Page 7 of Ruthless Vows

The car pulls up to The Velvet Room, an opulent whiskey and cigar bar known for its discretion.

I step out, adjusting my suit jacket, and make my way inside.

The familiar scent of aged whiskey and rich tobacco envelops me, a comforting reminder of countless meetings and deals sealed within these walls.

“Lore, over here!” Luigi's voice cuts through the ambient murmur of the bar.

He’s seated in a corner booth, his expression serious but welcoming.

I approach, sliding into the plush leather seat across from him.

“Lu,” I acknowledge, calling my brother by his nickname.

I signal the waiter for our usual—a bottle of Lagavulin and two glasses.

The two of us come to New York once a month, and given the fact we’re high-dollar members at this club, we’re well known.

The waiter nods and disappears into the dimly lit interior.

“How did it go?” Luigi asks, leaning forward, curiosity etched on his face.

His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt.

He knows all too well of the stressors, about everyone trying to pin a wife on me, including our own mother.

“Smoothly,” I reply, my voice steady. “Everything is set in motion.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding. “Everyone will be happy to hear the eldest DiGiovanni son will be off the market soon enough. Next up, they will be pressuring you to have children.”

The waiter comes back with two glasses and pours our drinks before walking off once more.

I grumble, “Yeah, I know.” my fingers tracing the rim of the empty glass before me.

The ghosts of our parents' volatile marriage flicker in my mind, a stark reminder of what I’m risking.

I don’t want the type of marriage they have, and it’s why I’ve never wanted to get married.

But for the famiglia, for the power we need to maintain, it’s a risk I have to take.

I lift my glass, meeting Luigi's gaze. “To the future,” I toast, the amber liquid catching the light.

“To the future,” Luigi echoes, clinking his glass against mine.

We drink, the warmth of the whiskey spreading through my chest, solidifying the decision I’ve made today.

This is more than just a marriage—it’s a strategic alliance.

And with everything at stake, failure isn’t an option.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Luigi asks, curiosity piqued.

“Anastasia Hawthorne,” I reveal, watching his eyes widen slightly.

Luigi cocks his brow, “Is that a coincidence, or are we talking about the Anastasia Hawthorne?”

Licking my lips, I smirk. “The one and only.”

“Royal blood? That’s . . .ambitious,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You really don’t do things halfway, do you? I’m surprised you’re getting married in the first place, that you’re even caving in.”

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