Page 3 of Vow to Me

Chapter Two

Izzy

From the outside looking in, my life is perfect. To everyone around me, I’m the picture-perfect Mafia princess. The one who spends her time reading books in the library, dresses respectfully and is always dolled up to the max, never having a hair out of place. A real life doll. I attend galas in lavish gowns and I’m always polite. I have men protecting me everywhere I go, always fucking protected.

My father thinks he’s shielded me from the horrors of our world, little does he know his pretty little princess can shoot a gun better than most of his men. I could kill a man in seventy-two different ways and not break a sweat. He doesn’t know that I’ve been training in self-defense and have been having weapons training since I was twelve.

I’ve always known one day I would be sold to the highest bidder, and like fuck am I going to marry a man without knowing how to protect myself if he turns out to be the world's biggest asshole.

So, when Margaretta, our family’s housekeeper came into the library at two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, informing me that my father would like to see me in his study right away— whenI’m usually told to stay out of his way and I only normally see him on Sundays—I knew my time was up.

“New York is struggling. They’re at war with the Russians and Colombians and need a weapons deal, and I’m sending some of our men to help out. In exchange, you are to marry their underboss and the Don’s son, Luca Romano. They’ve lost over 40 men in the last couple of months, they’re getting hit left and right. I’ve agreed to give them what they need and in return you’ll marry Luca, so you can produce heirs, so that I have someone to take over when I retire,” Papa says while giving me a look that says there is no argument.

I sit quietly, waiting to see if he has anything to add. Apparently, I was right, and he wasn’t done because he continues, “I told Romano he must have a rat. They’re working on figuring out who it is, but you will need to be careful. I’d rather you not end up dead.” Oh, how charming, Father dearest. “Congratulations Isabella, you’re engaged to be married. The wedding will take place three Saturdays from now. I suggest you use this time to prepare and pack your things for New York, keep an eye on your husband and forward me any information I may find useful,” he says with finality, clearly dismissing me.

I give him a nod, remaining silent because anything I have to fucking say right now will end with me being backhanded by my loving Father and leave his study; going back to the library to sit and think about how the fuck I’m going to deal with this.

I’ve heard about the Romano’s, everyone in Chicago has. They’re known to not harm women and children because it’sbeen instilled within them from birth, so at least I know my dear husband isn’t going to attempt to force himself on me.

However, if he thinks he’s going to get a pretty little docile wife then he can suck a bag of dicks. I’m not about to sit at home and play housewife for him.

I’m honestly surprised they’ve agreed to the deal. The Romano’s haven’t agreed to an arranged marriage in decades, so clearly, they’re royally fucked in the war they’re currently in, otherwise there’s no way in hell they would agree to my father’s deal. I guess I’m going to have to prove to my husband I’m a motherfucking queen. No more pretending to be a pretty little princess for me.

I don’t have an issue with relocating to New York, the so-called friends that I have here are all shallow and superficial. I use them to keep up appearances of seeming like the usual spoilt Daddy’s girl.

In all honesty, I’ve never been able to be myself here. It may be good to move to a different state and start over. I’ll be able to be myself from the beginning, now that I won’t be under my father’s control, so I suppose there is an upside to marrying the Romano heir.

After a couple of weeks of planning, I pack up the belongings I’d like to keep. Which, admittedly, is not fucking much at all. A few outfits, my laptop and some jewelry my mom bought me when I was younger are the only things I can’t part with.

I’ve spent the last nine days in New York, hiding in plain sight. I told my father that I wanted to come here early to visit my friend and find myself a wedding dress. It’s three days until the wedding, I still haven’t bought a dress, and I also don’t have a friend who lives in New York. But hey, what Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

In actuality, I’ve spent my time here getting to know the layout of the city, I’ve spent time in the clubs owned by and frequented by Mafia, the Cartel and the Bratva. I’ve been in disguise, of course, and gotten myself up to date on this war that everyone is so worried about.

Turns out the Italians used to be in business with both the Cartel and the Bratva, until around nine months ago when the Colombians and the Russians made a deal to cut out the Italians, ending their business and fucking them over at the same time, from there it escalated to sabotaging shipments, shooting up places deals were being made and attempting to hit the top members of each organization. To say it’s a shit show would be a fucking understatement.

Typical men, measuring their dick sizes.

What I have deduced is that the New York outfit definitely has a rat, and I’ve spent the last four days surveying Alejandro Muñoz and manipulating his men into talking to figure out who it is.

I’m in Bailar, the club that’s owned by the Cartel. I’m wearing a black wig to cover my dirty blonde hair, a short leather skirt and a red cropped top. I doubt anyone in here would recognize me even without a disguise unless they’re also keeping up to date on theChicago outfit, but I figured it’s better to be safe than sorry. I don’t need some asshole blowing my cover before I get what I came here for.

I’ve spent the night flirting with Muñoz, dancing and grinding up against him, plying him with drinks while I pretend to drink mine. I’d rather get my information the old-fashioned way, with loose lips, rather than torture it out of him. I’m not ready for anyone to know I’m in town yet.

Eventually, he invited me up to the VIP section where we now sit with his men, him joking and bragging about what he’s been up to with the Romano’s.

“Mierda, we took out eight of their men in one hit,” he laughs, boasting about how he shot up one of the Romano’s establishments last week and I barely contain my eye roll.

“How do you do it Alejandro? Surely, they see someone like you coming,” I purr in a seductive voice and flutter my eyelashes while inwardly rolling my eyes. How this shit has been working on him all night I have no idea. He’s like a kid in a candy store the second I bat my eyes at him.

Pathetic.

He pulls me onto his lap, and I can’t help but shiver in disgust.Luckily, he takes that as a good sign, thinking I’m turned on, and not in fact itching to stab him in the hand that rests on my hip for touching me.

“It’s quite funny really,muñeca. Two idiot sons of one of their capos started buying drugs from me and ended up with a debt they couldn’t pay, so their papa has to pay me back, doesn’t he?” He says with a grin.

“Romano,el cabron,has no idea hisamigoAmate is the reason he’s losing so many men,” he says with a smirk. Ah, keep smirking sweetheart, you’ve just given me everything I need, I think to myself while giving him a sweet smile and gazing up at him like he hung the moon. Fuck, I wish I could be the one to put this asshole down, but I know how this life works, it needs to be Salvatore Romano or one of his sons if they’re going to keep their house in order.

I spend another twenty minutes on his lap—not wanting to leave too soon and make him suspicious—before I excuse myself to the bathroom and make a quick exit through the back door of the club.

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