Page 1 of Vows in Violence

Chapter 1

Vivi

This church has alwaysbeen a sanctuary, but tonight, it feels a bit like the gate to Hell.

I’ve always loved Our Lady of Pompeii, with its campanile and stained-glass windows that throw shards of brilliance across the nave in the morning. Those windows are dark tonight, though, and the space below me is silent, marked by shadows and the flickering glow of candlelight.

I stand and wait, as Carina Scarpetta did not so very long ago for her wedding, in the choir loft above the entrance at the rear of the church. From up here, I can look down and see everything—the beautiful marble columns, the familiar glossy wood of the pews stretching forward to the chancel, all of it framed by soaring arches decorated with frescoes and sculpture.

I used to sit in our family pew as a child, crane my head back, and stare until I located Saint Charles Borromeo, the loving reformer, until my mother tapped me sharply on the knee.

Pay attention, Vivi.

This is very different from Sunday mass, though, and it’s definitely not as nice as Carina Scarpetta’s wedding day.

There are no hushed murmurings of wedding guests floating up from the sanctuary below, no bridesmaids behind me tugging the train of my dress into place. There’s no pianist, no flowers, no ring bearer tripping over his little feet as he carries a satin pillow down the aisle.

Ivan and I have none of that.

No. Instead of being wed before friends and family in the full light of day, the time for our ceremony approaches midnight, and I stand here alone, waiting to exchange my vows in secret like some wanted criminal.

Ivan isn’t exactly anyone’s favorite right now, not the Five Families or the police, although he’s not officially wanted for anything. He’s skating a line of patience, though, with his open abduction of my brother and his flagrant extortion of me—my person, my body, my hand.

My foot taps at the floor, the sound impatient and echoing in the vast chamber. This is the first time I’ve been out of the house inweeks. Ivan says it’s too dangerous; the Commission’s assassins are just biding their time for the chance to strike.

I have a hard time believing such danger would make a difference to my fiancé, though. I’ve learned a lot about Ivan these past few weeks.

He doesn’t keep a steady routine. There are nights when the entire house bustles with the noise of his men and others when the house is empty and silent. Those are the nights I lie awake in my gilded cage, unable to sleep until Ivan returns. He’s made it very comfortable for me—a soft cushion of furs to lie on—but it’s a cage, nonetheless, one I’m consigned to every time Ivan leaves the house.

He doesn’t trust that I won’t find some way to leave him, I don’t think.

I don’t know why I don’t. I could have refused. Angel brought all of this mess on his own head; I could leave him to deal with it on his own. I’m sure if I told Ivan I had changed my mind, he would feel compelled to let me go.

Angel’s my excuse to stay, if I’m being honest with myself. There’s always been thispull…thisconnectionbetween Ivan and me. I hesitate to call it love—I barely know the man. And what I do know is not flattering.

He’s suspicious and almost paranoid, and he refuses to put his trust in a single right-hand man. Instead, he has a group of several men in continual rotation, none of whom are privy to everything about him.

The things they do know…what I know…haunts me.

He is so very violent.

I’m not naïve. I grew up in and reside in a world where violence, blood, and corruption are our daily bread. I don’t like it, and I deliberately choose to turn a blind eye whenever possible, but that doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of it.

The Dons I’ve known, though, were always good at ordering others to take care of the dirtier tasks. They kept their hands clean, maintained a degree of separation that was as comforting as it was delusional.

Ivan’s different, choosing a hands-on approach to leadership that is…disturbing. The thought of those same callused hands that have ended the lives of so many touching me tonight…

A full-body shiver races through me, and turning away from the nave, I walk over to the window and lean my head back against it. A stream of moonlight pours through the pane, hitting the full-length mirror brought into the room for me earlier in just the perfect way. The wash of ethereal light combined with the stark white dress I wear makes me look like a ghost.

The dress fits me to perfection, even though I’ve never once tried it on for a fitting. Ivan’s doing. Nothing, not the smallest detail, escapes his notice. Intricate beading swims along the bottom hem, making the dress look as though it’s covered in tiny, pearlescent drops of water. The beading twists up to wind around my waist and across the flat plane of my stomach, where I smooth my suddenly sweaty palms.

I’ll be a married woman tonight, even if it isn’t the wedding I dreamed of as a little girl. I’ll be Ivan Romanov’s.

But he will be mine.

The door opens, and I look over to see one of the nuns in the doorway. “It’s time,” she says.

My mouth dries. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath, feeling the air expand my rib cage and making me feel, just for a moment, larger and stronger and more powerful than I am, even with this frantic fluttery feeling in my chest.

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