Broken Promise by M. James
Sofia
The next few days with Luca don’t feel real. They feel like some kind of fantasy, a fever dream because they’re so vastly different than the ones we spent together before the intruder. I wake up one morning with a note on the pillow next to mine, telling me that he’s left early for the office and that he wants me to plan “your kind of date” tonight. It’s as if he watched a handful of rom-coms to figure out what women might like—the rooftop date, the bubble bath, the diamond bracelet, the note in the morning. But I can’t bring myself to care. The bracelet is stupidly over the top, but I don’t want to take it off. I find myself slipping it on every morning, even as out of place as it is with my plain hoops and dainty cross necklace. I catch myself running my fingers over it, thinking about Luca feeding me quail on a rooftop, his hand under my skirt, him carrying me down the stairs afterward.
I know I need to snap out of it, but I don’t want to. Even Caterina catches on a little, asking me as we sit in the living room planning out details for her wedding if Luca and I are getting along better now. I tell her yes, blushing a little, and I know I ought to ask her about her and Franco, but I don’t.
She’s already told me what I know she’s willing to share, anyway. Franco came home from the bachelor party without so much as an apology for taking so long, brushing away her fear and trauma from the intruder by saying that he’d trusted Luca’s bodyguards, and look, she was alive without a scratch on her, wasn’t she? Caterina talks about it as if she should have expected him to treat it as no big deal, but I can see how disillusioned she is with her fiancé. She’d never expected a grand romance, but I know from what she’s told me that she had at least hoped when she’d been matched with someone close to her own age, that it would be a better marriage than she might have had otherwise—one with mutual respect, good sex, and some laughter and fun together. The kind of marriage that a girl who snuck a blowjob to her new fiancé in the back of the limo on the return trip from the proposal and a guy who took her to an afterparty at their favorite bar post-engagement party might have. One where they could make some good memories, before age and responsibility and kids caught up to them.
But it’s clear that Franco has no intention to treat his bride as anything but something owed to him, and not even as the prize that she is. It makes me angry—I don’t know Franco that well, but I’d thought he seemed fun and nice enough when I’d met him briefly before and at my own wedding. Clearly, though, it was all a show for the benefit of everyone else.
Caterina seems to have accepted it, though, putting all of her energy into trying to plan the wedding as best as we can. We sprinkle as many small touches through it that her mother would have loved as we can—violets in the centerpieces since they were Giulia’s favorite flower, the menu that she’d put together. Caterina has her jewelry that she plans to wear with the wedding dress they chose together. She holds herself together better than I could possibly have thought she would.
Meanwhile, Luca and I seem to be existing in some kind of relationship limbo, almost like we’re playing at being together, playing house. When Caterina and I are done planning and she goes home, I start working on my date for the evening with Luca, even as I think how ridiculous it is. I’m married to the man in charge of the entire Italian mafia. I’m trying to guess what pizza toppings he might like because I want to surprise him with what I’m choosing for our dinner together.
We can’t even leave the penthouse. We’re planning dates in this strange bubble we’re locked inside of. Still, every time I start to argue with myself about why I should withdraw, why I should stop sleeping with him, why I should push him away, I can’t help but think—you’re enjoying yourself. So why not keep doing it?
Luca comes home to me in high-waisted jeans and a white muscle pocket tank tied up above my navel, barefoot, with the diamond bracelet he gave me looped around my wrist and my hair in a high ponytail. His hand wraps around that ponytail when I rise up on my tiptoes to kiss him, sending a thrill through me that I never imagined I’d feel with him.
Our date is pizza in the movie room and a comedy that I picked out because it’s light and fun, along with popcorn and movie candy. “This is as close as we can get to a pizza and movie date,” I tell Luca, laughing. “But we’re married now, so I guess having you over is okay.”
He smiles a genuine grin that looks almost out of place on his chiseled face and kisses me again. He keeps kissing me throughout the night, in between bites of pizza with sauce still on my lower lip, after we feed each other popcorn, when he wipes chocolate off of the corner of my mouth with his thumb. He kisses me throughout the movie, until at some point, I wind up in his lap, curled against his chest as we laugh along with the couple on screen.
It feels so weirdly normal that I don’t know what to do about it. He teases me a little in the theater room, his hand on my thigh and over my shoulder, occasionally squeezing my breast. I’m hyper-aware that this is the room where he caught me on the security feed playing with myself. I half wonder if he’ll try to recreate it, but instead, when the movie is over, we cuddle a little longer, and then head to bed. There’s sex, of course—we’ve had sex at least once every night since he flew home to me, but it’s slower and less wild than the rooftop date. Almost as if he’s trying to perform “normal” sex on a “normal” date, Luca kisses me for a long time in bed, fingering me to orgasm while he lets me explore him. Running my hand up and down his thick, hard shaft until he slips down my body and goes down on me, licking me slowly until I come for a second time. Only then does he roll on a condom and thrust into me, fucking me long and slow in missionary until we’re both close to an orgasm. Then he hooks my ankles over his shoulders, folding my legs back so that he can kiss me as he drives himself deep inside of me, making me moan helplessly against his mouth as he comes hard. I come too, my body reacting as he groans, his cock throbbing as he grinds against me, and when we collapse onto the bed afterward, he doesn’t roll over to his side of the bed.
We fall asleep with Luca’s arm thrown over my belly, my head pillowed against his shoulder. It’s so incredibly normal that I can briefly forget who he is and who I am, why we’re married, that I’m on virtual house arrest because a Russian mobster wants me dead.
And then there’s Caterina’s wedding.
There’s no way to avoid having to leave the penthouse. She can’t exactly get married in our living room—I’m pretty sure that would have stretched even Father Donahue’s limits of accommodating Luca. So instead, Luca reluctantly sends me to the Rossi house to help her get ready while he meets up with Franco at the church, enough security tailing me to make the President jealous.
“Be safe,” he says as we go our separate ways, kissing me hard before opening the door for me to climb into the car taking me to the Rossi house. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I give him a little wave as the door closes, leaning back against the cool leather. I feel almost giddy at being out of the penthouse for the first time in weeks. Watching the city speed by as we drive towards the Rossi mansion makes me feel as if I can’t stop smiling. Caterina raises an eyebrow at my expression when I walk through the front door and she greets me.
“You look happier than I do,” she says wryly. “Come on, let's get ready.”
Since I’m the only one standing up with her at the altar, Caterina told me to pick out whatever I wanted for my dress. I chose a strapless, violet-blue, floor-length gown with a band of lace at the waist that matched the flowers, sweeping my hair up into a sleek updo with my diamond studs in my ears and Luca’s bracelet on my wrist—nothing overly flashy. I don’t want to upstage Caterina. Even if her marriage isn’t looking like it’ll be what she’d hoped it would be, I want her wedding day to be as perfect as it can be.
She looks like a queen in her wedding gown, which has been altered and perfectly fitted to her so that the heavy, rich fabric skims over her figure down to the full skirt, her collarbone and shoulders standing out elegantly above the off-shoulder neckline. Her mother’s ruby jewelry looks stunning on her, oval earrings surrounded by a halo of diamonds and a long drop necklace with an egg-sized ruby on a strand of diamonds. Still, looking at the gleaming red stones against her skin, I can’t help but think they look like blood. It makes me shiver a little.
The last time the Bratva launched a full-scale attack, it was the morning after my wedding. Neither Caterina nor I have wanted to so much as mention the possibility, but as we walk to the car, I can see that she’s paler than usual. Whether it’s nerves over the wedding itself or the possibility of another attack, I don’t know, and I don’t want to ask. But when I hand her the bouquet outside of the church, I can see her hands shaking.
St. Patrick’s is packed full, all of the guests who could possibly be invited in attendance despite the possibility of a Bratva attack. Bruno Rossi, Caterina’s uncle, is walking her down the aisle in place of her father, who still hasn’t been released from the hospital.
Or so we thought. But as I start my walk down the aisle on Luca’s arm—the extent of the wedding party—I see Rossi at the back of the church, in a wheelchair and looking very much the worse for wear…but here.
Of course, he wouldn’t miss his daughter’s wedding if there was the slightest way he could be here,I tell myself. But still, seeing him again in the flesh makes me feel anxious, my fingers suddenly trembling with nerves. Luca glances over at me as if he feels me shaking.
“It’s fine,” he says quietly, underneath the music. “He insisted on being temporarily released from the hospital. But he’s going back after the ceremony. He’s not strong enough to be at the reception yet.”
I realize that Luca thinks I’m worried for Rossi’s well-being, when in fact, I’m worried about him being here at all—whether that will make the Bratva more likely to attack if there’s something else going on. I don’t trust Rossi. But deep down, I don’t think the former will be the case. If there’s anyone Viktor would want to attack now, it’s Luca. Without him, the seat would pass to Franco—and privately, I don’t have very much faith in Franco’s ability to run the organization. It surprises me that Luca does.
There’s none of the tension during the ceremony that there was for Luca and me. This isn’t a forced marriage—for all that it was arranged, both Caterina and Franco are entering into it willingly. They say their vows clearly and firmly, and even though I know Caterina isn’t pleased with how Franco’s behaved lately, it hasn’t made her falter. This is who was chosen for her, and she seems to have accepted it.
But as they say the vows to each other, I catch Luca looking at me, his face unreadable. What is he thinking? I wonder, the words echoing in my ears and reminding me of the day, barely over a month ago, when I’d stood where Caterina is now, shaking in my Louboutin heels as I repeated those vows knowing that I was lying, that I had no intention to keep a single one of them. And I’m sure Luca’s were just as hollow.
And now? I can’t help but wonder if anything has changed. Good sex doesn’t make a marriage, especially between someone like me and someone as fucked up as Luca. He hasn’t budged on his conviction that he can’t love me, that our marriage can never be anything except, at best, a lustful companionship where we both get along.
His eyes on mine, though, watching me as Caterina and Franco repeat to love and honor and cherish, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, ‘til death do us part, make it hard to believe that. When Caterina says obey, I see the smoky look in his eyes, the one that reminds me of the ways I’ve obeyed him, the things I’ve done when his voice licks over my skin, telling me to give in to his lustful demands.
But I think of other things, too. I think of twinkling lights on a rooftop, Luca telling me that he brought Paris to me. I think of feeding each other popcorn and laughing at stupid jokes in a bad comedy movie. I think of Luca at the dinner table, telling me how he’s spent his whole life protecting his best friend.
Luca’s new position is a lonely place. I realize that now. Franco is his best friend, but he’s also Luca’s right-hand man now, someone Luca has to depend on to do the right thing when Luca isn’t there to do it. He can’t shield Franco any longer. He has to continue a legacy that Caterina’s father has built up over the years—and then pass it on to his underboss’s son.
That’s not really fair, is it?It’s the first time I’ve stopped to consider that. Luca will spend his life defending a legacy that he won’t pass on to anyone of his own blood. No one has really explained to me why that is—why Luca isn’t allowed to have children of his own, why he’s essentially keeping a place warm for Franco’s eventual—hopeful—child.
It hadn’t occurred to me to ask because I hadn’t intended to ever sleep with Luca. I hadn’t intended to even speak to him more than necessary, much less fall into bed with him over and over. At least we’ve been using protection, I think, remembering the box of condoms Luca had brought home with him last week since we’d apparently run through what was left of his stash.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Father Donahue says, breaking through my thoughts—all of which are completely inappropriate for a church—and Franco pulls his new bride into his arms, kissing her firmly. I see Caterina lean slightly into the kiss, and I hope that no matter what issues they might have, she’ll be able to have some happiness in this new marriage.
There are cheers as they walk down the aisle, everyone standing as they walk hand in hand towards the doors of the church, and I see Caterina smile at her father as we all walk out into the sunshine. A health aide is with him, and as we all stand out on the steps of the church, I see him wheeled out, and Caterina turns to talk quietly with him.
“Are they taking him back to the hospital now?” I ask Luca quietly, and he nods.
“My men are doing a sweep of the hotel before the reception,” he adds under his breath. “As soon as it’s all clear, we’ll head there.”
I can tell that he’s trying as hard as he can to make today as smooth for Caterina and Franco as he can, with as little reminder of the danger hanging over all our heads—the danger that took her mother—as possible. It’s the same thing I’ve been trying to do this whole time while helping Caterina plan. For the first time, as I look up at Luca, I catch a glimpse of what it’s like to be his partner in something, working together.
It’s not so bad if I’m being completely honest with myself.
We’re starting to head to the limos when Luca suddenly puts a hand out, stopping Caterina and me. “Hold on,” he says. “Raoul just sent me something. Stay here,” he adds, his voice suddenly deep and commanding. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Caterina looks slightly pale, reaching for Franco’s hand. “I should be helping Luca,” he says, and I turn towards him at that, glaring at him.
“This is your day with Caterina,” I bite out, my voice harsher than I’ve heard it in a long time. “Worry about your new wife, for twenty-four hours, at least.”
Franco stares at me, momentarily shocked into silence. “Watch your mouth,” he says sharply when he’s recovered. “Luca wouldn’t like you talking to me like that.”
“Franco!” Caterina exclaims, but he shakes her off.
“I think Luca would agree with me,” I say flatly, still unsure how I’m finding the nerve to speak at all. I honestly don’t know how Luca would feel about my talking to his underboss like this, but in terms of rank, I’m pretty sure Franco is supposed to give the boss’s wife respect. As far as how I’m supposed to treat Franco, I don’t really know. And to be honest, I don’t really care.
Franco opens his mouth to make some retort, but the sound of Luca, Raoul, and the others coming back brings him up short.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my stomach tightening at the look on Luca’s face. Whatever he went to find out about, it can’t be good.
“They hit the reception hall at the hotel,” Luca says, his voice dark with barely restrained anger. “Everything was destroyed, the staff held up at gunpoint. Franco, I’m sending you and Caterina back to the Rossi house with double the guards. I don’t think they’ll expect you to spend your wedding night there instead of a hotel or your apartment. Tomorrow, we’re taking a trip to get to the bottom of this. But you and Caterina deserve your wedding night.” He glances over at me. “We’ll head back to the penthouse.”
Caterina is so pale that her rose-colored lipstick looks like a bold pink slash on her face, the rubies standing out garishly against her skin. “Luca—I’m scared,” she whispers. “The wedding—”
“I’m sorry your wedding was ruined,” Luca says, and I can hear the genuine apology in his tone.
“I don’t care about the reception,” Caterina says, waving her hand. “The important part is done. But they’re not stopping, Luca. What if—”
“They’ll stop,” Luca says harshly. “If I have to—” he trails off. “These aren’t things you should be worrying about on your wedding day,” he says more carefully. “Go with Franco. I’ll make sure you’re well-guarded. They’ll bring food from the caterer over for you. You won’t have to worry about anything tonight. I promise.”
We’re at the church a little longer after Caterina and Franco leave and the guests file out. I can see Luca talking quietly with Father Donahue and some of the security, and I hang back, perched on one of the pews as I wait for him to be finished.
It occurs to me how much our dynamic has changed in such a short time. If I’m being honest with myself, I like this better. Mutual respect, tentative peace—whatever this new thing is that has sprung up between Luca and me, it’s better than what we had before.
It’s just after dark when we get back to the penthouse. Luca lets out a long breath as the front door shuts behind him, and I see the relief etched across his face. I realize then that he feels safer here too, and it makes me reconsider, just a tiny bit, his genuine motives in keeping me here from the start. That maybe, just maybe, it was because he truly felt this was the safest place for me, and not just because he wanted to exert control over his bride-to-be.
We eat the food sent over from the caterer in relative silence, neither of us really knowing what to say. We should be dancing at Caterina’s reception right now. Instead, we’re sitting in our quiet dining room, eating the filet and crab cake that we should have been having at a white-covered table with violets in the center of it.
“I’m going to check with security once more before bed,” Luca says when we’ve finished. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
“Okay.” I give him a small smile. “See you upstairs.”
Halfway to Luca’s—our?—bedroom, I pause in the hall. I have the sudden urge to do something different, something special for tonight. I don’t know if it’s the wedding ceremony, the interrupted reception, or something else altogether, but the thought of the look in Luca’s eyes when he came back to tell Caterina that her wedding day had to be cut short makes me want to do something for him. Something to replace that look with a different one altogether.
I walk into the room that was mine, pushing open the closet door. Closest to it is the white lace-and-silk baby doll nightgown and robe that was part of the lingerie Luca had purchased for me. Then I’d seen it as a dig at the virginity I’d been clinging to, a spiteful way to remind me that if he’d wanted it, he could take it.
Now, looking at it hanging untouched in my old closet, it seems like a way to redo my wedding night. I could put it on for Luca, and tonight, on a night made for love, we could try again.
I slip it off of the hangar, carrying it into the master suite. In the bedroom, I strip out of the violet bridesmaid’s dress, draping it over a chair as I kick off my high heels and take off my jewelry. And then, I slip on the silk nightie, sighing with pleasure as it slides over my skin.
It feels sensual just having it on. It falls to the tops of my thighs, fragile silk like the red dress I wore on that ridiculous date, and the feeling of having nothing on underneath it is both vulnerable and erotic all at once. There’s eyelash lace along the hem, a delicate band of see-through lace at my waist, and more eyelash lace along the edges of the neckline. My nipples brush against the silk, hardening at the thought of Luca seeing me in this, the way I hope he’ll react.
The robe is the same light, airy silk, and I leave it open as I shrug it on, walking into the bathroom. I leave my makeup on but undo my hair, letting it fall in heavy dark curls around my face. My lips are still faintly pink even after dinner, and even to my own eyes, I think I look sexy, more seductive than any virginal bride should be.
I hear Luca’s footsteps in the hall and step out into the bedroom, feeling a sudden rush of nervousness. What if he thinks this is stupid? What if he hates it?
But when the door opens, he catches sight of me. The look on his face tells me a very different story.
