Page 2 of Vows in Violence

Like fireflies knocking against a glass jar when they’ve been captured. Lulu and I used to catch them in the summertime, out on the lawn. I always let them go after my sister had gone inside. I hated the thought of them dying in that jar, searching frantically for a way to escape into that great wide open right on the other side of the glass.

I open my eyes and press my lips firmly together, then gather the skirt of my gown over my forearm. I may be frightened, but I’m a Valachi, and I’ll be damned before I’ll let Ivan or anyone else see as much. This is my world just as much as it is Ivan’s.

Carefully, so I don’t trip on the dress, I follow the nun down the stairs. At the bottom, I pull the veil over my face, even though it makes no difference. There’s no one here to see me, and God knows Ivan has stared at me countless times from across the dining room table, nothing but brooding silence between us.

At the doors leading to the sanctuary, the nun holds out a hand, halting me. “Wait here until you hear the music, child.”

We’ll have music, at least. How nice.

“Those are for you,” she continues, pointing to a bouquet of petunias that sit on a gold filigree table next to the wall.

“Petunias.” Picking up the bouquet, I finger one of the delicate, fuchsia-colored blossoms. My mouth twists. As messages go, it’s an interesting one. Despite their sweet appearance, petunias are symbolic of anger and resentment.

Does he expect me to resent him? In my own way, I agreed to this.

With a sigh, I drop my wrist, letting the bouquet sag against my thigh. All of this reminds me too closely of my friend Rowan’s marriage scant months ago. Although she and Enzo are good now, I remember her own resentment at her lack of choice. Is this just the way things are for daughters of the Five?

Are we so disposable that choice is a unicorn?

It feels that way. Here I am, after all…listening for music I didn’t choose, in a gown I’ve never seen…

…about to marry a husband I never would have chosen. As fascinated as I am by him, I can see Ivan clearly enough to know that he will never love me. And I know it’s naive of me, but I never wanted a marriage without love.

At the end of all the romantic movies and books, the girl’s always walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life. These scenes have always made me think of happiness like bubbles. That girl is walking on air. She’s floating.

Maybe she could even fly.

I feel like I’m thigh-high in a black, swirling tide, trying desperately to slog my way to shore. The tide is like a weight, though, dragging me back and threatening to pull me under every time I lift my foot.

It’s easier just to stand and let the water rise.

The organ begins to play a song I do not recognize. It starts with a slow, almost sad cadence. Taking another deep breath, I push the doors open and step through them, feeling the veil tugging at my head as I drag it behind me with the train of my dress.

I focus on the end of the aisle, where Ivan—

My step falters, and I squint through the mesh of the veil. The church is dim, lit as it is by candles instead of electric lights. They throw everything into a kind of sordid darkness that seems appropriate for the occasion, and yet it’s not too dark for me to see that Ivan is not standing at the altar waiting for me.

Where is he?

After another brief hesitation, I square my shoulders and continue walking the aisle. It’s appropriate, I suppose. So far,every step I’ve taken since Ivan Romanov claimed me as his has been lonely. Why should my wedding be any different?

At the chancel, I turn and face the rows of pews. Movement catches my attention, and turning more fully, I see Angel walking in from a door to my right.

“Angel!” The petunias fall, forgotten, to the floor, as I go to him.

I know in a heartbeat that leaving Angel to his fate is something I could never do. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and he looks worse than before. Yellow bruises on his face, revealing the healing of old wounds, are interspersed with fresh, black and blue bruising. I touch them gently. “What has he done…?”

“Hush. I’m fine.” Angel takes my wrists in his hands and lowers them, glancing around. I follow his gaze and realize that I’m considerably less alone than I thought. Blending into the shadows, approximately two dozen men stand sentry along the church walls.

I return my attention to my brother. “You’re not fine. What have they been doing to you? Where have you been?”

A slight smile twists Angel’s lips. “Shh. Minor inconveniences. Not enough to break me, I assure you.”

“Stop trying to play macho man, Angel. I can talk to Ivan; I can work something out. I can—” Tears sting my eyes. Honestly, I don’t know what more I can do. I’m marrying the man. I’mgiving him every piece of me. I don’t know what more he wants from me.

“There’s nothing more you need to do, Vivi.”

With gentle fingers, careful not to snag the delicate lace, Angel lifts the veil away from my face and kisses my cheek. My breath catches at the scent of his cologne. It’s the same one my father used to wear.

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