Page 1 of Crimson Vows

Chapter One

Gia

With a confident stride, I enter the cluttered office filled with the pungent smell of motor oil and rubber. Shelves stacked high with tools and spare parts line the walls while greasy rags and discarded tools litter the floor. Patrick, who has faithfully run one of my father’s businesses since I was a little girl, sits behind his desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork and invoices. He doesn’t look up as I enter, focusing solely on the task in front of him.

I clear my throat. “Patrick.” He flinches, startled by my presence, and glances up at me.

“Gia,” he mumbles, shuffling the papers as if they hold some escape route. “What can I do for you?” I haven’t seen him since my father’s funeral, and he’s obviously uncomfortable with my presence.

I close the door to the small office and look down at him. “I know I haven’t been in since everything happened, but I wanted to stop by and let you know all that will change.” Vincent and Marco made a decision six weeks ago after the night on the dock. I might have shot and killed my father, but it wouldn’t be good for anyone involved if the perception were that there was any turmoil within the King Mafia. Vincent swore the other capos to secrecy, assuring them it was safer for all involved if what happened to Anthony on his boat was simply an accident. The official story is that a fire started while he slept, and unfortunately, he didn’t make it out in time. Vincent and the other captains, though, know that it was me who ended my father’s life that night.

At first, I thought Vincent was looking out for me, making sure I didn’t face any blowback for the role I played in killing a family captain even though it was done to save Vincent’s life. But now I’m starting to see that none of the lies were for me. They were all to protect Vincent and his fragile hold on the head of this family. If word got out to other organizations that a captain made a move against Vincent, it would be open season on the King Mafia.

Patrick looks up at me, and I can tell by his expression he is baffled. He shakes his head. “I can assure you everything is running as smoothly as it did when your father was here. I’m not letting anything slip through the cracks.”

Pursing my lips, I lean on the front of the desk and reply while staring at him, “That’s not exactly true, is it?”

I had my father’s laptop, and I knew, while perhaps the auto body portion of the business ran smoothly, the lucrative part of the business halted six weeks ago.

His brow furrows as he leans back in his chair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gives me his full attention. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Orders are piling up.” I slam my hand on the nearest stack. “Why aren’t they being filled?”

He hesitates, a bead of sweat tracing the curve of his temple. He knows I won’t like what comes next.

“Look, Gia—”

“Spit it out, Patrick.” I lean in, making sure he feels my presence.

“I can’t do shit until I hear from... Marco.” The name hangs between us, an unwelcome specter. “The police are sniffing around, asking questions about your father’s death, so we ain’t doing shit until we hear from him that it’s all clear.”

“Marco?” My pulse quickens, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “I’m Anthony’s daughter. I own this fucking shop, so can you please tell me what Marco has to do with any of this?”

Patrick swallows hard, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah... I mean, you do. You own the shop, I mean. But the other stuff, the family stuff, has to go through him. He’s... he’s calling the shots now.”

“Excuse me?” The words are ice, each syllable a shard of betrayal. “This is mine. Not Marco’s.”

Patrick shrugs. “Look, I’m sorry, Gia. I just work here. If you don’t like the way things are run, you’ll have to take it up with them.”

I stand there, seething with anger, betrayal coursing through my veins. Is Marco calling the shots? This is not the agreement Marco and I made, and I refused to accept it. If I had to guess, it isn’t Marco shutting me out, though. This seemed more like something that came from that spineless piece of shit, Vincent.

“Fine then, that’s what I’ll do.” I straighten, anger surging like a storm inside me.

As I storm out of the office, my mind races with thoughts of rebellion. Marco came to my home a little over a week ago, proposing what was obviously all a bunch of lies. When Vincent suggested my father’s numerous enterprises be divided between the other capos, Marco claims he stepped up and said he would like to take them over. He said he intended to keep everything my father had built for me. If I agreed to go on one date per week with him, he would allow me to run everything. At the end of the year, I would be released from any further obligation if I didn’t have feelings for him. He would insist to Vincent that all of my father’s businesses stay with me to continue running.

I pull out my phone and quickly text Marco.

Me: We need to talk. Now.

Within seconds, his reply flashes on the screen.

Marco: At Vincent’s penthouse. What’s wrong?

My fingers fly across the keyboard as I type back, my fury seeping into every word.

Me: You lied to me. You promised me control over my father’s business.

Marco: And I meant it.

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