Page 30 of Dangerous Vows

My father stands when I enter. “Amara, come in!” he barks, extending a hand to the seat across from him.

Yeah, like this meeting is going to bode well for me. I know to avoid him when he’s pissed, but now that his voice drips saccharine-laced greetings and an open arm of sorts, it’s unnerving. I’m terrified because he’s never been nice to me.

But then again, he never needed me for a business deal.

He’s never been on the receiving end of violent retaliation before. I’m sure he’s livid over the lost revenue, and you’d think he’d learn his lesson. But no. He’s impervious to any thought that isn’t his own.

He’ll never see the world through my eyes.

I’d be happy to have the upper hand for once, but I know better. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll find a way to shit on my parade. We both know the ending to this story, and even as I carry the delusion that I can escape him, I know that in the end, I can’t.

His men have spent their lifetime honing their skills in corruption. What was I thinking?

I can’t beat them on any level.

“You wanted to see me,” I reply as I move inside the room, but I stand just inside the door that clicks behind me.

“Come, sit.” He gestures toward a chair as he takes his seat behind the large desk that’s too big for the room, but it dwarfs him in comparison.

“I’m not staying long.”

“That’s a shame. You should come home and have dinner with the family. Your mother would love to see you.”

Perhaps. But I don’t want to see her. I don’t understand how she could sacrifice me. Her only saving grace for being in my life is the fact that I know my father isn’t opposed to beating her like he does me. Herneed for self-preservation made me a captive to the vile man standing before me.

“I’m fine.”

He nods. “I suppose you want to know what’s happening. You know, you should be more careful of the company you keep. Men want one thing from women, and when they get it, they will toss you aside like you’re trash. The Borrellis are no different. Men in the mafia don’t know love. They were born to rule and to control. Made men will only use you, knock you up for an heir, and toss you aside. Pietro will never love you. He’ll never marry you. You need to let go of this childhood fantasy that the bad boy will be different with you or for you.”

Great. If I had to guess, he’s probably had men spying on me, and I assume he knows I fucked Pietro. The takeaway is that he’s spoken about my worst fears, which is that the Borrellis are a mafia family, too.

I’m so fucked. What am I? LoJack for felons? Why can’t I meet a normal man?

But there’s no time to lament my doomed love life. I stare into my father’s eyes.

“Right. Well. You’ve put the family in a bad position. You must marry Miloš’s brother, Vukan, before they torch my stash houses.” His voice is void of emotion. He’s stating a fact that he expects to become a reality at the snap of his fingers.

This is rich coming from him. Putting the ‘family’ in danger, my ass!

“You put the family in danger—you and Uncle Vincenzu. You went into human trafficking, not me. You are in bed with the Serbs, and I detest them and what they do for money. Over my dead body!”

He leaps to his feet and smashes his fist on the desk. “That can be arranged if you refuse me,” he yells.

I refuse to fear him and stave off my shudder. I have nothing left to lose. Either way, I’m dead. Dead inside with a man I don’t love, or six feet under.

“You really think Vukan will welcome me with gratitude after your men blew his ring wide open? I’m not stupid. I know your hands are dirty with the blood of innocent women.”

“Enough,” he barks, and I notice his face turning red.

“I’m not your bitch. I won’t be a part of your shitshow anymore. I’m not a Morretti!”

“You’re my blood. That’s all that matters,” he yells, and the veins on the side of his neck engorge. He’s overweight, and I know he’s on blood pressure medication. His face is beaded with perspiration, but the room is cold. He loosens the second and third buttons on his dress shirt. He cranes his neck, searching for comfort in a gesture that doesn’t deliver.

“I no longer do your bidding. I don’t take money or orders from you.” I stand and cross my arms in defiance.

He leans over the desk and is silent for a beat.

“I’m the head of the family, and you are to do as you are told. Time is of the essence. Each day you fuck around costs me thousands of dollars, and my men have died as a result of your actions. Youwilldo this for me so our families will have peace.”

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