Broken Promise by M. James
Luca
The fight with Sofia leaves me feeling exhausted.
If I’m being honest, it’s not just the fight with her. It’s everything else that’s happened too—the drama of our wedding night, the attack on the hotel, the injuries that put me in the hospital, the sudden transference of Rossi’s title from him to me, and everything that entails.
But in the end, that all circles back to one person—Sofia. Without her, none of this would have happened. And although I’d never want to or sanction killing her, I can suddenly see why Rossi felt it was the most expedient solution. The fight we just had only made me more frustrated with her and her inability to stop being contrary over every single fucking thing I tell her to do.
It doesn’t help that just being near her is enough to turn me on, and fighting with her—seeing her skin turn that pretty shade of pink, seeing her eyes blaze and that delicate pointed chin turn up, seeing the way she quivers with rage—all of that makes me harder than I’ve ever been in my life. Now that we’ve gotten past the hurdle of taking her virginity, all I want to do is toss her into my bed and spend a solid weekend inside of her, doing nothing but fucking her in every possible way until we’re both wrung completely dry.
This is why I need to do anything but—exactly why I’ve made a point of making her think that I’m completely turned off by her innocence and lack of experience, when in fact, it’s the exact opposite. Because I don’t need the distraction. It’s hard enough for me to keep my lust for her under control. So every time we wind up face to face, it’s just a case of me protesting too much that I want nothing to do with her sexually.
When in fact, I want to do everything with her sexually.
Sixteen years of fucking every woman I can get my hands on, and no one has ever captivated me like Sofia Ferretti—no, make that Sofia Romano. She’s got my last name now, which is yet another thing that drives me absolutely mad when it comes to her.
I’ve given her everything—my protection, my name, my home, my security and wealth, my cock, and anything else that she might need to keep her safe and protected. Yet, she acts as if I’m torturing her by insisting she follows a few simple instructions. It’s maddening, and it makes me want to strangle her.
Something that could just as easily be accomplished with my cock down her throat instead of my hands around her neck.
I shake off the thought, gritting my teeth as I try to put Sofia out of my head. At least by the end of this particular argument, she seemed to be leaning towards compliance. I’ll see how well that went when I go back home. But before then, I have any number of things I need to deal with—and the first is visiting Rossi before I go to his wife’s funeral and having a discussion without so many ears in the room.
“He needs rest,” the nurse tries to tell me as I stride towards his room, but I can see through the window that he’s awake, and this can’t wait. He’ll agree with me, so I simply ignore her and reach for the door.
She nearly slaps my hand away, and I turn to glare at her, pinning her with my icy green stare. “Do you know who I am, Ms.—” I look down at her nametag. “Browning?”
“No, but I assume you must be family if you were allowed up here—”
“I’m Luca Romano,” I tell her coldly, my voice stiff and commanding. The authority of it feels good. “The new don for the American branch of the Italian mafia family. And if you don’t know what that means, I suggest you go find your superior and tell them what I just said so that they can educate you on how to speak to your betters.”
The nurse goes bone-white, and I allow myself to enjoy it for a moment. There are benefits to my new title that goes beyond wealth, and one of them I’m seeing in real-time right now.
“Of course, Mr. Romano,” she says quickly, backing up so that I can walk into the room.
“Flirting with nurses again?” Rossi jokes as I stride towards his bed, pulling up one of the chairs so that I can sit.
“I’m a married man,” I say mock-gravely, and Rossi snorts, pushing himself up a little.
“You know as well as I do that doesn’t mean shit. I fucked more women after I was married than before, I think.” He grins. “The more power and money you have, the more they line up to fall into your bed. Mark my words, you’ll get more pussy now than you ever did before you took my title.”
“I didn’t take it,” I point out. “You handed it over. I’d have been happy to keep waiting.”
“Well, what’s done is done.” Rossi frowns, the light mood dissipating. “What did you come here to talk about, Luca? The funeral is tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes. The viewing is in the morning, the service in the afternoon.” I lean forward, looking at him intently. “We need to discuss the Bratva threat and what to do about it. I know you may not like how I want to handle it, but—”
“What is there to discuss?” Rossi’s voice rises. “They killed my fucking wife, Luca. We go to war and kill every last Russian dog with her blood on his hands until they’re driven so far back they won’t crawl out of their dens for another decade.”
Well, that’s about the answer I expected. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the fight that I know is going to come. “That’s not how I think we should handle it. I understand the desire for vengeance—” I say quickly, “—but that doesn’t end, Vitto. It never ends. I want to take us down a different path.”
“What other path is there?” Rossi growls angrily. “They killed your father, Luca. They killed Sofia’s father. Your mother killed herself because she couldn’t handle the fear of wondering when you’d be next. How much more blood does Viktor have to order spilled before you’ll decide that they all need to die?”
“Vitto. Be reasonable.” I grit my teeth, trying to keep my voice measured and the frustration clear of it. “What do you think happens if we kill Viktor Andreyev? We should take out some of his soldiers, yes. Maybe even a brigadier or two. But we can’t slaughter the head of the Bratva and everyone else along with him. What does that say, to the other territories, to the Irish that we drove out of New York decades ago and have tentative peace with now if we just kill another leader? Spill his and every other Russian’s blood in the streets until they’re red with it? There will be no trust anymore. No reason to make treaties. It will be an all-out war, and no one will believe us when we try to make deals. Our business relies on deals, Vitto. Hell, we’ve been working with the Irish on guns for the last seven years, and it’s made you a wealthy man.”
“I don’t give a fuck about any of that. They killed Giulia.” Rossi’s face reddens with rage, and for a minute, I worry he might push himself over the edge into a heart attack or something equally as bad.
“Forgive me for saying this, but I didn’t think you were so in love with her, Vitto,” I say calmly. “They killed her, yes. It will not go unpunished. If you want the men who planted the bombs dead, I will ask Viktor to hand them over. We’ll throw them off a dock and watch them sink. But you’re talking about violence on a scale that hasn’t been seen in—Christ, I don’t even know when. Before I was born. Maybe before my father was born.”
“For Marco’s son, you’re more like Giovanni,” Rossi says with a growl. “It’s not about love, you fucking child. It’s about vengeance. It’s about them killing what was mine. Taking something that belonged to me. How would you react if it were Sofia?” He narrows his eyes. “I so much as threatened her life, and you threw away all that bachelorhood you so cherished and rushed to put a ring on her finger like a lovesick boy. And you’re telling me you wouldn’t paint the streets red to avenge her death.”
I try to think of it, just for a moment. And I know he’s not wrong. I think of the blood splattered across the hotel room walls when I went in to rescue her from Mikhail, the dying gargles of all those men, the teeth on the concrete floor when I tortured one of Viktor’s soldiers to get the location. Would I do that and more if she were dead?
I want to say that I’m not sure. I want to say that I know it wouldn’t bring her back, that I’d think of the good of the family, that I’d remain clear-headed and try to do the same thing I’m doing now—make peace and bring order back to our streets.
But the truth is that I’d murder every last man who so much as thought about harming Sofia, all the way to Viktor Andreyev, and then I’d pull him into pieces and feed them to the dogs.
None of that helps now, though. None of it changes the fact that war isn’t going to fix anything. It’s only going to make it worse.
“I wish Giulia were still here. I do,” I say calmly. “I see your pain, Vitto, and I understand your desire for revenge. But how many civilians were hurt in that explosion?” I pause, looking at him. “We’re going to have the law down on us too if there’s too much collateral damage. And a war with the Russians will mean people dying who have nothing to do with this.”
“The cops are in our pockets or theirs,” Rossi says with a wave of his hand. “There will be no heat, and you know it.”
“There’s always a few who insist on doing their job. And if we escalate this to the point that the Feds get involved—”
“So what? Do you want to roll over and show your belly like a whipped dog? To the Ussuri? Fuck that,” Rossi spits.
“I’m not rolling over.” I can feel the last shred of my patience ebbing thin. “You made me don, Vitto. So let me be don.
“I didn’t know I chose an heir who would be so weak.” Rossi’s voice is cutting. “I thought you were your father’s son.”
“I am,” I say coolly. “And in many ways, yours as well. I’m not weak, Vitto. I’m trying to be practical.”
There’s no question that he’s trying to get a rise out of me, to piss me off enough to follow his lead, but I’m not about to take the bait. I hadn’t intended to rise to this position so soon, but I’ve always intended to lead in my own way. I’m not about to change that now.
“Hmph.” Rossi snorts, turning his face away. “I’m tired. Make sure they do right by Giulia tomorrow. We’ll talk about this later.”
It’s a clear dismissal, and part of me seethes at how he thinks he can still wave me off so easily. But I’m not about to dwell on it. I have the ring and the title now, and I intend to proceed in my own way for as long as possible, regardless of how Rossi seems to want to continue to rule through me. That will only happen if I allow it, and I don’t intend to.
I decide to spend the night away from Sofia. I need time to process, to think about everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours. So instead of going home, I send Carmen a message asking to have a fresh suit delivered to the hotel where I’ll be staying. Then, give my driver the location before leaning back in my seat and pouring myself a generous slug of whiskey. I’m not usually one to drink in the afternoon, but I think now is as good a time as any to make an exception.
The hotel room is cool and fresh-smelling, perfectly made up and cleaned, one of the finest suites that they have available. I strip out of my suit immediately and hang it up, pouring another shot of whiskey from the minibar before striding into the large bathroom and turning on the taps in the shower. I down the golden drink as I wait for the water to heat up, enjoying the burn of it spreading through my chest, the smoky taste at the back of my throat.
Finally, some fucking peace and quiet. I feel more drained than I have in years; the load of responsibility on my shoulders increased ten-fold. I need a moment to breathe, remember who I am and why I’ve done all of this for so long.
But the truth is too simple. I was born into it. I know no other life, and I don’t think that I want to. And now Sofia has thrown a wrench into that. I had my future planned—continue my wealthy playboy lifestyle until the day that the title passed to me…and then keep on being a rich playboy, but with more responsibilities. Children had been out of the question, which meant a wife wasn’t necessary. And love?
Love is for other men. Lesser men.My father hadn’t loved my mother. Even as unsure as I am of what love really means, I know that much.
But from what I’d heard of Sofia’s family, her father had loved her mother. And look where it had gotten them—where it got all of us. Sofia’s father was murdered by the Bratva, my father murdered to avenge him, my mother, dead, Sofia’s mother, dead. Both of us are orphans. And if Sofia’s father hadn’t insisted on marrying a Russian woman?
Maybe they’d all still be here. Giovanni, Marco, their wives. My parents.
Sofia wouldn’t exist, though. Not without all of that.
“This is getting too fucking philosophical for my blood,” I mutter aloud to the empty room, pushing the thoughts out of my head. There’s no point in mulling over the past. What’s done is done, and the dead are dead. They can’t be brought back. All I can do is make certain that the carnage is stalled and that more don’t follow them to early graves. Whatever Rossi says on the matter, I don’t want war.
Rossi believes that we aren’t meant to be men of peace; I’ve always known that. He thrives on it. But I’ve never been that man. I believe peace is possible for all of us if we work together. We have the same interests, after all—Russian, Irish, Italian. We want money, and power, to live life on our own terms and fuck those who want to say otherwise. We want to choose our lives and choose our ends.
So what’s necessary is to find that common ground and work out among all of us how to achieve that without stepping on each other’s toes. Easier said than done. And with Rossi trying to still rule through me, it adds another layer of complications.
I step under the hot water, groaning with pleasure as it rolls down my back, and my thoughts circle back to Sofia. She’s a complication, too. I thought I would be able to neatly shelve her away post-wedding, but it’s clear that won’t be the case now. She’ll remain in my house and my thoughts for longer than I feel comfortable with, and I don’t know how to reconcile that.
It would be easier if I were a man like Rossi. But while I’m not above giving Sofia as good as she gives me, even pushing her to face her own desires like that night that I bent her over the couch, I draw the line at forcing her to sleep with me. That holds no appeal for me. I’m a violent man—but never with women, and to tell the truth, it’s part of what I feel separates us from the Bratva. I would never harm a woman.
Still, Sofia is driving me fucking insane.
Just the thought of her is making me hard. I can feel my cock thickening as I stand under the water, rising stubbornly just at the memory of her warm body under my hands two nights ago, her small cry when I slid into her for the first time, the way she tightened around me, her virgin pussy clenching around my cock like she wanted me in her as deeply as possible. She might have told me to get it over with, but her body had said otherwise.
Fuck. My cock throbs, pre-cum pearling from the tip as my balls tighten with need, and I groan, unable to stop myself from wrapping my hand around my thick length and stroking slowly. It’s just my luck that when I was forced to marry, I’ve been given a bride that refuses to play the part of a dutiful wife. There are so many pleasures I could introduce her to. So many things I could teach her. I think of how soft her lips felt under mine, how they parted as her cheeks flushed when I thrust into her, and how good they would feel wrapped around my cock.
My whole life, I’ve said I despised sleeping with virgins, that they were clingy and no good in bed, that my rule to never sleep with the same woman twice meant that to me, a virgin meant nothing more than a bad lay. But Sofia is mine.
I could train her to my pleasure. Teach her to suck my cock the way I like, to take it deep in her throat, to look up at me with those pretty dark eyes as her lips purse and redden around my shaft from the strain of taking all of me. And I’ve never been a selfish lover. I’d reward her with my tongue on her pussy, licking her to as many orgasms as she could stand. I’d make her limp with pleasure before taking her in every position I can think of to teach her. Just the thought of Sofia atop me, her breasts bouncing as she rides my cock, of her upturned ass if I took her roughly from behind, is enough to bring me to the brink of orgasm.
My cock throbs in my hands, my aching balls warning me that I’m close, and the urge to stroke harder and faster hits. I could be finished in a matter of seconds and have some relief. But for whatever reason, I slow down, savoring the sensation of skin on skin as I picture all the ways I could take my new bride, all the things I could make her do if only she’d give in.
I could break her to my will,I think, groaning as my palm rubs over the slick head of my cock. I could make her accept that she wants me. Make her be my wife in all ways.
I let the fantasy overtake me for a moment, even as I know that I won’t do it. It’s too much of a distraction when I have a war to stave off, an organization to run, and the Bratva to bring to heel. A desire to remain emotionally unattached isn’t the only reason I’ve avoided sleeping with the same woman more than once.
It’s also to keep myself from losing direction, from being so immersed in pleasure that I forget what it takes to keep all I’ve earned for myself. And up until now, there’s never been a woman who could threaten that.
Standing in the luxurious shower, my hips thrusting into my fist as I work myself to the edge of climax again, it’s clear that’s changed. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve pleasured myself now thinking about Sofia, how many times her pretty face and full lips and perfect figure have been what flashes in front of my eyes as I climax. Whether I ever touch her again or not, she’s become something close to an obsession. Something that threatens to destroy the careful control and discipline that I’ve built up over so many years.
Just call someone. Just go out. Just fuck some other woman for God’s sake,I think even as a flood of images fill my mind—Sofia on her knees, Sofia bent over, Sofia taking me in her mouth and moaning around my cock as I lick her pussy at the same time, choking on my length as I make her come. Sofia trying not to look at me as I took her virginity, the sweet wet heat of her clamped around me, a tightness I’d never felt before, a pleasure I hadn’t imagined I could have with her. I’d been lying when I said that it was bad—I’d never felt anything like that orgasm. All I’d wanted was to rip that fucking condom off and feel her pussy clenched around my bare cock, filling her with my seed until there was nothing left for me to give her.
“Fuck! Fuck—oh god, fucking hell—” I groan as my cock erupts in my fist, cum spraying over the wall of the shower as my balls tighten to the point of pain, my muscled thighs rigid with the effort of it. It feels as if it’ll never stop, and I jerk harder, imagining all of that cum painting Sofia’s breasts, her face, her lips, her swallowing it, burying it deep inside of her, how good it would feel—
I’m panting by the time my cock stops pulsating, leaning against the side of the shower with the water still pouring over me. I know what I need to do, just as I’ve known since the night I pinned Sofia up against my front door and realized the kind of desire she arouses in me.
I need to find some other woman, maybe more than one, hell—as many as I can bring back to this hotel room, and fuck Sofia out of my head. I need to take this all out on as many willing bodies as I can manage until I remember that no woman holds this kind of sway over me, and exactly why I’ve remained single all my life.
But even as I catch my breath, I know I won’t. I won’t fuck anyone tonight, and probably not tomorrow either. I won’t go out. I’ll order room service, and I’ll drink as much as I can out of the minibar. Then I’ll probably jerk off again, maybe even twice, thinking about Sofia. Thinking about everything I want from her but refuse to take.
I remember Rossi in the hospital room, calling me weak. I’ll never believe that wanting peace over war makes me a weak leader. But just now, with my cock deflating against my thigh after weeks of only self-pleasure interrupted by just that one night with my now-wife, I’m not sure that I don’t have a weakness after all.
If I’m weak in any way, it’s because of Sofia, and only her. And there’s one thing that I’ve been taught all my life.
A man in my position can have no weakness.
