Vicious Promise by M. James
Sofia
Idon’t have any way to call Ana—my phone and anything else that was in that little clutch that I took with me the night I was kidnapped is long gone—but I assume that Luca will delegate the particular task of letting her know about the conversation to someone. Probably whoever “Carmen” is—I’m guessing his secretary.
Ana shows up partway through my hair appointment. The stylist, a tall blonde woman named Brigit, took one look at my hair and made a face that told me that we’d be struggling with it for a long time—it’s apparently, in her words, “difficult to salvage,” thanks to all the bleaching kits and box dye I’ve used on it over the years. I haven’t bothered to get a haircut in probably eight or nine months, so several inches of it are lying on the floor now, leaving it just below my shoulders. It feels lighter already, but I’ve been sitting with some concoction on my hair meant to strip the old dye for nearly an hour, and I’m completely and utterly over it.
The only thing that could cheer me up is my best friend coming through the door, which is exactly what happens in that moment.
“Sofia!” Ana grins at me, gingerly giving me a hug despite Brigit’s glare. “I can’t believe Luca agreed to let me come.”
“Me either,” I admit, uncomfortably shifting in my chair. I open my mouth to say something else, but then someone else comes through the bedroom door—a tall brunette who I can only guess must be Caterina Rossi.
She’s gorgeous—tall, with a slender hourglass figure, long brown wavy hair, and dark eyes in her perfectly shaped, olive-skinned face. With high cheekbones, feathery lashes that are almost definitely due to extensions, and full pouty lips, she could have been a model.
No wonder Luca’s friend agreed to marry her,I think dryly. I can’t help but wonder what she thinks of the match—if her fiancé is as handsome as Luca, and as much of a manipulative asshole.
“Hi,” she says pleasantly, holding out her hand once she’s close enough. “I’m Caterina. Luca asked me to come and keep you company.”
No, he asked you to come keep an eye on me and make sure I’m not plotting anything with my best friend. I force a smile onto her face, shaking her hand limply. “Sofia.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” To her credit, she does look as if she’s trying to be friendly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You have?” I blink at her. I can’t imagine Luca taking time out of his day to gossip with this woman about his upcoming marriage. And then I remember—of course. She’s Don Rossi’s daughter, the same man who wanted to have me killed.
“My father mentioned you,” Caterina says, perching delicately on the edge of the tub. “And Franco told me that you’d agreed to marry Luca.”
I can’t help but wonder how much she knows. My gaze flicks down to her left hand—there’s a diamond there that looks nearly twice the size of mine, surrounded by a halo, on a band so encrusted that it looks as if it was dipped in diamond dust. She wears it as casually as if it’s nothing, but then again, to her it probably is. She probably expected nothing less from her fiancé. Everything about her is as polished and cultured as Luca is, from her perfectly styled hair and lightly-made up face, to her designer skinny jeans and stylish light blue blouse. She has diamond studs in her ears and Louboutins on her feet, and I’m reminded suddenly of this morning, when I wondered if I was supposed to wear my diamond jewelry down to grab breakfast out of the fridge.
Luca probably thought I looked like a child who doesn’t know how to dress. It still rankles that he called me a child last night. And I’m not about to change everything about myself for a fiancé who plans to neatly tuck me away and forget about me like an old t-shirt as soon as he can. I’ve never been the kind of person who wears diamonds to breakfast, and I’m not about to start.
“We’re leaving to pick out my wedding dress after this,” I say neutrally as Brigit tilts my head back, washing the concoction she slathered onto it earlier out. The combination of the warm water and her fingers against my scalp feel good, but I can’t relax. I’m too on edge from Caterina’s presence, and the knowledge that anything I say wrong might find its way back to Luca—or worse, Don Rossi.
Ana reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride.”
“Picking out your dress is the best part.” Caterina beams at me, but I can see a hint of discomfort under it, as if she knows that no one actually wants her here. “I can’t wait to go shopping for mine. My mother—”
She trails off, as if realizing what she’s said. Ana stares daggers at her, and she licks her lips quickly, knotting her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, Sofia,” she says quietly. “I know both of your parents are gone. That must be hard—not having your mother here.”
“Can I talk to you outside?” Ana stands up, and I can see the tension in her shoulders. “Give Sofia a minute.”
Caterina looks unhappy, but stands up, glancing at me before following Ana out into the bedroom.
I lean forward as Brigit starts to paint dye onto my hair, trying to hear what they’re talking about. Ana closed the door as she left, but I can still hear murmurs.
“You don’t know Sofia,” I hear Ana say coldly. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“I’m just trying to help.” There’s a note of defensiveness in Caterina’s voice. “Luca asked me to be here—”
“Sofia is being forced into this marriage, by him and your father. Do you really think she wants that reminder? Today, when she’s being prepped like a Barbie doll?”
“I didn’t get to pick my husband either,” Caterina says quietly. “I can offer her some insight into what that’s like—”
“Your life wasn’t in danger if you said no.”
“I still didn’t have a choice, either way.” There’s a steely edge to Caterina’s voice now that reminds me of Luca, but oddly it makes me like her more. She’s holding her own, at least, and Ana’s not an easy person to argue with when she’s angry.
“You don’t belong here.”
“Neither do you, little ballerina,” Caterina says softly, so low that I can barely make out the words. “You owe Luca your life too, just like Sofia does.”
There’s a long moment of silence in the bedroom. My heart thuds in my chest, squeezing painfully. I had no idea about any of this, and I strain to hear as much as I can.
“What do you mean?” I hear Ana whisper, her voice choked. “You can’t tell me that you know what’s going on in your awful family. No one in the mob tells women anything, it doesn’t matter what kind. Italian, Russian, Irish—they all treat women like toys.”
“I’ll ignore the insult to my family,” Caterina replies calmly, her voice hushed too. “But I’ve learned how to listen, Anastasia. I hear things. And I know that my father wasn’t happy that a girl with Bratva ties, no matter how distant now, had moved in with Sofia Ferretti.”
“So what? He was going to have me killed?”
“Probably.” Caterina’s voice is flat. “That’s his solution, usually, so far as I can tell from what I’ve overheard. Luca was the one who insisted that you meant no harm, that your father was long dead and that you weren’t of any interest to the Bratva any longer.”
It takes all of my effort not to react. I’m not surprised that Rossi wanted to get rid of Ana, as much as it makes me hate him more than ever—but Luca saved her? Luca disagreed with his boss over a Russian girl he hardly knew? It, like the plate left outside of my door last night, doesn’t fit with the cold and heartless man that he’s made himself out to be.
“We women, in this world, don’t have choices.” Caterina’s voice drifts through the door again, firm and cool. “It’s up to us to find ways to make the best of it. I always knew I wouldn’t get to choose my husband. I knew that I wouldn’t get to choose who I slept with for the first time. Someone would be picked for me, and I’m glad that it was someone young and handsome, and not some old capo that my father wanted to elevate. Franco will think that he has the last word in our family, but I will find a way to be my own person still, and a way to make sure that my life is at least something resembling what I want it to be. And I can help Sofia learn to do that too, in a way that you can’t.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, I can hear sympathy in her voice. “You’re her best friend, Ana. I’m not trying to take your place. But Luca doesn’t trust you. The closer I am to Sofia, the easier it will be for you to be, too. I really do want to help.”
“Why would I believe that?”
“Because, Anastasia, none of us as women are safe in this world. Not even I’m safe. My father, and Luca, and Franco are all that stand between me and the Russians, or the Irish. They’re all that stand in front of Sofia. They can protect you too, if you’re someone that they can trust. You can help Sofia better by letting me in than you ever can by fighting me.”
“Sofia doesn’t deserve any of this—”
“None of us do. But when my father is gone, I’ll be the wife of the second most powerful man in the family, and Sofia will be the wife of the first. Don’t you see the power there? Franco is enamored with me. I can make him believe that some things that I want are his own ideas, if I’m careful, and learn how to play him. Sofia can do the same with Luca.”
“I don’t believe that anyone can do that with Luca.”
There’s another long pause. “Maybe not,” Caterina admits. “But it’s better than the alternative.”
The bathroom door opens, and I lean back in my chair, trying not to look as if I’ve been listening in. Caterina’s face is very smooth, giving away nothing, and I can see that Ana is doing her best to look happy, and not as if they were just arguing outside.
Brigit steps out, leaving me with my hair plastered atop my head with dye, and Caterina carefully sits on the edge of the tub again. “I know you probably don’t want me here, Sofia,” she says quietly. “I know you didn’t invite me. And I know that this is very hard. I don’t know everything about the situation—but I do know that you aren’t choosing any of this.” She pauses, glancing nervously at Ana, and I can tell that she feels out of her depth. “I didn’t choose to marry Franco, either. But I plan to make sure that I’m more than just another mafia wife. And I can help you too, Sofia.”
“I appreciate it.” I can’t quite look her in the eye. “But I don’t want help being more. I don’t want to be anything in this family. I just want to get this over with, and then disappear until Luca needs to pull me out to parade me around some charity event or something.”
“You’re going to have to—”
“That’s fine, Sofia,” Ana says quickly, cutting Caterina off with a sharp glare. “Luca can force you to marry him, but he can’t make you play a part that you don’t want to.”
Her words are meant to soothe me, but as I look over at Caterina, I can tell from her face that not a single word of it is true.
Luca can force me to do a great many things. I might not want to have to learn to play this game, but I’m quickly learning that I have no other choice.
* * *
Two more awkwardhours pass before my hair is finished being dyed, highlighted, curled and styled. But I have to admit, when I turn and look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror after Brigit has cleaned everything up, that it suits me a million times better than the blonde ever did. She dyed my base color as close to my natural roots as she could, a deep chocolate brown that looks even richer than my actual color. It’s highlighted with soft, thin pieces balayaged throughout in shades of honey and caramel, so subtle that they’re only noticeable when the light catches them. Curled, my hair brushes just below my shoulders, and it looks healthier than it has in a long time, accentuating my cheekbones and making my skin glow even without makeup.
I hate to admit that it looks so much better, that I actually think I look pretty—but I do.
The doorbell rings, startling me, and Catarina gracefully stands up from her spot on the edge of the tub. “That’s probably the driver, letting us know he’s here.” She gives me a quick, hesitant smile. “I’ll let him know that we’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She strides out, leaving me alone with Ana, and my stomach tightens with nerves. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, turning towards her. “How am I supposed to pick out a dress for a wedding that I don’t even want?”
“I know,” Ana says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “But I’ll be with you the whole way. And Caterina too, I suppose.” She rolls her eyes, and I stifle a laugh.
“I think she means well.” I frown, looking out in the direction that she left. “I don’t know. I don’t think I should trust her, right? She’s one of them.”
Ana shrugs. “I would say that you shouldn’t trust anyone. None of them have your best interests at heart, Sofia. Certainly not Luca—and I wouldn’t think that the Don’s daughter does, either. This isn’t your world, regardless of what your father used to do. Be careful.” Her fingers lace through mine, and I’m more grateful than I ever have been for anything that she’s here with me today. “I’ll be here for you as long as I can. Longer than that, if I can find a way to manage it.”
My stomach flips over again at that. Luca could stop me from seeing her at any time, isolate me away from the one person I have left. The thought of how lonely that would be makes me feel sick.
“Come on,” Ana says gently. “This is hard, but it’s not the worst, I promise. I know this isn’t how you pictured picking out your wedding dress, but we’ll try to make it as fun as we can.”
“That’s the thing,” I tell her as we walk out. “I never really pictured it. I never imagined getting married. And yet—here I am.”
Leaving the apartment is strange. Just two nights ago I was trying to flee, and here I am, walking out of the front door and to the elevator as if I’m free to do what I like.
Of course—I’m not. The driver is waiting with Caterina at the elevator, and he punches in the code to go down, yet another reminder that I couldn’t leave on my own if I wanted to. Caterina casts me a sympathetic glance as we walk in, but I don’t quite meet her eyes.
There’s a sleek black car waiting for us in the garage, and the driver opens the door, letting me slide in first. Ana slips in next to me, and Caterina opts to sit across from us. The car is barely moving when she slides open a panel, revealing—to my complete and utter surprise—a bottle of champagne and glasses.
“How did you know that would be there?” I blurt out, staring at her. The minute the words are out of my mouth I wish I could take them back—the last thing I want is to look foolish or stupid in front of this elegantly dressed, perfectly polished woman.
I expect her to say something cutting or mocking, the way Luca probably would, but instead she just smiles. “Just one of the perks,” Caterina says, laughing softly as she pops the cork and starts to pour a glass for each of us. “There’s always some kind of alcohol in these cars. And mixers too—do you want some orange juice in yours?”
For a second, all I can do is keep staring, dumbfounded by all of it. “Sure,” I manage, trying to regain my composure. This is ridiculous. All of it. How am I asking for a mimosa in a car on the way to a bridal salon I could never, in my entire life, afford to shop at before?
Except I could have afforded it. No matter how much I want to try to forget about the money that’s appeared in my account every month for the last three years, I can’t. No matter how much I want to pretend that I’ve been just another struggling student, that I would have made my own way in the world after graduation, it’s a lie. I’ve never had to struggle, and I never would have, even if the Bratva hadn’t come for me. My father made sure that I was provided for, and Luca followed through on that promise—has continued to, to the very letter of it. As much as I want to cast him as the villain, and say that I’m not a part of any of this—I am.
I have been since I was born. I’ve just been living with one foot in and one foot out without even realizing it. But when it comes to money and privilege, no matter how much I want to deny it, I have more in common with Caterina than I do my best friend. I’ve just been running from it this entire time.
The champagne is dry and sweet on my tongue, but I can’t shake the bitter taste that my thoughts leave behind. “I don’t want to be a part of this family,” I whisper desperately to Ana, low enough that Caterina can’t hear. “I wanted to escape. That’s all I ever wanted. And that’s what my father wanted for me too, I know it is.”
“You’re not like them,” Ana replies, equally hushed. “You never will be. Don’t worry about it, Sof. You won’t lose yourself.”
The sound of the childish, familiar nickname and the way she cut immediately to the core of my fears soothes me, just a little. I’m terrified that if I allow myself to enjoy even a little bit of what’s being handed to me in preparation for this wedding, whether it’s the new clothes or a luxurious bath or my newly styled hair, it’s giving in. Saying that I want this. That if I let myself drink the Kool-Aid, even just a little, I’ll lose everything that makes me me, and become just another pawn in this awful world of mobs and mafia.
The car slows to a stop, and outside of the tinted window I can see the sign for Kleinfeld’s. “We’re here,” Caterina says, and once again I see the sympathy in her eyes. I don’t want her pity—but the logical part of me, the part that knows I can’t fight this forever, says that I’m better off with her as my friend than my enemy.
The door opens, and I take a deep breath. You can do this, I tell myself.
I step out of the car, and into the sunlight.
