Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy
Saint
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Leonardo’s voice filled my left ear, and the sound of waves and seagulls attacked my right.
The liveliness my parents’ limestone mansion lacked on the inside, you could find in abundance by taking a peek at their backyard. All rolling greens, tennis fields, golf courses, most amenities you found in a fucking amusement park, and a never-ending infinity pool that blended in with the view of the Atlantic ocean on the horizon. Birds chirped in trees, and the world didn’t seem all that gray for one second. As much as I hated this cold piece of brick and mortar, I thrived on open spaces… and filling my father’s balcony with ash.
I puffed on a cigarette, a tradition of sorts. I had one every time before a meeting with daddy dearest, just enough green rolled into the cancer stick to carry me through the mind-numbing conversations.
“Pot calling the kettle back much, Bianchi?” I blew out a plume of smoke, watching it get lost in the blue sky, and rested my ass on the cold railing.
“Do you like her?”
“Who?” I focused on the ashy taste that filled my mouth, urging the weed in my system to go into effect faster.
“As if you don’t know who I’m talking about,” he countered, and the memory of soft curves fought to creep its way into my mind. “The girl you almost fucked right in front of everyone last night.”
“Leo!” I heard a high-pitched voice shout in the background and held back a grin.
Eliana Roux, straight-laced as ever, insisting her kid didn’t pick up on any kind of bad language, which resulted in me walking out of their house half-broke every time I visited. Swear jars had to be the invention of Baby Boss wannabes with the impulse control of nuns.
Leo muttered his apologies, probably moving to a different room, judging by the shuffling on his end. “She has a boyfriend, in case you missed it. And he is one of Ares’s best employees.”
“Yes, I know. That Larry guy.”
“Harry.”
“Whatever.”
He was as insignificant as his name.
The little spitfire had that breakthrough yesterday too. The pivotal scene in her Hollywood flick when she realized she would have let me fuck her in a second if there was no one around. It would’ve ended with her orgasm and tears when she realized she was nothing more than a glorified cheater.
We all had our vices, and a firm hand was hers. Dirty words whispered in her ear. All in all, the excitement, lacking from her life. I couldn’t imagine Larry being that much of a rollercoaster ride. He was more interested in sucking Ares’s dick all night than paying any attention to his girl. The way she melted beneath me was pathetic. All that fire inside of her evaporating into a cloud of mist.
A little girl with a superiority complex.
I didn’t know why I’d confused her for my father’s lackey. She was way too young and way too quick with her words. He never hired people that talked back. It was a sign of either leadership or in her case, stupidity. We needed neither in our company. For nine to five jobs with a median salary, you only hired sheep that asked “How high?” when you told them to jump.
The blue blood in her veins was unmistakable. A quirky fashion sense, and a judgmental attitude. My social circle in a nutshell.
“Do what you must do, but don’t fuck this up for Ares. It took him quite a while to get up on his feet after his parents died last year.”
“Relax, Bianchi, your boyfriend is going to be okay.” I put the joint out, dropping the remains on the white cement tiles of the balconette. “I don’t have any desire to touch the jailbait. She’s fresh out of college.”
It was true… in part.
Ariadne Fleur was constructed like a wet dream. All curvy lines, soft angles, and a proud face with lips that would look wonderful wrapped around my dick as her mascara pooled down her cheeks. Everything about her screamed femininity when I observed her around my friends last night. Her movements were graceful and satiny. She laughed at every joke and chewed like she had a fucking secret.
I would be impressed if I wasn’t raised by the same people she was trying to be like. There were two versions of her. One that strived for perfection and acceptance, and one that craved power and freedom.
Except you couldn’t have the best of both worlds. When your head grew too big for your body, everyone had the tendency to chase after you with growling chainsaws, forcing you to hide behind a mask of plastic smiles and mind-numbing weather talk, because uniqueness was offensive.
She was too young. It was too easy to trap her under societal norms.
“And you’ll do well to remember that.”
“Trust me, I’m reminded of it every time she opens her mouth.” I heard the shuffle of footsteps beyond my father’s office door, signaling the end of my current conversation and the start of mental torture for half an hour. “Gotta go, asshat. Kiss Bella for me.”
I wasn’t the biggest fan of kids, but Isabella Bianchi was a little shit after my own heart. She had the biggest grin, expressive blue eyes like her mother's, and curly brown hair like her father’s. She looked more like Eliana appearance-wise, but in character, she was a mini Leo, with a sharp tongue since the age of three.
Killing the line, I plowed back to the room at the same time the door slammed open. The fear in my old man’s eyes when he noticed my figure blocking the light from outside gave me a boost of serotonin as I waited for him to speak first.
“Fuck, you’re here early.”
I walked over to the glass alcohol cart as he passed by to sit in his cushy, leather chair. Being in his home office reminded me of one of those old black and white films where mafiosos gathered to discuss who they were going to kill next. He always kept the black curtains drawn like some sort of vampire, and the stench of cigar hung heavy in the air, clinging to the wooden library, stacking books that were a few decades old.
“Figured you’d be mad enough about Killian’s latest addition to his body, so I cut you some slack.” I poured myself a double shot of whiskey in a tumbler, not bothering to fix one for him.
“Don’t remind me. If that boy gets any more tattoos, he’s going to start looking more like an ex-con rather than someone that belongs in high society.”
I hid my amusement behind a sip as I came to stand in front of him. My little brother already had five tattoos at nineteen, and he didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. Unlike me, he took the smart route and enrolled in Berkeley, shitting all over this town and its residents.
Who knew? Maybe one day I'd join him. Sunny shores, free the nipple movements, and no overbearing family members sounded like my version of heaven.
“Sometimes I feel like you still live in the eighties,” I replied, already filling up my glass for a second time.
“I wish I was,” he countered, thumbing through a stack of files in one of his drawers. “Things were much simpler back then. Only two genders, children obeyed their parents, and women were more inclined to stay at home.”
“Is there a particular reason why you called me here on a Sunday, or was it just to listen to you go on about your chauvinistic and homophobic view of the world?”
He paused in his search, his brows furrowing as he got a closer look at some papers before pulling them down and setting his gaze on me. Empty and dull like the twin barrels of a loaded gun.
“Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“All right then. Take a look at these while standing.” He smoothed down his white polo shirt as he threw the file my way. It slammed on the edge of the desk, signifying the end of our bickering like two schoolgirls who showed up at prom wearing the same dress.
Plucking the butter-yellow folder, I set my glass down as I flipped it open, blowing through the useless first few pages quickly only to come to a stop on the fourth.
Definitive Merger Agreement.The title stood out in bulky, bold letters, beckoning me to read further, so I did. Agreement and Plan of a merger dated as of October 21, 2021 (the “Agreement”), among Falco Holdings Limited, an Astropolis Company, and Fleur S.r.l….
What?
My gaze sliced to my father’s. He was looking at me with a raised brow and a look that said, how would you like to sit now?
I did. Only because the file weighed a fucking ton, and I had a lot of pages to get through, and slightly because I couldn’t believe what I was reading. A merger between Falco and Fleur? I was rarely caught off guard.
Sure, there were successful examples of mergers between companies in the same field, i.e., Exxon and Mobil, Disney and Fox, and a ton of others that had been flushed from my mind the second I graduated. But in a merger, there was always a considerable chance of things heading south. Incompatible business cultures, and in the case of Falco and Fleur, different target audiences. Their designs were… sweeter, more fun, whereas we were classified as business casual.
Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?
I tapped my Oxford on the floor the further I read the pre-merger steps. It would be easier for me to believe a unicorn that farted golden coins existed, rather than Chloe Fleur and Noah Astor were relinquishing any kind of control. One more page flip though, and I had the answer to that question and wish I’d gone for a vodka Red Bull instead to give me wings so I could escape this horror show.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, forcing myself to inhale and exhale and hold my shit together. I did not just read what I thought I read.
“What do you think it is?”
I glanced down one more time at one of the terms written in bold black, a line slashed underneath, highlighting the importance of every word. I read it painstakingly slow, making sure the little Spitfire yesterday hadn’t injected me with some type of venom that made me dream shit up.
But no. There it was, her name Ariadne Brigette Fleur, written right after mine, Saint Astor, in a marriage clause. I couldn’t be seeing this right. How high was I? Surely, mixing weed with Glennfidich before eating breakfast would have an effect.
I blinked once.
Twice.
Nope, still there.
“I think it’s you officially losing your fucking mind.” My gaze darkened, and my father’s tanned skin turned pink the more I stared at him. “Newsflash, this is not the eighties old man, no matter how hard you get at the idea of the past. Why the fuck am I looking at a merger between Falco and Fleur, and why is there a marriage clause?”
F.F.—Fucking Freaks, Fake Fucks, Fucking Fools, Father Fuckers, Fist Fucks, Foot Fetish… I could go on for days, but moral of the story even the acronyms that resulted from the mashup of our brand names confirmed that this was a dumb as shit idea.
Picking lint off his shirt, he regarded me as if I was a temperamental child, which only made me want to strangle him more. “So we can increase profits, expand our market share, streamline the inheritance of our wealth, diversify our products. Take your pick of a letter.”
“Win the competition between you and Darian Fleur too?” I chose a letter that wasn’t in his alphabet.
“I don’t know what you're talking about.”
He sure as hell did. Mom was once in a relationship with Darian Fleur, way before either Killian or I were born. That didn’t stop the media from bringing up the topic whenever they were spotted on the same catwalk front lines though. It also didn’t help that my parents' marriage lacked the splendors of love. There was a silent but palpable competition—at least on my father’s side.
“Sure you don’t.” I chose to leave it at that and not get sidetracked, peppering my words with a cold smile. “You can’t promise any of that will happen. You might be confident enough in your own skills, but their business has been failing. A merger guarantees equal say.”
“Unfortunately, the old hag wouldn’t hear any mentions of an acquisition, but we can revive whatever they’ve lost, rebuild and rebrand them. Don’t worry about that,” he crowed, delighted that I wasn't flat-out denying him. “Equal say was the main driving force behind Chloe’s decision to pursue a marriage clause. She said something about some shady business practices she’d heard about me, all lies of course, and this being my promise to them. The Fleur girl is young and naive though. She’ll walk into our hands like lamb to the slaughter.”
“What does the fact that she’s young have to do with anything? You’d still be giving up full control of our company.” I cocked my head, questioning how many brain cells he had left. Couldn’t be more than five.
Not that seeing his dream fail seemed like a bad thing. If that ever ensued I would be the first to laugh at his misery, but it wouldn’t give me the same satisfaction as making it happen myself. That would drive the wedge deeper into the blood-soaked wound.
“You’ve had plenty of experience with women—sometimes much older.” He brought up the fresh past with a pointed look, drumming his fingers on the armchairs. “I trust keeping her in her line won’t be too hard for you. And you don’t have to stay married to her forever. There is a clause that the marriage has to last only five years.”
Obviously, he’d never met Spitfire. She was malleable, but there was searing heat inside of her that made her impulsive, and thus unpredictable. It would take a lot of effort to get her to behave. Effort which I wasn’t willing to invest in a petulant child.
“So, I lose five years of my life, so your ass can get to have his cake and eat it too.” His nostrils flared at my language, but I cut him off before he could speak. “Should I start looking for mental asylums?”
“If you’d read on, you would see that I won’t remain head of Falco. Following you and the Fleur girl’s wedding, you two will be the ones calling the shots.”
My gaze sliced back to the papers, and indeed he was telling the truth.
“You—you…” I stuttered. I never stuttered. Taking a deep breath, I cleared my throat and tried again. “You agreed to this?”
“I did. As much as you don’t like to admit it, Saint, you are a lot like me. You run a tight ship when it comes to business. Some of our most successful campaigns happened right after you took control of the marketing department. And even though you’ll improve with time…” He gulped, and his forehead shone with a sheen of sweat underneath the warm yellow lighting of the room. “I believe in you.”
It took him some time to utter those four words. Never thought I’d see the day where he’d be kissing my ass. At least not before I locked him up in a retirement home. I reveled in his discomfort, leaning back in my seat and downing the remaining alcohol in my glass. “Well, don’t just stop there. I’d love to hear more about how amazing I am.”
His lips thinned, and he kept on going as if I hadn’t spoken. “And that girl—”
I cut him off. “Her name is Ariadne, something you should know if you intend for me to marry her.”
“Yes, yes, Ariadne. She has quite an eye for design, graduated from Dane University too, and has a following on social media we could use to our advantage. She’s not completely inadequate.”
I didn’t know that.
Then again, until five months ago, I remembered nothing about this girl other than her bushy brows when she was younger. She got teased relentlessly for her unibrow. Now, bushy brows were the trend.
“Hm… that does make signing my life away to her for five years better. She could feature me on her Instagram, and I could become famous too.” Sarcasm dripped off my tongue like absinthe.
My father threw his head back, heaving a dramatic sigh. “What more do you want, Saint? You’ll have Falco and Fleur at the palm of your hands, a relatively pretty wife, and a title that comes with respect. You’re not being held at gunpoint. You’re gaining the world. And after a few years, you can get rid of the dead weight.”
He tried to sell me his idea, cocksure I would bite into it because he always thought he was the smartest person in the room, leaving little to no space for growth. He was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted.
I admitted it wasn’t a bad idea per se. I had everything to gain and nothing to lose. My most prized possession out of this would be my father’s pride. Noah Astor thought he was gaining a win at Darian’s expense. Losing from his own son never crossed his mind.
I could turn my back on him now like he did years ago to me when I wanted to go through more physical therapy classes and get back on the field. But he crushed any hope I had of that happening. Physical health was the biggest deal for any NFL team. Reputation was a close second. I obviously lacked the first one, and daddy dearest made sure my name was dragged through the mud at my lowest point. Leaking my location to the press, talking about my worsening health condition, and fueling the flames of my supposed alcoholism during his interviews.
Taking something that belonged to him filled me with an unsated bloodlust. Destroying the sole thing he lived and breathed for, now that made my black heart soar.
Tit for fucking tat.
It seemed like the little spitfire was about to be caught in some actual fire.
“Beg for it.” I tested my luck, wanting to see how far he would go to see this through. To see how bad it would hurt in the end.
I watched like a hawk as his eyes widened, reveling in every little moment from the tick of his jaw that matched the rhythm of his pulsing heart to his fists balling so tight, I knew he’d draw blood.
“Are you crazy?”
“On the contrary, you’re asking me to do something crazy. I want to hear you say please, and then maybe I’ll consider it.”
His mouth dropped open and closed several times. I kept an amused frown pasted on my face as he battled an internal war. To beg, or not to beg, that was the question. Slowly, the man in front of me clasped his hands together on the table, his mouth set in a firm line, and gritted his teeth before he spoke.
“Please, Saint, I am begging you to marry Ariadne Fleur so we can close this deal. A billion-dollar deal that will be the beginning of a new area for Falco. Heights you’ve never imagined before are waiting for us.”
Every word was stressed as if his life depended on this. I rolled some crushed ice I stole from the glass in my mouth, letting him sweat it out. My tongue turned numb, enough for me not to feel any pain as I bit down on it, a last attempt to hold off on this madness.
But who was I kidding?
Burning down the reputation of all firstborns was my calling.
“I want to talk to Ariadne first,” I said, getting on my feet. “I’ll make no promises unless I know she agrees to this too. I won’t ruin a girl’s life because of your selfish reasons.”
My father’s jaw locked when I evaded the request, but even he had to know you couldn’t force someone into marriage anymore. Reluctantly, he nodded, his eyes screaming bloody murder as I turned my back on him, heading for the heavy oak door.
“We’re meeting with them on Wednesday, eight o’clock sharp.” His voice rang with warning behind me.
“See you there, old man.”