Vicious Promise by M. James
Luca
Thirty minutes into the engagement party and I’m already bored out of my mind.
The Rossi family has rented out an vintage bar for the occasion, emptied entirely except for the family and their guests. Caterina is glowing in a white lace dress that goes down to her knees, with a neckline high enough to keep her generous cleavage hidden. She’s wearing her mother’s ruby jewelry—I remember seeing that same necklace, bracelet and ring on Mrs. Rossi a few years ago at her anniversary party, an equally mind-numbing affair.
The rubies, though, are taking a back seat to the ring that everyone really wants to see, the one on her left finger. I’m pretty proud of it myself, because I helped Franco pick it out. He was a clusterfuck of nerves, freaking out about the prospect of insulting both Caterina and her father with a ring that wasn’t good enough, and so I went with him to pick out the ring. The Rossi women wear everything from Cartier to Tiffany to Harry Winston, but for something this important, there’s a private jeweler who has worked with the families for generations. He designed the ring and had it ready in a flash—a five carat rose cut diamond that looks as if it’s weighing Caterina’s hand down, surrounded with a halo of perfectly cut diamonds on a pave platinum band.
I had no idea what any of that meant when the jeweler explained it to me, but apparently it was perfect, because Franco confided in me later that his new fiancée had rewarded him with a blowjob in the back of the limo on the way back from the proposal. “She really liked that fucking ring,” he’d told me with a smirk, clapping me on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”
From the way Caterina is beaming at her husband-to-be as she shows off her new jewelry, I’d say she likes him, too. I don’t know how authentic the expression on her face is, but Franco is young and handsome and on the verge of occupying one of the most powerful seats in the territory, and he just put a seven-carat ring on her finger. She’s the envy of every woman in the room right now.
Don Rossi appears at my elbow just as I snag a glass of champagne off of a passing tray, an indulgent expression on his face as he watches his daughter and Franco from our vantage point across the room. “No date tonight?”
“It’s a family affair,” I say, shrugging. “I wouldn’t think it would be appropriate to bring a girl whose name I barely know to an event like this.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.” Rossi frowns. “I’ve gotten some concerning intelligence recently about the Bratva. They’re moving in on our territory, Luca, and they’re not being as subtle about it as they used to be. Rumor has it that they’ve got a card up their sleeve, something that will give them more sway, but I can’t figure out what it is. And you know how that makes me feel.”
“I do.” It’s the truth, and I feel bad for anyone who Rossi thinks might have information that they’re not giving up. Rossi will turn the streets of Manhattan red with Russian blood before he loses ground to them.
“If they become a danger to us, it’s one thing,” Rossi continues. “If they become a danger to her—”
I look sharply over at him. “Do you have reason to think that they will?”
Rossi shrugged. “They were the ones who killed her father, and yours. It stands to reason that she remains a target. And if she is, you know what that means.”
I tense slightly, taking a slow sip of my champagne to hide it. “I do. But I think it’s preliminary to say that they’re targeting her in any way. And as far as what it means—” I feel the champagne fizz pop on my tongue, the sweet, dry taste of it lingering as I watch Franco and Caterina from across the room. He looks as thrilled as she is, and even though I know their high is from the promise of power rather than love, it makes me yearn the slightest bit, despite myself. I’ve never looked at anyone like that, and I’ve never seen anyone look at me in that way, either.
“I like my life as it is,” I say casually, still watching the happy couple. And I mean it. I do love my life, even without the promise of a wife or a family. I like my penthouse, decorated and arranged as I like it, the bed that is empty when I choose and as full as I want when I desire, the space all to myself. I don’t feel lonely there, I feel free. It’s the only place I ever truly do feel that way, where the constraints of my responsibilities to the family and the pressures that come with it fall away, and I can be myself, with no one watching me. That space, atop one of the tallest buildings in Manhattan, is my own small private kingdom in a way that no other place could ever be, not even the territory itself once it belongs to me.
“Of course you do,” Rossi says indulgently. “You’re young, and better-looking than I ever was. But remember, you don’t have to change your ways altogether just because you marry. You know that.”
I shrug. “A wife lives with you. Intrudes on your peace of mind.”
“Does Franco look like his peace of mind is in jeopardy?” Rossi laughs, inclining his head towards them, and I snort.
“They haven’t even made it to the honeymoon yet. Give them a year or two.”
“I don’t disagree with you. My own lovely wife, bless her, tests my patience more than a little. But there’s joy to be found in family, too, so long as you have an understanding and loyal wife and devoted children. And there’s the promise you made, Luca.” Rossi frowns. “I won’t say I’ve never broken a promise. And a promise made without your knowledge or consent—well, there’s something to be said about that. But it was a promise made in the eyes of God, and it’s up to you to decide what weight that carries, if it comes to pass that you need to make good on it.” He pauses, watching his family from across the room. “Just know that whatever choice you make, it won’t change your place in this family. You are my heir, Luca, and I’ve just arranged a marriage for my daughter that will solidify your place and your safety, so much as I can. I think that ought to show you how serious I am about this.”
“It does.” I finish the champagne, and set the glass on a passing tray, taking another. “And I’m very aware of it. I appreciate all that you’ve given me.”
“But—” Rossi lifts a finger. “If the day comes that Sofia Ferretti is threatened, or worse yet, taken, and you don’t wish to fulfill your end of the bargain—” He turns to look at me then, his face very serious. “It will be in my hands then, to decide what to do, so long as I still occupy that seat. And I think you know what my solution to the Ferretti problem is.”
Something in my gut clenches at that. I do know, better than I want to. But I’m not ready to accept that I might have to do something about it—not yet.
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” I say calmly, smiling at him. There’s not a single thing on my face that would betray the churning in my gut at the thought of Sofia Ferretti, and everything that could change on account of her. “We don’t even know if they’re targeting her now. They may have forgotten about her, or written her off. She’s nothing but a violinist at Juilliard now—she has no contact with us, besides the money. And we don’t know that they know anything about my father’s pact with hers.”
The look on Rossi’s face suggests that he thinks I’m being naïve. But he doesn’t say anything else, and after a few minutes takes his leave, going to dance with his wife. I stay on the fringes, though, sipping champagne and watching the festivities. I’m not in a dancing mood.
* * *
I don’t havethe chance to indulge my mood until much later that night. When the festivities have wrapped up, I and Franco and Caterina, along with their friends, take off for our own afterparty. Angelica convinces us to go to her favorite bar, a twenties-style speakeasy, and before long we’re seated in a half-circle on velvet and leather lounges by a brick wall, drinking cocktails from a secret menu.
The whiskey tastes good after so much champagne, heavy and smoky on my tongue. I glance around the room, and catch the eye of a tall, slender redhead perched by the bar, dressed in a short green velvet minidress.
She gets up almost immediately, striding towards me in heels that emphasize every inch of her mile-long legs, and my mouth goes a little dry as I think of what it might be like to have those wrapped around my waist—or better yet, my head, while I see how many times I can make her come with my tongue.
My favorite thing about Manhattan, by far, is the fact that there are a seemingly endless number of women in this city. I don’t think I’ve ever slept with the same one twice.
The redhead stops in front of me, cocking her head to one side. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”
I give her my most charming smile, reaching up to loosen my tie. “That’s because I’ve never been.” Slowly, I let my eyes rake over her, taking in her narrow waist and small breasts. She’s not wearing a bra under her dress—I can see her nipples pressing against the fabric. “You look like Christmas.”
Her long eyelashes flutter. “You can unwrap me, if you like.”
Very bold.I like women who think they can be in charge. It makes it all the sweeter when they find out that after only a few minutes in my bed, they’ll be wet and begging for more.
She smiles at me, inclining her head towards the ornate door at the back of the bar that leads to the ladies’ room. “Be right back.”
I know that for what it is—an invitation. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if that’s really how I want tonight to go. A blowjob or a quick fuck in a bathroom stall, no matter how luxurious, doesn’t hold much appeal for me anymore. On the other hand—I wouldn’t mind finding out what her full lips feel like around my cock.
Taking another sip of my drink, I decide to wait for her to come back. I like to take my time, and that’s best done in my king-sized bed—or maybe on the leather sofa. Better yet, up against the window overlooking the city. Besides, I think wryly to myself, finishing the drink, it’s best if she knows who’s going to be calling the shots tonight.
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach for it, groaning inwardly. I don’t know who would be calling me at this time of night—anyone I might want to talk to is already here. Which means it’s probably not going to be someone I want to hear from.
Sure enough, it’s Don Rossi.
Fuck.
I stand up, glancing towards the back of the bar to see if the redhead has emerged before mouthing I have to take this to Franco, and then stepping outside. All I wanted to do after the last few mind-numbing hours was knock back a few drinks, find the hottest girl in the bar, and take her home so that I could lose myself in the sweet oblivion of a perfect figure and good pussy. The last thing I want to do tonight is put out a fire for my boss.
“Luca, I need you at the warehouse in Chelsea, now. As soon as you can get there. Whatever you’re doing or whoever you’re with, drop her and get down here.”
I stifle a groan. Can’t someone else handle this for one goddamn night? I’m just about to say exactly that, when Rossi continues, and the words that come out of his mouth send a chill down my spine.
“They have Sofia.”
