Broken Vows

by Nicole Fox

  Except, I don’t want to. My mind and my body seem to be at war with one another, and it is entirely Eve’s fault.

  Finally, I push away from her, and she sags against the wall, gasping for breath as though my hand was around her neck. I spin on my heel and march down the hallway, calling back over my shoulder.

  “Don’t forget the bracelet. Stay in the house or else.”

  My father is at the ice rink when I arrive. After the attack on the soda factory, we had to move the cocaine lab, and between the funerals, taking care of Cal Higgs, and propositioning Eve, I’ve been too busy to make an appearance.

  I didn’t even plan on making an appearance today. After my confrontation with Eve, I walked down the hallway, down the stairs, and through the front door before I realized I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to get away from the house. I needed space to think and breathe.

  “I thought you would be busy planning your wedding,” my father says when I walk into the room. He is sitting in the middle of the lab on a metal chair, one leg crossed over the other while men scurry around him, setting up tables and equipment. Even sitting in a dingy basement in the middle of the night, he finds a way to make himself look like a king. “There is a lot to do if we want to make sure we don’t all get killed.”

  My father thinks marrying Eve is a risk. It is, of course, but everything in our lives is a risk. At least marrying Eve is a risk that could greatly benefit us in the long run. I don’t insult my father by explaining this. He knows what it could mean for our family and our future. He just doesn’t understand why I care about Eve. I wish he did, though. Maybe then he could explain it to me.

  “I have it all figured out,” I say, waving away his concern. “The date of the wedding will be a secret until the day of the ceremony so they cannot pre-plan an attack. Everyone who walks through our gates will be checked for weapons before they are allowed to get inside.”

  “Real men do not need weapons to kill,” he says, tipping his head towards me. “You know that better than anyone.”

  “I do, which is why there will only be enough room for Benedetto and three of his men on the guest list.” I spread my feet and cross my arms, and my father raises an eyebrow at my defensive posture.

  “You’ve taken the lead on this from the start,” he says, referring to my spontaneous proposal in the restaurant. “So, I expect you to see it through. If it falls apart, it will be on your head.”

  I’m the underboss, second only to my father, but that does not make me safe. My father has made it clear to me many times that if I ever become a threat to his control over his men, I will be removed, and I know better than to think he would bluff. He wouldn’t. I stepped outside the circle of his control to propose to Eve. When she refused me, I met with her father to ensure he knew about the deal and would pressure her to end our feud. I had every opportunity to walk back my mistake and pretend it had never happened, but I doubled down, and now I, and I alone, will pay the consequences if anything goes wrong.

  “I know.”

  My father nods once to let me know we understand one another, and then he places both his feet flat on the floor, rests his elbows on his knees, and looks up at me, a mischievous smile pulling on his thin lips. “So, how is she?”

  “Eve?” I ask.

  “Yes, Eve. Do you have another fiancée I should know about?”

  “She is fine.”

  “Not exactly what I meant, son.” He rolls his eyes, impatient. Then, the smile is back, a wicked glimmer in his eye. “She is a beautiful woman. I know I’m not the only man in the family wondering whether the expectations match reality.”

  A chill like ice water creeps across my chest. How is she? He wants to know what it was like to sleep with her. Because that is what I would have done with any other woman. It is what anyone would expect of me. And yet, I couldn’t even bring myself to be close to Eve. Just the brush of her skin against mine was enough to send me reeling. I’m not sure if my heart could stand actually being with her. It would be like sticking a fork in a socket. But I can’t tell my father that.

  “Today has been busy,” I say, turning to watch the men drill metal shelves into the walls. The Furinos may have done us a favor with that ambush. Aside from the lives lost, this lab is half-finished and already looks like it will be nicer than the soda factory ever was. It is twice as big, too.

  “Busy?” My father’s eyes narrow. “You’ve been home all afternoon.”

  I shrug. “We are having a wedding in five days, so there is a lot of planning involved.”

  “That is for her to worry about,” he snaps.

  “And she can’t worry about it if I keep her trapped in my bedroom,” I bite back, my words harsher than I intend. I swallow a growing lump in my throat and shake my head. “Besides, I don’t have much interest in fucking a Furino woman, anyway.”

  “You should have thought of that before you proposed to her.” He crosses his legs again, hands folded in his lap, and leans back. “You need to put that woman in her place. If you don’t, she’ll start thinking she has control over you. All women will become that way if you let them. So, I suggest to you: don’t let her. Show her who is boss.”

  I know he is right. I saw the way Eve looked at me in the hallway when I pinned her against the wall. She could tell it wasn’t anger that motivated me, but something else. Something she will use against me if I let her.

  The Floating Crown is my father’s hangout of choice, for God knows what reason, but the Furinos prefer a bar called the Heavy Hammer. It is dim and grimy and loud. Metal stool legs scrape against well-worn wooden floors and neon lights buzz in the background of raucous conversations. Still, everyone hears me walk in, and there are twenty guns pointed at me within a second.

  Benedetto is sitting at the far end of the bar, a drink in his hand. He looks up when the room goes quiet, but makes no immediate move to call his men off. It is a power play.

  “Is this how you treat your future son-in-law?” I call over the heavy metal music.

  He stares at me for a second longer before finally smiling and waving his hand. His men, while half-drunk, don’t hesitate to lower their weapons and return to their conversations. But I can still feel their attention on me as I make my way across the bar and claim the stool two down from Benedetto’s.

  He doesn’t look like Eve. They share the same warm brown eyes, but beyond that, he is wide and soft and drooping where she is lithe and angular. Benedetto has the frame of a man who was once strong, but has lost definition over the years.

  “Care for a drink?” he asks.

  I shake my head. I ate the dinner Eve tampered with, which seems like enough risk for one night. I’m not going to survive one Furino to be poisoned by the other. “I’m here to discuss the details of our deal.”

  “Yes,” he nods, sipping from his glass and then swirling it in his hand. “We did not feel particularly welcome at the funeral.”

  “At the funeral you caused?” I tilt my head to the side in mock confusion. “I can’t imagine.”

  He holds up one hand in surrender and smiles. “Which is why I’m more excited than anyone to cut this deal. You already have my daughter, what else do you need?”

  “Your word,” I say, knowing Benedetto’s word is worth only its weight in garbage. It doesn’t mean anything to me, but I hope it means something to him. “That you and your family will follow the deal as laid out or else face the consequences. The consequences being violent, bloody deaths.”

  “You have my word if I can have yours,” he says.

  We both nod at the same time and begin to discuss. The deal writes itself in only a few minutes. It is similar to many deals that have come and fallen before it. Homes and hospitals are considered havens. If anyone from either family bothers the other family at those locations, the deal is null and void. If anyone from either family murders someone from the either family, that person must be put to death by the family they belong to or the deal is null a
nd void. If either family encroaches on the other family’s turf, the deal is null and void. On and on it goes, each of us taking turns laying out the rules, the other nodding in agreement.

  Setting the guidelines is an important part of the process. Not to mention, showing my face at their hangout proves I’m not afraid of them. It shows the Furinos that I now run the show. That unless they want the wrath of the Volkov army on them, they cannot hurt me. But neither reason is why I came here to meet with Benedetto. Not really, anyway. I’m here because of Eve.

  Because Eve was a pretty woman who was supposed to be nothing more than a bartering chip. So, why is it I can’t get her out of my head? Why is it she gets under my skin more than anyone else I’ve ever met? I want to ask Eve these questions, of course, but I can’t. So, I thought her father was the next best option.

  “What about Eve?” I ask.

  Benedetto frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I say, having no idea what I actually mean. “How does she fit into this deal?”

  He swivels in his stool, one arm resting on his soft belly. “She is your fiancée. Soon to be your wife. What else do you need?”

  “So, what? She is a peace offering?”

  Eve’s father pouts out his lower lip, his head bobbing back and forth in thought before he shrugs. “I suppose that is a good way to describe it. She is a show of good will. My promise to you that I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”

  “And you aren’t worried about her safety?” I ask.

  “You can do whatever you want with Eve now,” he says casually. “She agreed to this deal knowing full well what it meant, so I can’t spend my time worrying for her.”

  His words should excite me. Benedetto is admitting that his only daughter is under my control. It is a victory for the Volkovs. And yet, his callous, cold words disturb me. Are these the words of a man who loves his daughter? Eve sacrificed herself for his sake, and this is how he repays her?

  “I have a tracking bracelet on her,” I say just in case this is all a trick. In case Benedetto thinks he can lull me into a false sense of security and then retrieve his daughter later. “If she leaves the property, I’ll know it.”

  He nods, looking unfazed. “I figured as much. It would be silly not to be wary. Eve is a sweet girl, but very stubborn. It may take a while before you are able to break her.”

  Is Benedetto telling me he wants me to break his daughter?

  “I don’t think I’ll have any trouble,” I say haughtily, hating the taste of my own words. “If she can make it through our wedding night, she’ll be broken enough.”

  No man wants to hear about his daughter having sex, especially rough sex with a rival’s son. And yet, Benedetto doesn’t seem to mind.

  “She will be your wife, which mean she will be yours to do with what you’d like,” he says, raising his glass to me. “Enjoy.”

  Enjoy.

  I want to break him. I want to snap off one of the legs of his stool and run him through with it. That’s what he deserves. But I can’t. Not if I want this deal to remain intact. Not if I want Eve.

  And do I want Eve?

  The question alone sends a flood of anger through me. I thank Benedetto for his time and excuse myself.

  12

  Eve

  I haven’t seen Luka since last night when he pinned me against the wall.

  He’d done it before in my room, pushing me against the armoire, but the hallway felt different. Something in his eyes had shifted. Honestly, I thought he was going to kiss me. And I didn’t have the urge to vomit or punch him or run away. I’d just…stood there. Waiting.

  The memory fills me with a cocktail of shame and anger and fear. I’ve been in Luka’s house for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already flushing at the idea of kissing him. What kind of slobbering mess will I be in a month? A year? Ten years? Can my moral backbone really be broken so easily because of emerald green eyes and rippling muscles?

  “What is he like?” Chiara’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I suddenly remember I’m on the phone. I haven’t heard anything she’s said for the last few minutes.

  “Who?”

  “Who?” she mocks. “Luka! Obviously.”

  “Oh.” I sit up and pinch the thick cotton of my bedding between my fingers. “I haven’t seen him much. He’s been gone most of the day.”

  “God, you are so thick,” she moans. “I mean, how was he? Like, sex.”

  I inhale sharply like a nun seeing a centerfold for the first time. “We didn’t have sex.”

  There is a pause. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” I snap. “I barely know the guy.”

  Chiara chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t think men like Luka care much about that. You turned yourself over to him, so I just assumed he’d seal the deal.”

  Seal the deal. She makes it sound like a handshake. And, I suppose, maybe to Luka sex is little more than a tool. A social exchange he uses to his benefit. But it’s more than that to me.

  I’ve been trying not to think about that aspect of our marriage. Like expired food in the fridge, it is easier to just leave it alone and deal with it later. The problem is that “later” is probably in four days—at most. Luka will want to make our marriage official. He’ll want to consummate. So, even if I can convince him we should wait, I only have four days to figure out how I’m going to keep from falling apart at the sight of his naked body. Because, murderer or not, I almost let him kiss me in the hallway last night. In fact, I would have. If he’d leaned in, his beard scraping against my cheek and his hands gripping my waist, I would have curved my body towards him. I would have pressed our hips together and stretched onto tiptoes to close the gap between our lips. I would have thrown every rational thought out of my head and treated myself to a make-out session with the most handsome, horrible man I’ve ever met.

  “Hello?” Once again, Chiara’s voice pulls me back.

  “Sorry,” I say, trying to rewind the conversation to figure out what she said, but I can’t recall anything. “What did you say?”

  She groans. “I asked if you’ve at least seen him naked. I’m in a dry spell over here, and I’d love some dirty details. Anything. Length, girth…even the approximate size of the bulge. Is it a banana or a plantain?”

  “Those are basically the same size,” I say.

  “Not true and so not the point,” she says. “You are being evasive.”

  I’m about to explain to her that even if I knew something about Luka’s penis, I certainly wouldn’t tell her, when there is a knock on my door. My heart stutters, and I turn towards the door, eyes wide.

  “Did I hear a knock?” Chiara asks.

  “I have to go.” She is protesting when I stand up and drop my phone on the bed. I straighten the tight t-shirt across my chest and do my best to pull down the tiny pajama shorts that were in my drawer. They were the closest things to comfortable clothes I could find. But it is useless. I’m exposed and there isn’t time to change. So, I take a deep breath and answer the door.

  Luka fills the doorway. If I didn’t know better, I could almost confuse him for a gentleman. He has on navy blue dress pants that stretch his muscled thighs, a white button down rolled to his elbows, and well-cared-for brown leather shoes. His hear is coiffed into a shiny black pile on top of his head.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I say when it becomes obvious he isn’t going to do anything other than stare at me. I should have wrapped a blanket around myself or something. I might as well be standing in front of him in underwear. Though, I suppose, I did that yesterday, so this shouldn’t be bothering me so much.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks, casting his gaze over my shoulder.

  As soon as I hung up with Chiara, I was going to go down and make something the way I had for breakfast and lunch. Part of me wants to lie to him so I don’t end up eating another under-seasoned lasagna in awkward silence, but Luka probably has ways of knowing the truth.

  “Not
yet. Have you?”

  “I thought we’d go out,” he says quickly. His hands rub together nervously. “I know a place nearby that is really good. Better than what we ate last night.”

  “That isn’t difficult to do,” I joke, and to my surprise, Luka smiles. The sight of it nearly knocks me on my ass.

  He nods into the room. “Mind if I come in?”

  Yes. Clothes are strewn around the room from my desperate and ultimately futile search for a pair of sweatpants and a large t-shirt. But I step aside and usher him in anyway. “Sorry about the mess.”

  He steps over a pile of extraordinarily risqué lingerie that I removed from the drawer and planned to burn or cut into unusable pieces and moves to the armoire. Just as he did the night before, Luka shuffles through the clothes left in the closet before pulling out a dress and heels and holding them out to me.

  “This dress is about right for the restaurant,” he says. “Wear it if you like.”

  If you like.

  “It almost sounds like I have a choice,” I say, eyebrow raised.

  Luka turns and lays the dress on the bed. “You do.”

  Then, he walks past me and leaves, closing the door behind him.

  I stand in the middle of the room, stunned, for several seconds. Who was that man? The man with the gentle voice and easy smiles who clearly took over Luka Volkov’s body?

  The dress he selected is vintage-looking. A lacy black a-line dress with a cinched waist and a deep scoop neck. When I put it on, it is revealing, but not inappropriate, and it fits perfectly. Like it was made for me. The heels are towering, way taller than I’m accustomed to, but they make my legs look incredible. I’m almost annoyed by how good I feel in this outfit. Feeling this good, I should be headed to a real date with a man I actually like. Not Luka.