Page 69 of Bloody Vows
Tokeepher.
My father is a cold man. He raised my brother to be a cold man, and me to be the same. My sister he barely bothered with at all—she’s always been to him what any mafia daughter is, a means to an end. What he believes my wife should be to me.
WhatSimonethinks I am to her.
All my life, I’ve seen the hypocrisy of men in this world. My father fucked anyone he wanted, telling my brother and me when we were older that women existed for our pleasure, for us to enjoy as we chose. Nothing, not marriage or commitment of any kind, should stand in the way of our masculine needs, according to him. But women aren’t afforded that same leniency. When my mother cheated on him with his second-in-command, when they got caught, she was thrown out. At twelve, I saw him execute a man for touching his wife, then send that wife away, never to be seen again.
I know she’s alive, somewhere. But she’s never tried to come back. Never tried to find her children or let them know that she still loves them. Maybe my father terrified her so much that she doesn’t feel she can, but that kind of experience changes a person. It changed my brother and me, and I’m sure it changed my sister, though we never talk about it.
A lifetime of being taught to objectify every woman around me doesn’t vanish in an instant. But more and more, I feel myself becoming uncomfortable with the way I was taught to do things. With the way my father expects me to handle them.
Unfortunately, his expectations are what matter. He’s the reason I have any of this. The reason I have Simone. I’m sure he could take it away just as easily if he feels that I’ve failed him.
And just as she was the key to getting all of this, her defiance and refusal to stay in her place could be the reason I lose it all.
I drain the second glass of whiskey and set it down harder than necessary. The crystal makes a sharp sound against the wood of the bar cart, and I stare at it for a long moment, trying to make sense of what I'm feeling.
It's not supposed to be like this. This marriage was supposed to be a business arrangement, nothing more. I get the territory, the power, the legitimacy that comes with being married to Giovanni Russo's daughter. She gets protection, security, ahusband who can keep her safe in a world that would otherwise devour her. Simple. Clean. Uncomplicated.
But nothing about Simone is simple or uncomplicated. She fights me at every turn, challenges me in ways no one else ever has, makes me feel things I don't want to feel. And tonight, when I thought I might lose her…
I pour a third glass of whiskey but don't drink it. Instead, I walk to the window and stare out at the grounds, at the lights of Miami in the distance. Somewhere out there, Sal Envio is planning his next move. Enzo Torrino, too, probably. They both want what I have, and they're willing to hurt Simone to get it.
The thought makes my hands clench into fists. I've killed men for less than threatening what's mine, and Simone is mine now, whether she likes it or not. The ring on her finger, the vows we spoke, the way she responded to me in that car tonight—it all makes her mine.
But I don't just want to own her. I want her to want to be owned by me. I want her to look at me the way she did tonight, with heat and need, overwhelmed by pleasure, consumed by it as much as I have been. I want her to stop fighting me and start fighting with me, beside me.
I spend the rest of the night pacing, drinking, and trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do about it. By the time the sun starts to rise, I'm no closer to an answer, but I know I can't keep avoiding the conversation we need to have.
In the morning, I shower, shave, and put on a fresh suit, then make my way to the kitchen. Nora is already there, preparing breakfast, and she looks up when I enter.
"Señor," she says carefully. "How isSeñorathis morning?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her yet." I pour myself a cup of coffee, black, and lean against the counter. "Is she awake?"
"I heard her moving around about an hour ago. She asked for breakfast to be brought to her room."
Of course she did. She's avoiding me, just like I've been avoiding this conversation. But we can't keep dancing around each other forever, not with threats closing in from all sides.
"I'll take it to her," I say, and Nora raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. She prepares a tray with coffee, fresh fruit, and a cheese Danish, and I carry it upstairs.
I knock on Simone's door for once and wait for her to answer. When she does, she's dressed in a simple black slip dress that glides over her curves, her hair on top of her head again. She looks beautiful and untouchable, closed off from me again, like a work of art behind glass.
"I brought breakfast," I say, holding up the tray.
She hesitates for a moment, then steps aside to let me in. I set the tray on the small table by the window and turn to face her.
"We need to talk."
"Do we?" She moves to the dresser and starts putting on jewelry, her movements precise and controlled. "What else is there to say? I ran, you brought me back. I want to be free, you think you own me. It’s all settled."
"Nothing is settled. If anything, last night made everything more complicated."
She meets my eyes in the mirror, and I can see the wariness there, the way she's bracing herself for whatever I'm about to say.
"Sit down, Simone. Please."
She doesn't move for a long moment, then sighs and sinks into the chair in front of her vanity, reaching for the cup of coffee sitting on the tray.
