Vicious Promise by M. James
Luca
I’m a married man.
Finally.
Not to the marriage itself, of course. I would have been very happy to spend all my days as a confirmed bachelor. But now that the deed is done, witnessed and signed and sealed, I can turn my attention to eliminating the immediate Bratva threat, sending them crawling back to their own territory, and then putting Sofia in a nice, luxurious apartment as far from me as possible.
I can forget about her. About what happened last night. About how fucking good it was, how it turned me on more than any sex I’ve ever had, despite how little we actually did. Last night did nothing to satisfy my desire for her. If anything, it stoked the flames even higher.
Which is why I need her out of my sight as soon as possible, before I repeat what happened last night. Worse, before I lose all control together.
The reception is a grand affair, entirely put together by Caterina and Giulia Rossi. Sofia looks slightly forlorn as we walk in, and I turn towards her, forcing myself to look as pleasant as possible. “Neither of us is going to enjoy this,” I tell her flatly. “But at least try to not look as if you’re going to burst into tears.”
Sofia says nothing. Her face looks paler than normal. “Let’s just get this over with,” she murmurs, not meeting my eyes. “I won’t wander off this time.”
There’s a cutting edge to her voice that startles me, but I choose to ignore it. Instead I take her hand, which sits limply in mine, our fingers barely linked as we walk through the wide double doors into the reception hall.
It’s all gold and white, with expensive looking linens and chairs and china throughout the room, sprays of white and pink flowers on every possible surface, and our table at the front of it all. “The sweetheart table,” Sofia murmurs with a hint of sarcasm, following my eyes. For once, I agree with her attitude towards it.
Everything has been planned out to the most minute detail, and none of it feels personal to either of us, which seems fitting. I keep a pleasant smile on my face as we pass through the guests, and to my surprise Sofia does as well, but inwardly all I want is for this to be over. I’m already calculating the minutes until I can escape to the hotel.
Not that that’s going to be more relaxing, really. Sofia and I have to spend the night together, which means it’ll either be awkward as hell, or some variation of last night, where neither of us leaves entirely satisfied.
All of that, combined with my new undesired status as a husband, has me in a dark mood. But I didn’t get to where I am by not controlling my emotions, and so there’s not a person in the room who would realize it.
Except maybe Sofia. Surprisingly, I catch her looking over at me from time to time as we take our place at the table and dinner begins to be served, a slight concern in her eyes. Is she worried for herself, or for me? I wonder grimly, stabbing at the filet on my plate.
The food is delicious, five-star and undoubtedly expensive, but it does very little to improve my mood. I’ve spent my whole adult life dining in fine restaurants, so a pricey meal on my own dime isn’t exactly a treat. Sofia and I barely speak to each other, using the food as an excuse, but that can’t last forever either. Eventually the time comes around for ridiculous wedding traditions like our first dance, and I have to face the necessity of touching my bride, again.
Not that I don’t want to touch her. Precisely the opposite, actually. The memory of what we did last night is still burned into my thoughts, and I’ve had to struggle all day not to think about it purely to avoid the inevitable physical reaction. And the kiss in the church—
I’d barely managed not to get hard. I’d kept the kiss short and brief for exactly that reason, but even that brush of my lips against hers had made me ache for more. I’d never kissed her like that before, sweetly and gently, my hand against her face, cupping it as I kissed her tenderly. I’d done it for the sake of the people watching, to keep up the act, but in the end it had made me want something that I’d never known I could desire.
It made me think of what it could be like to have a wife I love, a real connection with someone, and for a brief moment I’d longed for it.
It’s not possible,I remind myself. Truly loving something means the possibility of losing it. And I’m not certain I even have the capacity to feel that, for anything or anyone. It would make me too vulnerable, too raw, when I’ve spent my life training myself to be anything but.
The first dance song is something slow and sweet that I don’t recognize, something about finding true love in strange places, probably something on the top 100 chart that Caterina picked. When I take Sofia in my arms I can feel that she’s stiff and tense, and I lean close to whisper in her ear.
“Look like you’re enjoying it,” I murmur, swaying with her. “We’re supposed to be happy.”
Sofia tilts her head back a little, looking up into my eyes. For the first time I notice that hers aren’t just brown, they’re almost hazel, with small flecks of green and gold. I’ve never been this close to her and had the presence of mind to notice her eyes before.
“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” she asks softly. “Doesn’t it just get exhausting?”
“Most of my lying has been done since I met you.” I raise an eyebrow, looking down at her, and she frowns, obviously confused. But before either of us can say anything else, the music ends and a more upbeat song begins, signaling time for everyone else to start flooding onto the dance floor.
Don Rossi appears at my elbow, smiling broadly. “Can I have a dance with the bride?” he asks, his tone almost jovial, and I have no choice but to hand her over. Sofia goes slightly pale again, but I just keep my pasted-on smile, my hand gliding over her waist as I pass her off. “Enjoy,” I whisper wryly, and stride back to the table where my drink is waiting.
It’s gone far too soon. I take a last swig of the expensive scotch and head towards the bar, which is four-deep with guests waiting for their drinks. I can’t begin to count how many are here—the Rossi women certainly did their due diligence in making sure that no one could possibly feel slighted by not receiving an invitation.
I, on the other hand, might feel more than a little slighted once I’m handed the bill.
With Sofia occupied, I take the time to wander off on my own, making a trip to the men’s room with glass in hand, and walking slowly back in no hurry to rejoin the party. But it’s on the way back that I turn a corner and find myself face to face with Don Rossi, who has a darker expression on his face than I’ve ever seen when looking at me.
“Luca.” His voice is cold and hard, making me flinch a little despite myself. I’ve heard him speak in that tone before, and what usually follows after isn’t something that I’d ever want directed my way. “We need to talk.”
“Well, that’s a sentence no man ever wants to hear, especially at his wedding.” I grin, hoping to lighten the mood, but Rossi doesn’t so much as blink.
“Somewhere private.”
“Well, I just came from the men’s room.” I try again, but if anything, his expression only darkens more.
“This isn’t a joke, Luca. Let’s go, now.”
We end up standing in a far corner of the hotel lobby, far from where passing guests or curious ears could overhear anything, and especially far from the reception. I frown, looking at him curiously. “What’s going on? Is it the Bratva?” Far from keeping the wedding and party under wraps, we’d done all we could to broadcast it. We wanted every Bratva man from Manhattan to Jersey to Baltimore to know that Sofia Ferretti had been wed, and was no longer a piece in the game.
“No,” Rossi says curtly. “Something much closer.”
“I’ve had too many scotches for you to talk in riddles,” I say flatly, a tiny bit of irritation creeping in. “What is it?”
“You’d do well to watch your tone with me, son.” Rossi’s voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it when we’ve talked, even on the rare occasion that he’s been displeased with me. “Do you know what I do to men who lie to me?”
With those words, my body goes cold as the grave. Fuck. I don’t know how he could have discovered the truth, or why he’d gone digging, but I know exactly what’s coming next. And worse yet, I have no excuse.
No excuse, other than the fact that you’re besotted with the girl, which is something he’ll view as weakness. And if Rossi thinks Sofia makes me weak, he’ll see her as even more of a liability. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean that she can’t ever meet with an accident—and if Rossi thinks my loyalty is compromised, he won’t hesitate.
This is why I can’t love. Why I can’t get so close to someone that they distract me. Why every woman I’ve ever taken to bed has been promptly kicked right back out.
Love is weakness. And weakness is not tolerated here.
“You told me Sofia wasn’t a virgin. That there was no need for witnesses the morning after because she would leave no stain. And now, Luca, I find out that you’ve lied to me.”
I don’t bother asking him how he knows. If I had to guess, he cornered Sofia somehow and tricked her into admitting she was a virgin. I should have told her that I’d lied for her, but it’s always been my experience that the more people who know about a lie, the worse off you are. And yet here I am—worse off.
All I can do now is try to salvage the situation.
“I don’t know why you’re trying to get out of going to bed with your wife,” Rossi says disgustedly. “God knows she’s beautiful enough, young and innocent—that ought to be enough for any man. Maybe she’s conned you into agreeing not to touch her somehow—don’t tell me if she did,” he adds. “I respect you, Luca, and I don’t want to be given any more reason to feel differently. But whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t like the idea of forcing a woman,” I say quietly.
“A man with morals.” Rossi shakes his head. “I’ve never denied that every man should have his code, but this isn’t the time, Luca. There can be no question about the legality of this marriage. I’ve told you that already. So I don’t care what you have to do in order to get your cock up her, but that girl best be made a wife by tomorrow morning. We’ll view the bridal bed as is custom.” He pauses, and the look in his eyes sends another chill down my spine.
“I’m going easy on you this once, son,” Rossi says, his voice emotionless and hard. “You’ve always been loyal and honest, and you’ve worked hard for me through the years. I couldn’t have asked for more from Marco Romano’s son. But if you lie to me again—” he shakes his head, and I know that whatever he says next, it will be the absolute truth.
“You’ll die. And you’ll die slow. I don’t tolerate liars—especially not from those who stand to inherit everything I’ve built.”
“I understand,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry, sir.” There’s nothing else to say. Anything more is excuses—the damage is done. All that’s left now is to repair it as well as I can manage.
“You’ll take care of it?”
“Yes.” I pause. “Can I ask you a question?”
Rossi shrugs. “Go ahead.”
“Why do you care so much about keeping this promise? Why is it so necessary that Sofia dies, or marries me and becomes my wife in every way? You cared for my father and hers, I know, but you’ve done far worse than break promises to a friend. We both have. Why not send her away somewhere? Why not give her fake papers and a new life? Surely all this cost so much more.”
I hadn’t asked all of this before because this solution seemed simpler—I hadn’t wanted to give Rossi a reason to think that I didn’t want to marry her and choose his preference instead…eliminating her entirely. But the marriage is done now. And I can’t help but wonder why there were only two options.
“If she’s not dead, she needs to be able to be watched. We need to know where she is, always. Allowing her to disappear would mean that there was always a chance the Bratva could track her down and take her without our knowing.”
“But again—is she really so valuable?” I haven’t pressed him before, but now I push, despite his anger with me. He’s been cagey about this all along, and if I’m going to tell Sofia that she has no choice but to go to bed with me tonight, I need to know the truth. I need to know as much as he’ll tell me.
He only gives an inch. But it’s something.
“She could be the downfall of the whole family,” Rossi says grimly. “All I’ve worked for, all I’ve built, gone to the Bratva if they get their hands on her.”
“How?”
I see his jaw clench. “Some things you don’t need to know yet, Luca.” He pauses, draining the last of his drink. “Just do your job. Fuck her, or else.”
Rossi raises his glass in a mock toast then, turns on his heel, and leaves me standing there dumbstruck.
I thought I’d done all that I’d have to do. I’d sheltered her, lied for her, and married her.
But now I have to do something else altogether.
And she’s not going to be happy.
