder about his marriage to my mother. I can’t believe that he was ever unfaithful to her. I remember the way he looked at her, the way they would sneak kisses when they thought I wasn’t looking, the way he always touched her waist when he passed her even after years of marriage. I know that he loved her. But fidelity? Now I’m not so sure.
It’s clear that my father lived a life that I never knew about. That much I’d always been aware of—but I’d never imagined this. And I’d never have thought he’d be capable of promising me to a man like Luca. Did he know what the alternative would be, if I refused? Did he know I’d be backed into a corner like this? And if he did, was the promise made because he was afraid of Rossi killing me?
I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the bath. There’s so much that I don’t know, so many questions left unanswered, and Luca doesn’t seem inclined to give me any of those answers. I know that he’s hoping I’ll be meek and quiet after our wedding, that I’ll stop fighting him and asking questions.
But I’ve spent my whole life being meek and quiet, trying to stay out of sight, and it didn’t work. It only got me here, forced into a marriage I don’t want, my entire life wiped away in one night.
I press my lips together, breathing in the vanilla scent of the water.
It might just be time to try something new.
