Vicious Promise by M. James
Sofia
I’m still seething over last night. The cut on the inside of my thigh stings, but it’s nothing compared to the sting of knowing that going to bed with Luca last night wasn’t even necessary, that I gave up the thing I’d tried to cling to over nothing.
It stings even more that he was right when he said that I’d wanted it. I had. It would be a lie to say otherwise—but never again. I’m so angry right now that I can’t even imagine feeling that desire again, but even if it comes up, I won’t give in. No matter what Luca does, no matter if he kisses me, teases me—nothing will make me let him have me like that again. If I had to do it once, then once is all it will ever be.
I’m polite when Rossi walks back into the room and straight over to me. I know better than to not be—I might be angry with Luca, but I know to be afraid of Rossi. I stand up, holding out my hand to shake his and greet him, but he pulls me into a hug instead. “Welcome to the family, Sofia,” he says, loudly enough for everyone to hear, but then more quietly, as his arms wrap around me like a pseudo-father’s, he murmurs in my ear.
“Don’t ever try to turn Luca against me again,” he warns, his voice low and so dark it sends a shiver down my spine. “Your marriage protects you for now, but at the end of the day, it’s a ring around your finger and a piece of paper. Easily dissolved, easily shredded. And you can quite easily disappear.”
He lets me go then, holding my hand between his two broad ones. “It’s almost as if I have a younger daughter,” he says, that same broad smile on his face. “I’m so glad to bring Giovanni’s daughter back into the family. He’d be so proud, if he could be here today.”
It’s not true. None of it is. And my father didn’t want this for me, not if he could help it—I know that now. But I just smile, my face hurting with the effort, and squeeze his hand in return.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For the wedding, for everything. For my marriage. I’m so glad to be home.”
I catch a glimpse of Luca’s face before he looks away. He sees right through my act, of course. But it doesn’t matter. I know now that he’s not the real danger. Whatever his reasoning for not letting Rossi do as he pleases, I feel confident that he won’t have me killed.
That doesn’t mean our life together is going to be pleasant, though.
I refuse to speak to him, pasting a smile onto my face as we walk together into the room reserved for the post-wedding breakfast. There’s a delicious-looking buffet spread out along one wall, but I can’t imagine wanting to eat. My stomach feels tied in knots, and all I want is to be as far from Luca as possible. My own apartment can’t come soon enough. All of this—Rossi’s warning wrapped in fake pleasantries, the unexpected drama of last night, the fear that won’t leave me even though I’m supposed to be safe now—I can’t help but feel that it would be less oppressive if I had my own space, at least. Somewhere to escape from it. Not Luca’s penthouse, a luxurious bachelor pad in every sense of the word, where I feel so completely out of place.
This party is smaller, just the immediate members of the family and the highest-ranking men under Rossi and their wives, but I still feel a little overwhelmed by all the congratulations, the hand-shaking and the names I can’t possibly remember. It does at least distract me from the memory of last night, of the warmth and weight of Luca’s body on mine, of the sounds he made, the way he lost control while he was inside of me. I have to forget about it, to pretend as if it never happened, to separate myself from everything that occurred last night.
It’s the only way I’ll be able to move on. I’m certain that he already has.
And I wish, more than anything, that Ana were here so that I could talk to her. I’ve never felt more lonely than I do in this room, surrounded by people I don’t know, who don’t care anything about me. Caterina is the best I have here, and even she has been carefully quiet and polite this morning, due to her mother’s hovering presence. Everything she said to me in the hotel room were bland comments about how nice the wedding was and how happy they are that I’ve married Luca, how happy I must be about all of it.
And of course, I nodded and smiled and said yes, I’m so happy. Because from now until the day I can escape, if that day ever comes, I have to pretend to be happy. A content, dutiful wife.
“You have to eat,” Luca murmurs in my ear. “I’m sure you think you don’t want to, but get something, even if you pick at it. The others will notice.”
Resentment burns in me at that, the idea that I should give a single shit about what anyone in here thinks. That I have to do anything that I don’t want to in order to mollify Luca and his family.
But that was what last night was all about. And it’s going to be the rest of my life, for as long as I’m with him.
I suppose if I have to play this part, though, I might as well not do it hungry.
I get a plate from the buffet, putting bits of food on it without really paying attention, and retreat to our designated table. Luca chats with someone on his right, giving me the opportunity to withdraw into myself, staying as silent and unnoticed as I can. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to pretend to be happy. I just want this to be over with.
I’m so deep in my own thoughts, so preoccupied with pushing the bits of smoked salmon and scrambled egg around my plate, that it takes me a second to register the sound of the explosion.
In fact, for a split second as I go flying backwards through the air, my ears ringing and throbbing with pain, the sound of glass windows shattering and screaming all around me, I don’t completely grasp what’s happening.
Not until I land flat on my back, my head striking something hard, and pain floods my body as I try to keep my eyes open, to see what’s happening. My head feels fuzzy, muddled, and I try to get up, only to hear Luca shout my name.
“Sofia!” He launches himself towards me, flinging his body atop mine, his arms cradling my head. “Stay down! Don’t fucking move!”
The next explosion feels as if it shatters my eardrums, my head, and I can feel the faint trickle of something warm down my cheek. My body is wracked with pain, aching in every limb, and I feel the heavy weight of Luca atop me. Faintly I can still hear crying and screaming, but it sounds very far off, like something heard through a tunnel.
Smoke fills the room. In my peripheral vision, I can see someone crawling past me, but that’s quickly forgotten as my vision briefly comes back into focus, and I see that Luca is slumped atop me, blood running from his nose and mouth, his arms still flung upwards as if to protect me. My arm is trapped beneath him, and when I try to pull it free, I feel something warm and wet on his side, sticky on my fingers.
I should get up. I should call for help. I should do something—but I can’t move.
I can hardly think. All I can feel is pain, and my vision swims again, narrowing as I gasp for breath underneath Luca’s weight, knowing that he could be dead, he could be dying, and in his last moments for some reason, he chose to protect me.
The wife he didn’t want.
I can’t make sense of it. But I can’t make sense of anything, my mind feels thick and foggy, and my vision is still narrowing, going dark at the edges.
I have one last flash of memory, of the first time I saw Luca’s face when he opened that closet door, his shirt blood-spattered and his face hard, a gun clutched in his hand just before I passed out.
And then, everything goes black.
* * *
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