Broken Vows

by Nicole Fox

  I wipe down the counters with more vigor than usual, taking out my frustrations on the stuck-on food and oil. When everything is squeaky clean and Cal still hasn’t shown up, I leave a note on his office door—Locked up for you. You’re welcome. Eve—and leave.

  I step into the alley and lock the back door behind me. There are only two cars there—mine and Cal’s—which is normal. The two cooks who broke up two nights ago are back together and carpooling again, and they also gave Felix a ride. Makayla walked over from the café, and the dishwasher takes the bus. All of which means me and Cal are the only two who regularly use the small lot reserved for employees. The strange thing, however, is that Cal is still nowhere to be seen. I’d assumed he was in the alley or had taken off early without telling anyone, but if his car is still there, then where is he?

  I walk closer, an eerie feeling creeping into my chest with every step. My head is on a swivel, turning to look for any sign of Cal or anyone else. I don’t notice that the roof light is on in Cal’s car until I’m ten feet away. The driver’s side door is open, and it looks like someone is slouched down in the front seat.

  Something is very wrong.

  “Cal?” My voice is shaky, and I cough to try and steady it. “Cal, are you okay?”

  He doesn’t move, and I can hear his car incessantly beeping at him to close the door. When I round the back of the car, I see Cal’s meaty leg sticking out. His black pant leg is pulled halfway up his calf, and his foot is resting unnaturally to the side. Like he has fallen asleep.

  Then, I see the blood.

  It is trickling down his ankle, rolling down the inside of his pants, and gathering in his sock. Slowly, keeping a five-foot radius from his door, I walk around so I can see his face and confirm what the nauseous growl in my stomach has already told me.

  Cal Higgs is dead.

  His lips are blue and the front of his white apron is splattered with blood like he had just butchered a pig. I fall to my knees.

  I hated Cal. He deserved my hatred, with his cruelty and habit of disappearing to get high, leaving me in charge of his shit kitchen staff. But he didn’t deserve this death. Stabbed in his car and left for some hapless stranger to find.

  I don’t have to wonder who would want to do this. I saw Luka’s switchblade. He and his father were angry with the restaurant, upset with my actions, and maybe they decided to take it out on Cal. Or maybe, even worse, they killed Cal simply as a message for me. His death is meaningless except as a warning sign of what is coming for me.

  Luka Volkov is a monster, and I’ll never marry him. Even if it means turning my back on my father’s wishes, I will never marry him.

  The blood isn’t flowing anymore, so Cal has been dead for awhile, meaning there is no need to rush and call the police or an ambulance. He can’t be saved. I sit on the pavement and cry.

  6

  Luka

  I planned to kill Cal Higgs. His recreational drug usage had taken on a more professional spin in the past few months when he tried to cut in on the Volkov drug territory by aligning himself with rival dealers. His sins could have been forgiven had he not lied to us, ensuring my father and our men that we were welcome at his restaurant, all the while he was assisting in our eventual demise. Disloyalty is the biggest danger to our control and it can’t be tolerated.

  So, Cal Higgs was on my hit list, regardless. When I cornered him in the lot, however, and he attempted to ingratiate himself to me by offering up Eve in his stead, he ensured his death would be slow.

  “You hate the Furinos, and I hate employing his slut daughter,” he said, nervous sweat collecting on his forehead. “She is right inside. I’ll order her out here, and you can do what you will with her. Make her pay for what she did to your father. I’ll back you up. I won’t say a word. Fuck her sideways if you want. I can help you.”

  I made sure not to touch his heart. I didn’t want him to bleed out quickly. Instead, I focused on his lungs. His chest whistled with every labored inhale, and I watched his breathing become more and more shallow. His lips began to turn blue from lack of oxygen before he died. His fingertips went purple, and his eyes rolled back in his head. I left when he fell unconscious, then took up my post across the street.

  It took longer than I had expected for the man’s body to be discovered. The restaurant emptied out and the employees left, everyone completely unaware of the chef’s body going cold under the streetlight. Finally, I knew Eve would be the one to find him. Her car was only a few spaces away from his. She’d have to be a blind idiot not to see him, and Eve is anything but that.

  She is observant. Her caramel eyes studying the world around her, searching for where the next threat might come from. And she is smart. Disobedient and rash, but intelligent. She can be trained.

  I’ve never wanted marriage. I’ve never wanted a person who would depend on me, a woman who would be there when I came home, talking and demanding my attention, but ever since I proposed to Eve, I can’t get the idea out of my head. I can’t stop imagining her in my bed. In my arms. I still don’t want to attend to her needs and take on the responsibility, but I want her to attend to mine.

  When she walks through the back door of the restaurant, I sit up. She is in a pair of dark pants and a white t-shirt. Her uniform. But it fits her like lingerie. Even from across the street, her curves are obvious and alluring, and I imagine running my hands down her body and gripping her hips. Warmth settles in my belly, and I realize how long it has been since I’ve had release. Work takes priority always, and it has been busier than usual, especially since the attack on our production center. Busy or not, I could make time to find release with Eve.

  She locks the door behind her, and like I suspected she would, she notices Cal’s car immediately. She surveys her surroundings, and I catch myself congratulating her, remarking on her instincts like she is taking some kind of test. I expect her to be pleased Cal Higgs is dead. He allowed her to be paraded around his restaurant in a makeshift skirt. He stood by and let her be berated by my father in front of other diners. Cal Higgs stood by and let her take the fall for a lackluster meal that was not even her fault. I thought Eve would celebrate his death. Instead, she cries.

  I wouldn’t cry over the death of someone I liked, let alone someone I hated. So, why is she upset? It doesn’t make sense.

  My phone buzzes, and I take the call, my eyes locked on her body crumpled in the parking lot. I have soldiers moving production equipment from the attacked cocaine lab to a new location, and they keep calling me with idiotic questions a trained monkey wouldn’t need to ask. Usually, Simon would oversee this, but since his meeting with the Furino mafia, he can’t be trusted.

  “You do not report to Simon,” I remind the soldier for the fifth time. “Set the lab up yourself. You’ve worked in one long enough to know what it should fucking look like.”

  The soldier assures me he can handle it, which I’m ninety percent sure he can’t, but I’m too busy watching Eve to argue. She falls forward on her face, her body folded in on itself, and I hang up on the soldier mid-sentence.

  For reasons I can’t understand, I want to go to her. I want to understand why she is crying for this man. I want to pick her up off the ground and…make things better for her. It doesn’t make any sense, but I’m opening my car door and stepping out with every intention of crossing the street and laying a hand on her shoulder.

  But movement at the edge of the lot stops me. A shadow darts from behind a dumpster and steps into the yellow glow of the street light. He is fifteen feet behind Eve, but she has no idea. I’m not certain, but I think I recognize the man as a hitman for the Irish mob. I know he isn’t one of my men, and unless Eve’s father is out for her head, he isn’t with the Furinos.

  I stand still and watch. Eve was supposed to die anyway. Eventually, my father wanted me to take her out, so why not let this man do my job for me?

  I can’t hear what he says, but he must say something, because Eve jolts and scrambles up
. She takes a few steps backwards and shakes her head, the man matching every step. But then, suddenly, she stops. The hitman continues advancing, but she stands her ground. Her back straightens, and she lifts her chin and faces him. Unarmed, unprotected, and alone, Eve is going to fight until the last second.

  The hitman smiles, head tilting to the side at her show of bravery. He sees it as foolish. He is accustomed to people weeping and begging and falling on their faces, but not Eve. She will fall on her face to mourn the death of a man she didn’t like, but she will stand tall in the face of her own impending murder. For that reason and that reason alone, I run across the street and creep along the edge of the building.

  The hitman and Eve are both too focused on one another to see me approaching. As I get closer, I can overhear what they are saying.

  “I’m not going to beg,” Eve says. “Do what you came to do.”

  “I might let you go if you beg,” the hitman purrs. “If you make it worth my while.”

  I know what he means, and so does Eve. She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head. “I’m not your whore, and I’d rather die than touch you.”

  The hitman’s smile falters, and he lifts his gun, but before he can pull the trigger, I’m behind him. I plunge my blade into his carotid artery. He turns around to see who stabbed him, but by then, he is already bleeding out. The gun falls from his hand, blood pulsing from his wound in rhythmic bursts that slow as his heart begins to give out. He collapses on the ground, dead within a minute.

  I look up, once again expecting Eve to be pleased to see me—or, at the very least, grateful to me for saving her life—but her eyes are wide, and her face is pale. She is terrified. She just stumbled upon a dead man in the parking lot and then was attacked by a hitman in the same parking lot, yet she trembles at the sight of me. I know there is a compliment hidden in there somewhere, but I don’t feel proud.

  “You’re welcome.” I bend down and wipe my knife on a clean scrap of the hitman’s shirt, and then stash it in my pocket.

  “You killed Cal,” she says, head nodding back in gesture to her dead boss.

  “And saved your life,” I remind her, pointing to the growing puddle of blood between us.

  “Why?” she spits.

  “You need to be more specific.” I cross my arms and take a step back to avoid getting blood on my shoes. “Why did I kill Cal Higgs, or why did I just save your life?”

  She stares at me without saying anything, and her gaze makes me nervous. I feel like I’m being studied under a microscope. Like there is an itch under my skin I can’t quite ease. So, I start talking.

  “Because you are mine,” I say, realizing this answer applies to both questions. “No man gets to hurt or insult you. Except for me.”

  Her top lip pulls back in a snarl. “I am not yours. You do not own me. I rejected your proposal.”

  I went to her father about that, knowing it would do little to change her mind, but I had to try. I can’t stop thinking about it. The possibility of a union between us. Of peace between the Volkovs and Furinos. Of Eve’s supple curves pinned beneath my body, writhing against my skin.

  “Which is why I’m offering you another chance to make the right decision,” I say. “Marry me, and you’ll be safe. You won’t be attacked in parking lots and insulted by men. You’ll be respected. You’ll be the daughter of a don and the wife of a don, and you’ll be the most powerful woman in this city.”

  Before the words are even fully out of my mouth, Eve spits at me. It lands on the dead hitman. “I will never marry a killer. I’d rather be alone. I’d rather be hunted and harassed and belittled for the rest of my life than gain power by tying myself to a man like you.”

  Rage sparks in my bones. The desire to lash out curls my fist, and suddenly, I’m jumping over the body of the hitman between us. My feet hit the pavement with a one-two punch, and then I’m growling in front of Eve, nostrils flares, fists at my side.

  “You are a stupid woman. Too proud, too stubborn, and it will kill you one of these days. Someday, you’ll offend the wrong man, and he’ll kill you for it.”

  Eve’s soft sob clears the red from my vision.

  I look down, and she is cowering in front of me. Her eyes are wide and on mine, but her mouth is hanging open, her lower lip trembling, and her shoulders are hunched forward to try and protect herself from the blow she is sure is coming.

  She looks terrified.

  I stumble back, my shoe slipping in the hitman’s blood. I sidestep the congealing puddle and scrape the blood off my sole on the asphalt. Then, I turn and leave. I feel Eve watching me, but I don’t turn around or say anything. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I’m feeling.

  When I get back in my car, I drive away without looking to the parking lot to see where Eve is or whether she is still watching me. Instead, I keep my eyes on the road and focus on the anger. Not the confusion or the pity or the regret. Those emotions aren’t useful. They are meaningless. But the anger? That, I can use. My family has no shortage of people who need to be punished, and tonight, a lucky few will get a visit from me.

  7

  Eve

  Cal Higgs has more friends than I thought. Or, rather, had more friends. In the week since his murder, people have come out of the woodwork to eat at his restaurant every night, crying over the tragic loss of life. Mourners fill the small chapel set up for his funeral easily and are pushed into overflow seating in the balcony. I feel like I should be the one in overflow. Surely there are people up there closer to Cal than I was. Plus, I’m part of the reason he is dead in the first place, which should probably exclude me from attending his funeral at all. But no one else knows that, and I don’t intend to make it public knowledge. So, I fold my hands in my lap and try to blend in.

  “Do you think Luka will show up here?”

  “Chiara,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Not the time and certainly not the place.”

  She rolls her heavily-lined eyes. “It was just a question. No one is looking at us, anyway.”

  I didn’t want Chiara or anyone else to come with me. I wanted to go by myself, quietly pay my respects to my former boss (and apologize for getting him murdered), and leave. But my father wouldn’t hear of me going alone.

  “If one member is in pain, we are all in pain,” he says. “Take Chiara and Samuel with you. And hell, I’ll come, too. I liked Cal Higgs.”

  My father did not like Cal Higgs, and the feeling was mutual. Cal hated that my dad forced him to hire me, and my dad hated that Cal let members of the Volkov family eat in his restaurant. Yet, he is sitting at Cal’s funeral with his consigliere and my childhood best friend in tow. Subtle.

  “I mean, if he did show up, that would be pretty hot,” Chiara says in a way-too-loud whisper. “You’ve always liked a bad boy.”

  “No, I haven’t. You must have me confused with you.”

  She shrugs and then adjusts the sleeve of her black leopard print sweater. “Maybe. Because I’d certainly accept his proposal. Have you seen Luka Volkov? He has sex eyes and a panty-dropper smile.”

  I don’t want to encourage Chiara, but my attention snaps to her. “You’ve seen him smile?”

  She shakes her head and then sighs, a drugged kind of smile on her face. “No, but I can imagine. I mean, with those plump lips, how could his smile not make your panties drop?”

  I feel eyes on us, but when I look around, no one seems to be looking at us. “Can we not talk so much about panties dropping? We’re at a funeral.”

  Chiara pinches my arm and laughs. “When did you become such a prude?”

  “Hmmm…I’m not sure…let me think,” I say, voice thick with sarcasm. “Maybe when I became the prime target of the Volkov boss and am being pressured into signing my soul and last name away to his son in order to end the feud? Perhaps that is when I stopped being so carefree.”

  I don’t know if Chiara thinks I’m joking or if she is really just that dumb, but she smiles and wrap
s her arm around mine. “Just marry him. He’s hot and it would make your dad happy. Not to mention, you’d be a don’s wife. Do you realize how crazy that is? I’d kill for that kind of position. I’m going to end up married to some poor foot soldier.”

  I didn’t know if she meant ‘poor’ as in financially or emotionally, but I agreed in either case.

  “I’m not going to marry someone for power or because my dad wants me to. And maybe you’ve forgotten, but Luka is a murderer. A killer. I’m not going to marry a killer.”

  Chiara purses her lips and rolls her eyes. “You’ve got some high standards. That disqualifies every man I’ve ever dated.”

  Just then, the pastor walks to the front of the chapel and the funeral begins. Cal never struck me as a particularly religious person, but his family must be. We stand and sing hymns, recite prayers, and his mother—a petite woman I can’t believe gave birth to someone as large as Cal—crosses herself several times throughout the proceedings. Thankfully, the service is brief, and within half an hour, everyone is standing up and shuffling for the doors.

  A hand lands on my shoulder, and I turn around to see Samuel standing behind me. He is only a few years younger than my father, but he looks like he could be closer to my age than my dad’s. His black hair has only a few grays at the temple and his tan skin is nearly unlined save for some smile marks around his mouth and eyes. He looks altogether too kind to be my father’s top advisor.

  “Your father wants to know if you are going to attend the graveside service?” he asks.

  “Oh,” I turn around to look at Cal’s closest family members in the first few rows. They are all dabbing at their eyes and comforting one another, hugging and weeping. I’ve had more than enough of their pain for one day. “No, I don’t think so.”