Page 8 of Vicious Vows

The staff delivered the dress I purchased for this occasion to Micah’s room this morning along with breakfast. I’ve kept her securely stored away in her room for the past three days as preparations were made for our nuptials. She hasn’t said a peepsince she agreed to my proposal, if you could call it that, and today is the day we sign the papers.

I don’t expect her to be thrilled by what’s happening or how quickly I move, but if we’re going to get a jump on this and make it look like the same criminal who stole from me is stealing from my adversaries, we have to move quickly. I’m a man of action and I don’t second-guess myself often. This time is no different as I ascend the staircase and approach her room. I’m confident that my plan will work, and by the end of the week, I’ll be richer and my enemies will be poorer.

Standing outside her door, I pause for a moment and listen. There isn’t a sound coming from inside. Maybe she’s sleeping or maybe she’s just quiet today. My bet is that she’s despondent, hoping her father will somehow rescue her. She knows the police will do nothing. She’s in too deep with me, and I have friends in high places. This is her out, and she has to take it. That has to hurt like a bitch.

“Micah,” I call, tapping on the door before I take my key out and unlock it. I hear rustling as I push the door open, and when she comes into view, it almost takes my breath away. The simple white dress hugs her curves perfectly, and her dark hair snakes over her shoulders and curves around her chest, framing her in. I provided toiletries, but she’s chosen no makeup. That’s alright. She’s quite stunning as she is.

Her hands fidget with the sleeves of the gown which flow freely around her arms and hang far past her fingertips. The neckline dips into a sharp V between her breasts, giving a hint of cleavage on either side of the divide which I find enticing, but I don’t let my eyes linger there long. There will be time enough to enjoy that view once she’s deposited a large sum into my account to replace what she’s taken.

“My father? You’re letting him go?” Her eyebrows peak in the middle, her concern etched on her brow. She really will do anything for her family, including forfeit her entire future just to save an aging old man who has little value left in society. I admire that in a way, because I’d have done something similar for my father, though his life had a huge importance and his absence is still being felt.

“He’s downstairs. I’ll inform him when the ceremony is over.” I smooth my hands across the lapels of my black tux. I’m not one to care about such trivial things like ceremonies and sentimental sacraments like marriage, but we need a decent picture for the newspaper to announce our union. Putting my face out there to inform my enemies and allies alike that I am now married is important. There is nothing scarier to the world than a man who is expanding his power and influence, even if it is only in seemingly personal ways.

“Did we really have to do all this?” Micah asks, gesturing at the clothing. “It’s just a business arrangement, right?” Her lip quivers as she speaks, and I see a crack in the façade she puts on around me. She wants to be the badass tough girl, but she’s just as fragile as any other woman. That’s alright because she’s smarter than all of them put together.

I say nothing, but I extend my arm to her, and like a blushing bride, she hooks her hand around my bicep. Her steps are hesitant, unsteady and dragging, but we make our way down the staircase in the old Victorian to the lower level. The rush of movement that I left only moments ago is settled now, probably Tony’s doing since they are waiting for us in the great room.

“And you give me your word, as a man of your honor, that you will let my father off the hook. He doesn’t have to launder moneyfor you anymore, no more pushing drugs, and he can keep the money?”

She’s cute when she wants reassurance. I’ll enjoy making her beg for more than that later tonight. I pat her hand, which trembles around my arm, and smile at her. “I am a man of my word, Micah. I have given that word to you, and I intend to keep it. You’re far more valuable to me than half the shop owners on that street.”

Our footsteps bounce around the hallway, announcing our approach as she says, “So, what about the others? Will you let them go too?”

I pause for a moment outside the door and look down at her. “Don’t push your luck. Now, shall we?” Gesturing into the open door, I put my hand on the small of her back and nudge her forward.

Her father gasps when he sees her, and his shaking hands cover his mouth. Micah’s younger brother looks just like her, angry scowl and all, though today, her scowl is gone, replaced with anxious concern. Her body tenses. I see the muscles in her shoulder draw together and then her head droops. She wants to run to them, to be free and escape me, but she knows if she does that, I will keep myotherword. The threat I made against her family.

“Please rise,” the priest says from his position near the picture window that runs the length of the front of the house. He wears traditional garb, the robe and headpiece, and the room obeys him. Though I see the hatred in the eyes of those here for Micah. They know I’m forcing her to do this and they want me dead. Their eyes say everything their mouths never will.

We walk across the room and stand in front of the priest with the collective of witnesses behind us—a mixture of my close friends, family, and a few important businessmen I have meetings with later this afternoon. It isn’t important to me who witnesses this, though it makes my mother happy to know I will produce a grandchild for her sooner rather than later. She needs that happiness in her life and will probably tell me the child has my father’s reincarnated spirit.

“As Mr. Santoro has requested, let’s keep this short and sweet.” The priest clasps his hands and nods at me. “The benediction, sir,” he says and bows his head. I look at Micah who is now stoic, staring into space as if her God himself has deserted her. The priest prays, and I hear sniffling behind me—my mother, and another person. When the priest is finished, he looks back up at me.

“Shall we exchange vows the traditional way?” he asks, eyebrows raised high enough that they brush the white border on the headpiece he wears.

“I have my own,” Micah interrupts, surprising me. She’s a feisty one even at our wedding, which she knows isn’t an option. I smirk at her as we turn to face each other—following the priest’s hasty gestures.

“You may offer your vows to one another now.” His stupid grin is one meant for traditional weddings, where the two who face each other in love are thrilled to be wed. This is nothing if not a shotgun wedding, though I own no shotguns. I find them useless. My Beretta is tucked inside my waistband, though, and it does the same thing.

Micah speaks again, but her words are so soft spoken, only I, the priest, and the first row can even hear them. “I give you myword, if you so much as look at my father again, I will bankrupt you, take every cent you own and give it to the poor, and then expose every criminal organization you own publicly, all while you sleep. And then I’ll chop your balls off and hang them from the flagpole out front.” Her eyes are narrow, flaming with rage and defiance.

I chuckle at her masterful language and glance out at our audience. Micah’s father is wringing his hands, her brother antsy and shaking his head. My mother looks shocked, but that’s to be expected, and she will get over it.

Slowly, I turn back to face her with an eyebrow raised. “And I give you my word,mi amore, that if I catch a single keystroke of your work that isn’t friendly, I’ll gut your father first, bring you his heart in a box, and then slaughter you so you can be with him.”

Her body grows rigid as I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “And no one will ever know it was me.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the tense and anxious expression on the priest's face. I look at him and nod, and he fumbles with the rings I had Vic purchase for me, dropping one. He stoops to pick it up under my scowl as he mumbles, “If anyone knows a reason these two should not be wed, speak now or?—”

“No! I object! This can’t happen,” Mr. DeSantis cries out, standing up. He plucks his handkerchief from his pocket and rushes toward me, though I’m not intimidated by him. He blows his nose and continues. “Such vicious vows,mia cara. How can you do this?” His quivering hands grip Micah’s and he lavishes kisses on her.

“It’s the only way, Dad. Please sit down,” she hisses, fear laced in her tone.

“But your future…”

“Dad—”

“Mr. DeSantis, it’s in your best interests to listen to your daughter.” Tony appears out of nowhere, escorting Micah’s father back to his seat as we turn back to face the priest. In less than five minutes, we’ve exchanged rings, signed the certificate, and exchanged a chaste kiss, after which our onlookers applaud. All except Micah’s family, who openly weep.

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