Broken Promise by M. James
Luca
For the next week, I manage to avoid Sofia as much as possible. Besides the conversation where she ambushed me asking me to let her go shopping with Caterina, which led to my penthouse being turned into a bridal salon for the day, we barely speak. I leave as early as I can for the office, and by the time I come home late at night, she’s already asleep.
Which suits me, because I don’t know what to say to her—especially after what happened between us the night I saw the security tape.
I’m not sure what came over me when I watched it. I hadn’t intentionally been spying on her. Still, I’d wanted to make sure that nothing out of the ordinary had happened while I was gone. I hadn’t expected to see that. I’d been concerned about her inviting a friend over without my consent, or trying to leave, or—
To be completely honest, I’m not entirely sure what I’d worried about that had led me to check the footage. The meeting with Viktor had left me on edge, feeling thrust into a situation beyond my control, one where I’m constantly one step behind. I’d wanted to regain some of that sense of control, somehow. And when I’d seen Sofia reclining in that chair, her delicate fingers holding her shorts to one side while the fingers of her other hand plunged into the pussy that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about—something snapped inside of me.
I’ve never done anything like what I did to her with another woman. I’ve always been dominant in the bedroom, the one in charge and calling the shots, but it’s always been easy. Women are too awed by me, too desperate for a night with me, too hopeful that they’ll be the ones to seduce me out of my avowed bachelorhood to be particularly challenging or creative in bed. They do whatever I ask them, whenever I ask for it. I’ve never met a single woman who challenged me in the bedroom or who would dare to talk back to me once the clothes start coming off—or even before then, really.
I’ve never met a woman I needed to master. A woman that I couldn’t get out of my head. One who drove me to the brink of control over and over again.
Until Sofia.
The sight and sound of her making herself come drove me wild when I saw it. The thought of her touching herself, giving herself pleasure when she insists on denying me, fighting me, rebelling against me at every turn, had made me feel slightly unhinged. I’d been rock-hard the entire time I watched it, glad that I’d opted to view it alone instead of with the guards.
I’d also made a point of asking if anyone else had reviewed the footage. I was grateful they hadn’t—I’d have had to fire them on the spot. In fact, I’m not sure what else I would have done if I’d thought any other man had gotten to see my beautiful wife spread-eagled in the penthouse and fingering herself.
I hadn’t intended to punish her at first. Everything that had happened after that, once I’d gone into the penthouse and found her, had been unplanned. But then she’d failed to do the one thing I’d asked of her.
Lied to me.
Denied everything I asked about.
And I’d lost control.
I’d spent that entire night in my hotel room, unable to stop fantasizing about her. Trying to force her out of my system by thinking of every possible thing I could want to do to Sofia’s beautiful, perfect body while pleasuring myself over and over again.
It hadn’t worked.
And she’s driving me insane.
She’s a burden. A distraction. Another responsibility in a sea of other responsibilities is a person depending on me to keep her safe when so many others are. And yet, she fights me at every turn. Lies to me. Pretends to hate me when I know she’s as conflicted as I am.
I’d only been able to think of one way to regain some control. And the entire time, it had felt like the most natural thing in the world to dominate her. To demand her body’s submission, to torture and punish her with pleasure, to tease her to the brink of madness, so that she could feel what I do every time I think of her. To tell her that her body is mine, to give or withhold pleasure as I please.
And she’d loved it. It had been obvious. The problem was—I had too.
It had taken every ounce of control I had not to fuck her then and there. I wanted it, craved it, needed it desperately. But that night wasn’t supposed to be about losing control. It was supposed to be about winning it back. It was supposed to be about exerting my power over her so that I can finally get her out of my head.
So I hadn’t fucked her. I’d done the opposite. I’d mocked her, taunted her with her obvious desire, and then kicked her out of the room so that I could jerk off into my lonely hand again, when I probably could have fucked her all night long if I’d tried. She’d been so aroused she’d have probably done anything I wanted.
Sometimes I feel as if she’s making me lose my mind.
She’s been so careful to avoid me that I have no idea what’s going on in her head. And I shouldn’t be concerned with that. I have an empire to run and a war to try to stop in its tracks.
Since my meeting with Viktor, there’s been a tentative peace despite his threats. I’ve doubled the security everywhere—on my office, Franco’s home, his family’s home, the Rossi residence where Caterina is staying. The quiet is almost more alarming than the attacks because it makes me worry that he might be planning something big. I can’t possibly add more security to my own penthouse, but I’ll be leaving a personal bodyguard with Sofia this weekend.
Which brings my thoughts full circle to the thing irritating me the most right now—the upcoming weekend. Despite the tension and danger hovering over us, Franco is insistent that he can’t not have a bachelor party. And I get it—he’ll only ever be married once, and there’s nothing Franco loves more than a good party. But the last thing on my mind right now is getting wildly drunk somewhere.
“It’ll be good for you to get away from Sofia. Away from all of this.” Franco is in my office now, leaning forward as he makes his argument for fucking off away from Manhattan for a weekend once more. “You look like you’re about to explode, Luca. This much stress isn’t good for your health. Isn’t that what you used to tell Rossi all the time? To relax once in a while?
“He didn’t have a war on his hands when I said that,” I growl, looking up at him. “You’re really willing to leave your fiancée here while we go off to party—where was it you said you wanted to go again? Cabo?”
“Tijuana,” Franco says with a smirk. “You can get away with a hell of a lot more there. And yes, I am. We’ll leave plenty of security with her. Come on, Luca, I know I’m not expected to be faithful once I’m married, but when do you really think I’ll have a chance to go out of the country and fuck three hookers of questionable legal age at once while high on cocaine after I’m a family man? Caterina is going to want me to stay home and put a baby in her.”
“Truly the worst possible task,” I retort dryly. “Jesus, Franco, your fiancée is one of the most beautiful women in Manhattan. Heiress to a fortune. Almost certainly a virgin. And you’re complaining about having to fuck her?”
“Not complaining,” Franco says cheerily. “But virgin pussy gets boring fast. You can only fuck it for the first time once, after all. What if she turns out to be a cold fish in bed?”
“She’s still rich.” I let out a sigh, leaning back in my chair. “Franco, you realize that things aren’t going to be the way they used to anymore, right? It’s not just us being married men now. It’s everything. It’s the danger around every corner, my new position, your new position. We spent our twenties fucking everything in sight and showing up to the job still half-high or hungover and making it work. We lived like princes, but now we’re kings. And we’ve got to do the job right.”
“No, Luca.” Franco frowns. “You’re the king. I’m still your lackey. And I’m asking your majesty for one more weekend like the ones we used to have before I have to stand up and take vows to marry a woman who, I’ll admit, is way out of my league.”
“Well, at least you admit that.” I sigh. “Fine. I’ll arrange to make sure Caterina is well-protected while we’re gone.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him what Viktor asked me—that he’d requested I give Caterina to him instead of honoring her engagement to Franco. Right now, I’m irritated enough with him that I can’t help but think it would serve him right if I did exactly that and bought peace with Caterina’s hand in marriage.
But a promise has been made, and I’ll honor it. Not to mention the fact that I can’t imagine handing Caterina, who has always been sweet and kind and amenable in every interaction I’ve ever had with her, over to a man like Viktor. I’ve stretched my morals considerably thin over the years, and I expect I’ll stretch them further still. But that’s a step too far, I think.
The best way to ensure that Caterina is safe is to have her stay with Sofia and have both security contingents watch over them, along with the bodyguard I plan to leave. But I’ll have to let Sofia know what’s going on, which means doing the thing I’ve been avoiding all week.
Talking to my wife.
With that in mind, I head home early enough that there’s little chance Sofia will already be in bed. I send Carmen a message, asking her to have dinner sent to the penthouse—whatever sushi Sofia had ordered from the night that I left her there alone for the night.
When I get there, she’s definitely not asleep. But she is standing next to the dining table with her arms crossed, a suspicious look on her face.
“What’s going on?” Sofia nods towards the takeout trays of sushi. “This is out of character for you.”
“I can’t want to have dinner with my wife?”
“Luca.” She purses her lips, which makes my cock throb instantly. Those lips would look so good pursed around my—
“Luca!” Sofia stares at me. “What is going on with you? We’ve never had dinner together, not even once. Not even when I tried to--”
“I just had Carmen send some takeout. We need to talk—”
She rolls her eyes. “This is from the same place I ordered from the night that—” her voice trails off, and she swallows hard. A faint pink blush creeps up her neck. I have a sudden, immediate fantasy of bending her over the table, shoving the denim miniskirt that she has on up over her hips, and fucking her until she screams right next to the sushi.
“This is some kind of joke, right?” Sofia glares at me. “What are you going to do to me this time?”
If you only knew the things I’d like to. I clear my throat, shoving the thought aside. I don’t have time for our usual games, time to get sucked into the back and forth that arises whenever we’re together. I don’t have time to remind Sofia that she’s not the one in charge here, to remind her that for all her attitudes and protestations, she wants me as much as I want her.
However delicious that would be.
“It’s not a joke,” I say flatly. “Clearly, you like their food. And since you didn’t have a chance to finish yours the other night—” I shrug, smirking at her. “We need to talk. So sit down, and we’ll discuss it.”
The suspicious look doesn’t leave her face for even a second, but she slowly sits, watching me carefully. Without a word, she takes the lids off of the trays, picking up a pair of chopsticks and parceling pieces out onto the two china plates on the table—ridiculously fancy for something like this, and even I know that.
“Do you want a drink?” I haven’t sat down yet, hovering behind my chair.
Sofia looks at me, the suspicion on her face intensifying, and I let out a long-suffering sigh.
“I’m not trying to trap you, Sofia, or make an allusion to your little bender the other night. I’m just asking if you would like a drink with your dinner. I’m going to have one. Not every conversation we have has to be this difficult.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds remarkably like you could have fooled me. The thought springs into my head that I could easily come up with an excuse to punish her for that kind of insolence, the way I did the other night—and I feel my cock throb again, tightening uncomfortably in my pants.
Stop. There won’t be any punishment tonight, any games. Tonight, for once, I need to be as straightforward with her as possible. It’s the only way I’ll be able to go along with this ridiculous jaunt of Franco’s and feel safe leaving the women here.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine,” Sofia says quietly. “Thank you.”
There’s a moment’s peace in the silence that descends over the dining room as I go to get our drinks, broken only by the tap of chopsticks against trays and plates, the slide of china over wood. It’s a glimpse into what things could be like for us if our marriage worked out. If we could stop fighting with each other and live together like a normal couple. We would have more ordinary, domestic nights like this, with Sofia arranging our dinner while I poured drinks, and while we ate, we would talk about—
About what, exactly?I know almost nothing about my wife. I know that she’s an accomplished violinist. She loves books, especially classics, from what I saw Ana bring over from the old apartment. I know now that she prefers white wine with her seafood, but that’s hardly a revelation.
I know the gasp she makes when I kiss her and the taste of her mouth, the way she looks when she’s lost in pleasure, and the sound of her orgasm, but I don’t know what she likes for breakfast. I don’t know what kind of music she prefers to listen to or if she likes the theater. I don’t know what her favorite genre of movie is or her favorite color. I told her once that I didn’t have one, but of course, that isn’t true.
Sofia pushes my plate towards me as I set both glasses down and take a seat, toying with her chopsticks as she looks over at me apprehensively. She’s not wearing any makeup tonight, so far as I can tell—I don’t think she expected me to be home until after she was asleep, like usual. She looks beautiful without it, a sprinkling of freckles visible over the bridge of her nose that makes me think, suddenly, about leaning forward and kissing her there.
Where the fuck did that come from?I’ve never had a thought like that in my life. But for a moment, I can’t deny that I had the urge to lean in and kiss my wife, right on her perfect, freckled nose.
Sofia eyes me. “Okay. What’s so important that you rushed home and brought sushi in order to con me into a conversation?”
“I didn’t bring the sushi,” I point out. “I had Carmen order it.”
“Naturally.” Sofia rolls her eyes. “Just tell me what it is, Luca.”
“It’s about Caterina.”
She looks slightly alarmed at that. “We didn’t leave the penthouse. The entire wedding dress appointment was here, and—”
“Sofia,” I speak calmly, my voice even and measured. “You’re not in trouble, okay? Let’s just try to have a normal conversation for once.”
She leans back, biting her lower lip in a way that once again makes me want to kiss her. “Okay,” she says finally.
“Good.” I set my chopsticks down, turning a little to face her. “Franco is insisting that he, I, and some of our other friends go away this weekend for a bachelor party. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but he’s very firm that he needs this last hurrah before his time as a single man ends.”
“Okay—where are you going?” Sofia frowns, and I can see from her expression exactly what she thinks of Franco’s insistence. Ironically, it’s the first thing I can recall us agreeing on. “Isn’t that a bad idea with everything that’s happened?”
“For once, we’re in agreement.” I let out a sigh. “But he’s my oldest friend, and he’s basically made it clear that he thinks we need this. And I think—” I pause, wondering how much to share with her. But for better or worse, we’re married now. And if there’s ever a possibility of Sofia being a functioning part of my life instead of something I have to constantly worry about, I have to be able to share some measure of what I’m thinking with her.
“Franco has led a very privileged life since we’ve been friends,” I begin slowly, and Sofia snorts.
“You’re all privileged.” She sets her chopsticks down too, looking at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Do you really think you’re not?”
“Do you think you’re not?” I retort, glaring at her. Goddamn it, how does this woman get under my skin so easily? “For fuck’s sake, Sofia, you’ve been on a free ride since you turned eighteen. An automatic deposit from Rossi’s accounts went into yours every month like clockwork, paid your tuition in full every semester. No rent, no utilities, no grocery bill. You’ve never had to live like a normal person. You never would have, for as long as the money held up. And now you never will since you’re my wife.”
“I think that’s fair since my father died because of him!” Sofia’s teeth are gritted as she speaks, her posture ramrod straight. I can feel the tension rising in the air, just like it always does.
“Your father died because of himself,” I say flatly. “Because of his mistakes. Not because of Rossi. And my father died because of yours. Because of their friendship. Yet here I am, carrying out their promises.”
The room is very quiet for a moment. Neither of us moves or speaks.
“I’m sorry,” Sofia says finally, and I can feel the tension rush out of the room like air from a balloon. “You’re right. There are still things that I don’t know. And I have been privileged, too. So tell me what you’re talking about, Luca.”
It takes me a moment to be able to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t expected her to give in like that, to concede. It makes me look at her with fresh eyes and wonder briefly if I’ve underestimated her.
If maybe I just haven’t bothered to give her—us—a chance because I’m so fixated on never having anything to lose.
If maybe, just maybe, Sofia Ferretti is stronger than I think.
“When I say Franco has led a privileged life, I mean that I’ve sheltered him from a lot of the realities of this life—life in the mafia,” I explain. “I protected him from the bullies that spread lies about him when we were younger, and I just never stopped protecting him. When there were jobs for us to do for Rossi, when there were men who needed to be made to talk, men who needed to be killed, unsavory things, I protected him from the worst of it. I’ve always done the dirtiest work because I wanted to keep my friend from having to battle the demons that follow you after.” I pause, then, realizing that I’ve said more than I meant to. Revealed more of myself than I meant to.
Sofia is absolutely silent. Her hands have fallen into her lap, and she’s watching me with those liquid dark eyes, her face so smooth that I can’t see what she’s thinking.
“But I can’t do that any longer. I’m no longer the underboss. I’m the don now. Franco is my underboss, and if we’re going to continue this legacy, if we’re going to push back the Bratva and keep this territory safe, I need him to step up and do the things that I once did for Rossi—for me.”
“And you think giving him one last weekend of freedom to do as he likes will enable him to do that once you come back home?”
Sofia speaks softly, but her words cut right to the heart of it, with a precision that startles me. I hadn’t expected her to be so acute, but once again, it makes me wonder if the circumstances of our meeting—of our marriage—have led me to vastly underestimate her.
My wife isn’t stupid. I’ve always known that deep down—after all, she was a student at Juilliard, a brilliant violinist. I’ve seen the books in her room; they’re not all fluff without substance. There are classics in there, philosophy, books that I probably have in my own library. And yet, I’ve been treating her like a child.
Maybe that’s why she resents you.
Abruptly, I pull my thoughts back into focus. I don’t have time to spend reevaluating my marriage just now. That can come later—maybe. If this first serious conversation that we’ve had isn’t just some kind of fluke.
I’ve bared more of myself in these last fifteen minutes than I have in a long time—maybe ever. It feels uncomfortable, and I straighten up stiffly in my chair, my voice cooling and turning more formal as I continue.
“Yes. That’s what I hope. But to make this work, I need something from you, Sofia.”
She blinks at me. “From me?”
“Yes. If Viktor catches wind that Franco and I are away—and I can hardly keep him from finding out if he’s intent on it—then he’ll likely see it as an opportune time to strike. If I’m trying to protect both you and Caterina separately, it spreads the resources thinner. So what I want is for Caterina to stay here while we’re gone. And I need you to not fight me on this. I need you to be a gracious host and have her here for the weekend, and I’ll double the security here. I’m also going to have a personal bodyguard here for each of you.”
“Oh.” Sofia laughs suddenly, and it strikes me how rarely I’ve heard that sound from her. “That’s all. Of course, Luca. You do realize Caterina and I are—well, we’re basically friends at this point. I’ll make it into a bachelorette party for her. It won’t be as exciting as we would do if we could go out, but I’ll do my best.”
The ease of it catches me off guard. “You don’t want anything in return?”
Sofia hesitates. “Well—”
Of course. “What? What can I do that you don’t already have?”
Sofia stiffens, and I can tell that I’ve hit a nerve. “I was just going to ask if Ana can come, too. It’s not a party if there are only two people,” she adds hurriedly. “I can’t see how it would hurt anything to have her here.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no. Although she’s proved herself to be a good friend so far, I don't entirely trust Anastasia. And I can’t help but think that it’s almost a taunt in Viktor’s direction to have Sofia’s Russian friend here.
Thinking of it like that, though, makes me want to agree. And Sofia’s right that it probably won’t hurt. As far as I know, no one is after Anastasia. And I don’t think she has any real value to Viktor, beyond the ordinary value of a beautiful girl to him.
“Fine,” I concede. “Anastasia can stay as well.”
Sofia’s eyes widen. “I didn’t expect you to say yes! Thank you, Luca.”
I can hear the sincerity in her voice, and it warms me a little. I’m hesitant to trust the thaw between us, though.
“Is there anything else?”
“No,” she says quickly. “Of course not. I’m just happy to see Ana again. I haven’t seen her since the wedding—I don’t even know if she knows I’m okay.”
“Of course she does. I reached out and let her know you were safe.” I look at Sofia quizzically. “You don’t think I would really have let your friend wonder if you were alive or dead?”
“I—”
“I can be cold, Sofia, but I’m not a monster.” I let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand across my forehead. “And I know there’s something else you want. So just tell me.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I’m not entirely sure that she’s actually going to tell me. I’m on the verge of letting it go and just returning to our food when she finally looks up and blurts out:
“I want to go back to sleeping in my own room.”
The immediacy with which I want to say no startles me. Not because I want to refuse—but because my first unconscious thought is that the bed would feel empty without her.
When did I get used to having someone next to me?
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea—”
“It’s been a week, Luca. Nothing has happened. You’re doubling the security and giving us personal guards. You just said that yourself. Do you really think that me sleeping in your room versus my own is going to change anything?”
“If someone comes after you, I’ll be there.”
“How would they even get in? I can’t get out; there’s so much security.” She looks at me, and I can see how much she wants me to agree. For once, we’re having a normal argument, not a blistering fight. Though my instinct is to tell her no, of course not, she’ll continue to do as I’ve said and stay where I’ve told her to. I know that there’s no real reason beyond my own stubbornness.
And the fact that apparently, I like having her in my bed even if it’s only to sleep.
I don’t want to relent. But I find myself nodding anyway. “Alright. But if there’s the slightest hint of danger, we’ll return to the arrangement we have now.”
A smile spreads across Sofia’s face, and I don’t think she could look any happier if I’d told her she could move out entirely. She looks thrilled. And of course, if she’s happy, that’s one less burden for me to deal with.
So why does the thought of spending tonight without her sleeping next to me make me feel as if I’ve lost something?
