Broken Promise by M. James
Luca
It starts to rain as Giulia Rossi’s casket is being lowered into the ground. The cemetery turns into a field of black umbrellas. Caterina is crying quietly, her gloved hand pressed over her mouth, and even Franco has grown solemn, his hands crossed in front of him as he stands beneath the umbrella that he’s holding over them both.
Up on the hill where the road runs past, I see a long black car pull up. A moment later, two thickly built men step out, wearing jackets too warm for the weather that almost definitely are concealing guns, and I know with a tightening in my gut who it must be.
Viktor Andreyev.
I lean towards Franco. “I’ll be back in a moment,” I say quietly and nod towards the hill where the car is idling. Franco follows my gaze, and I see a flicker of nervousness cross his face.
“Do you want me to go with you?” His voice is low, anxious, and I shake my head.
“Stay here with Caterina. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m your second-in-command. I should be at your side—”
“Today, you’re her husband-to-be. She just lost her mother, Franco, and Rossi is still in critical condition. Have some compassion.” My tone is harsher than it’s ever been with him. Still, I’m beginning to worry that the easygoing life Franco has led in my shadow, has failed to prepare him for his new position.
Maybe I should have been harder on him, the way Rossi was with me.
But there’s nothing I can do about that now.
I stride up the hill, feeling a faint sheen of sweat down my back that makes my shirt cling to me uncomfortably. I haven’t been face to face with Viktor since my father was killed, when he and Rossi came to a temporary peace. The memory of that, too, burns in my gut. Rossi was willing to make peace then, but not now.
Then, it was Viktor who came asking for a cease-fire, though. We killed more Russians that week than we had in decades.
The car windows are tinted too darkly to see inside, but I approach the guards surrounding the car turn to keep their eyes on me. One opens the passenger door closest to me, and a moment later, a tall, grey-suited man steps out, unfolding himself to his full height.
He looks older than I remember, although Viktor is only six or seven years older than I am—in his late thirties. He’s unsmiling, his hard and clean-shaven face stony, and his ice-blue eyes are cold.
I’ve heard that women think he’s handsome. He doesn’t have a reputation for womanizing, though. His wife died last year, leaving him with two young daughters, and he has yet to remarry. I’m surprised that every high-ranking man in Russia and America hasn’t been throwing their eligible daughters at him. Though maybe they have, and we just aren’t aware of it. Or perhaps no one wants to marry the cold widower whose men call him Ussuri.
The Bear.
If I were a woman, I wouldn’t be inclined to wed someone who traffics in sex slavery. The Bratva is well known for their cruel treatment of women—wives, daughters, and slaves alike. I have no reason to think that Viktor Andreyev is any different, though there were whispers that his marriage was one made out of love.
I find that laughable. Viktor is a man-made even less for love of a wife and family than I am.
“Luca Romano,” Viktor speaks in a cultured Russian accent, more elegant than Levin’s, or the soldiers who find themselves being tortured in our warehouses. “I heard you wished to speak with me. It’s been a long time.”
“Let’s not pretend this is a social call. You know why I wanted to meet.”
Viktor’s mouth twitches with amusement. “Levin spoke to me of peace. I find that odd, considering that your don’s wife was just killed. Murdered, I suppose you would call it. Although—” he pauses for effect, his cold gaze sweeping over me. “I hear, too, that you have usurped Vitto Rossi’s place.”
“The title was passed to me, yes.” I keep my tone as even as I can, even though I can feel an unfamiliar rage starting to simmer deep in my gut. I’ve always been the calmest and most collected of Rossi’s inner circle—that’s why he so often sends me to do his dirty work. But seeing Viktor is making me want blood, despite all my protestations of wanting peace.
This man had Sofia kidnapped. I remember the bruises on her face, the fear in her eyes when she’d woken up. He’s responsible for Giulia’s death.
“And now you want to call for a cease-fire between us?” He still looks amused, and it makes me feel almost uncontrollably violent. Visions of grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him back against his car or balling up my fist and striking the smile off of his face go through my head, but I know better. His guards would be on me in a second, and everything I’m trying to achieve would absolutely fail.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to remain calm.
“I want peace, yes. No more explosions in hotels or shootouts in the streets. No more kidnapping and threats. Let’s talk this out between us, man to man, leader to leader, and come to an agreement.”
Viktor looks at me appraisingly. “And what will you give me for this peace, Luca?”
“Aren’t the lives of your men enough? I wonder how they would feel if they knew how little you valued them.”
His expression darkens. “My men know their value to me. I ask again, what will you offer me for peace?”
“Is there something that you had in mind?”
“What if I asked you for Sofia?”
My reaction is unexpected and instantaneous; my hands clench into fists at my sides as I struggle mightily to keep my composure. I don’t know what angers me more, the casual way that he spoke the suggestion, as if Sofia were a shipment of drugs to be haggled over, or the thought of what he might intend to do to her. The thought of his hands on her makes me homicidal, and for a moment, I consider embracing Rossi’s desire for war. I could wipe the city clean of these bastards.
But not without a massive amount of blood and death on both sides. And I’m not prepared to send our men into war with the Bratva unless there’s no other choice.
“Sofia is my wife now,” I say coolly. “As I’m certain you know since it was our hotel that you attacked the morning after our wedding. You knew who would be there and why. But surely there are other beautiful women in this city for you to lure into your clutches and sell for a profit. I should know—I’ve probably fucked most of them.”
Viktor chuckles, his face expressionless. “No doubt,” he says dryly. “But I didn’t intend to sell Sofia. I intended to marry her.”
I wish that I’d been able to hide my shock. But I’m too startled by the revelation to control my face; I know that my startled reaction can be read plainly. Viktor sees it; I know he does from the pleased look that flickers across his.
“You didn’t expect that.”
“No,” I say flatly. “Why would you want to marry her? That makes even less sense, truthfully. I can see how she would have sold for a considerable price—a beautiful, young virgin. But as a wife? You don’t need a girl, Viktor. You need a woman who can mother your children.”
Viktor’s expression darkens. “Don’t tell me what I need, Luca. Perhaps what I needed was that young virgin, something sweet and tight to take my mind off of the men that you’ve killed. Something to ease the pain of the territory you’ve stolen back these past years. I can only imagine how good she must have tasted—”
I let out a hiss without meaning to, my jaw clenched as I struggle not to slug him then and there.
“I see I’ve struck a nerve.” Viktor smiles. “I suppose I shouldn’t talk about your new wife that way. After all, she’s a virgin no more, so it hardly matters. Still, you ask for peace but offer nothing in return. Why shouldn’t I continue to try to take your territory for myself? Vitto has done such a good job brokering deals over the years. So many rich and fruitful businesses for me to step into.”
“You killed Giulia Rossi,” I growl, my voice deepening as my patience thins. “You’re lucky we haven’t already started cutting down your dogs.”
Viktor’s smile doesn’t falter. “Casualties of war, Luca. Just like your father and Sofia’s. Your mothers, too, in a way. And you want those casualties to stop. So I’ll make you another suggestion since you’ve already taken Sofia for yourself. Give me Rossi’s daughter for my wife. As you said, I need someone more able to step into the role of wife and mother, someone prepared for it. And what’s more, I need the one thing my late wife wasn’t able to give me.”
“What’s that?”
His gaze holds mine, cold and determined. “A son, of course.”
“And what makes you think Caterina will provide that? Giulia only had one daughter.”
“I hear it’s the man who determines these things, and I have three fine brothers, all strong. And if she gives me a daughter, I’ll sow her fields thoroughly until she gives me sons. I’ve seen her—she’s a beautiful girl. Fucking her until she gives me what I need will be no issue.”
“She’s engaged to my underboss, Franco Bianchi,” I say flatly, though I’m seething inside. “Choose a wife from your own women, Viktor. You have no need of ours.”
“I’ve offered you a means to come to terms twice now,” Viktor says coolly. “And yet you refuse. You must want war then, despite your insistence otherwise.”
“Just because I’m not willing to barter Vitto’s daughter doesn’t mean I want war. I’m willing to deal at your table, Viktor. But we do not trade in flesh.”
Viktor snorts elegantly. “Then offer me something, Luca. Or there will be no peace.”
“We have a shipment of cocaine coming to the docks in a week. We’ll pass it to your men instead and make up the difference with our buyer. I’ll even sweeten the deal and add a handling fee.” I name a figure, and Viktor laughs, a deep rolling sound that reaches down the hill and makes a few of the gathered mourners look up towards where we’re standing.
“You insult me, Luca. I would have thought Vitto would teach you better than that. You steal back the woman I meant to marry, fuck her yourself, and then refuse me a bride. You don’t think I have my own shipments? My own money? I want something better than your flimsy handouts. But since you clearly have nothing I want that you are willing to give, then there is nothing more for us to say.”
“Wait—” I start to speak, but Viktor is already sliding back into the car, the door shutting firmly behind him. I begin to step towards it—I don’t know what I mean to do exactly, yank it open? Demand that he agree?—but his guards move immediately, stepping in front of the door and blocking my path.
I know better than to try to get past them. I step back, a wave of futile helplessness crashing over me that leaves me cold and angrier than before. Viktor has left me feeling emasculated, unable to do anything about the situation, and I can feel the rage sweeping through me, tightening every muscle.
Almost everyone has dispersed by the time I reach the bottom of the hill, but Franco and Caterina are still waiting for me.
“What happened?” Caterina asks anxiously. “Who was that?”
“Viktor Andreyev,” I reply tightly.
“And?” Franco looks at me, and there’s a nervous eagerness about him that seems somehow off to me, though I can’t quite put my finger on why. “Did you come to some kind of agreement?”
“As of right now, there have been no terms set.” I look away from him at Caterina’s pale face, and I feel angry all over again that I haven’t been able to settle this. That the man responsible for her mother’s death decided to show up now, here of all places, and I wasn’t able to force him to come to an agreement. “You’ll need to be married quickly,” I tell them, my gaze flicking between the couple. “We’ll talk to Father Donahue about moving up the wedding date. I’m sorry about the planning, Caterina. I know it will be hard without your mother and harder to rush it. I’m sure Sofia will step in to help where she can.” She better, I think darkly, before I have a chance to stifle the thought. My patience is stretched so thin that I don’t know how much of it I have left for Sofia’s rebellion.
“I don’t know what Viktor will do next,” I continue. “But I’ll continue doing what I can to keep things from escalating.”
“I know you’ll find a way,” Caterina says softly, and I look at her, startled. “I trust you, Luca.”
The words are simple, but I can hear what’s behind them—that she trusts me to be a good leader, to put an end to these conflicts, to make this world that she lives in a place where she can raise the son who will inherit my seat without fearing for his life.
But right now, after my conversation with Viktor, those words make me feel worse than I ever have.
Because I’m no longer certain that I can do any of those things.
