Page 2 of These Deadly Vows

He shoots me a faint smile as though he can read my thoughts and leaves my bedroom.

Leaving me with my morbid thoughts.

There’s only one way out of my situation and I’m much too selfish to go down that road. This life is unfair. I can kill myself or get the fuck over it.

Still though, I sense there’s something he’s not sharing with me. I’ve snooped through his calendar. Gone through his desk. My father is thorough at guarding his secrets, but there’s no hiding the weight he’s lost over the past six months or that he doesn’t have the same energy and vibrance.

He no longer holds meetings and defers everything to Roberto.

Everyone is waiting for him to take over, even if they don’t voice the opinion. Not that they would. If word got out that my father is of poor health, his enemies would make their move.

I walk out onto the terrace that overlooks the gorgeous pool of our Sheridan Road home in Northern Chicago. Father rarely stays here these days. This house is mostly for show. For his private parties. I spent a lot of time here with my revolving door of nannies. None of them ever lasted long enough for me to form any sort of emotional attachment to them.

I suspect my father had relations with them and fired them once they became clingy. Once they wanted more from him. He’s married to the job. To the power. To the mafia.

Sure, women have tried to earn a permanent spot in his bed, but none of them were my mother with whom he loved wholeheartedly. Something rare. In this life, it isn’t often we marry for love. Not girls like me, anyway.

We don’t get a choice in who or even when.

We’re groomed from the moment we enter puberty to be a loyal and obedient wife.

There’s no being courted for marriage. No dating.

At least not without my father’s permission.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t had boyfriends, but what I want doesn’t matter.

Nope. Only the word of powerful men and a handshake is all that matters.

Trust no one and never be the one who loves someone more. Those are the last things my mother told me before she succumbed to ovarian cancer when I was seven.

I moved into the upper level of the cabana house when I was sixteen.

Determined to have a sliver of independence.

At least with Roberto, as sleazy as he may be, he respects that there’s one thing I’ll never be able to give him.

I suppose deep down I’ve always known it would come down to this. My being forced to marry a man I have no regard for.

Watching the fleets of cars enter the gate, I know it’s time to make my grand entrance.

Outside of my bedroom, in place of my guard, Roberto waits to escort me to the party. I’m sure he overheard the conversation I had with my father. I’ve not made a secret of my distaste for him.

Other women see him and think he’s hot, but I know him. He’s a pig in Armani.

“Adeline, beautiful as always.”

I force my lips into a semblance of a smile. “Thank you,” I manage to mutter without the words coming out strained and rude. I didn’t do any of this for him. The tight nude dress with a black lace overlay, giving the appearance that I’m naked beneath accentuates my curves in all the right places. Truth be told, I’m dressed for my own funeral. That’s what having to accept his proposal is like.

Agreeing to the terms of my own death.

As soon as his ring is on my finger, the bastard will want to consummate the union. To cement his place as the next Capo.

“Would you like me to go down on bended knee, darling?”

Bile hits the back of my throat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I wanted to do this the proper way, but you refuse me at every turn.”

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