Page 1 of Bound By A Promise

Prologue

Dante

Summer in the Ozark Mountains

The door to my bedroom suite opened without the benefit of a knock. Under normal circumstances, I would have my gun pointed at the intruder. Tonight wasn’t normal circumstances. It was the eve of my only brother’s wedding. Dario was the person entering my suite. Shooting the future groom wouldn’t be a great way to begin the festivities. Instead, I lifted the decanter of bourbon I’d procured from our father’s supply on the first floor of this mansion. Our father wouldn’t miss the Blanton’s Silver Edition Single Barrel, not with the ample supply of liquor at his fingertips.

“You missed your rehearsal dinner,” I said with an upward twitch of my lips. “I was beginning to think you’d miss this rambunctious bachelor party.”

Dario hummed as he looked around the living area of my suite, empty of people other than us. “My kind of party.”

“You never did know how to have fun.” Standing, I walked the decanter to the makeshift bar and poured two fingers of the amber liquid into two tumblers.

With his tie and suit coat absent, this was my brother’s idea of casual. Despite his lack of formality, the stress and pressure of the last few months was difficult to disguise. It was evident in the tenseness of his jaw and the small lines near his dark eyes.

I handed him a glass and lifted mine. “To the groom.”

Our glasses clinked.

The two fingers of Blanton’s slid down my throat with ease. Of course, this wasn’t my first drink of the night. It wasn’t even my third, but I wasn’t counting. I slammed my tumbler onto the table as Dario set his empty glass down and sighed.

“You found the good stuff,” he said, pouring another shot into each glass.

“I saw her, your bride, tonight at dinner.”

Dario shook his head. “I should have fucking been there.”

I nodded my agreement. “I got the feeling she was looking for you.”

“Father had a fire, literally.”

I lifted my eyebrows in question.

“Shipping container,” Dario went on, “went up in smoke.”

My stomach turned. “Contents?”

“Product, not the humankind. We probably lost fifteen million in product.” My brother shook his head. “Father thinks it’s the bratva.”

“You don’t?”

“None of Myshkin’s usual calling cards were there. The night before my wedding to a woman from the Roríguez cartel…Maybe I’m paranoid, but I think it was meant as a warning.”

“Not to go through with the wedding?” I straightened my neck. “Not from our people.”

“I wouldn’t rule anyone out.”

My brother took his glass to one of the overstuffed armchairs near the fireplace and sat back, stretching out his long legs. “As for the bride, she found me.” His lips curled almost enough for a grin. “Or we found her.”

After sitting in the chair near him, I asked, “What? When?”

“A few minutes ago,” he said. “In the kitchen. Catalina was down there looking for something to eat.” He lifted his glass to his lips.

When he didn’t continue, I prompted, “And…” My thought was that it would be easier to pull teeth than get Dario to talk. I’d pulled my share. It would be easier. “You don’t have to be so forthcoming with the information.”

Dario shrugged. “No information. We talked. Something I should have tried to do earlier than the night before our wedding.” He swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler.

“You should have. You’ve kind of been an ass to her.”

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