Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters Book 4)
Brutal Vows: Chapter 1

The weight of memory can sometimes be so heavy, it’s suffocating.

Take now, for instance. I’m standing across from my brother’s oak desk in his enormous wood-paneled study, staring at his face and struggling to breathe around the invisible hand squeezing my lungs. There’s also a rock in my throat and a vat of acid churning in my stomach.

All inevitable results whenever the word “marriage” is mentioned in my presence.

No four-letter curse word could ever be so vile.

Uncomfortable under my stare, Gianni glances down at the desktop. He fiddles with the edge of the blotter, then runs a finger under the collar of his white dress shirt.

“Don’t look at me like that. You knew this was coming. Lili’s of age now.”

“She’s been eighteen for all of two weeks, for fuck’s sake. And what about college? You promised you’d consider it.”

He lifts his gaze to meet mine. He has our father’s eyes, coal black and lifeless. Everyone else replaces them—and him—terrifying.

But my father didn’t scare me, and neither does my older brother. For that matter, neither does anyone else.

After what I’ve been through, the devil himself could show up demanding my soul, and I’d tell him to kiss my sweet ass and fuck off back to hell.

Gianni says, “No, you insisted I consider it. And as usual, when you got an answer you didn’t like, you ignored it.”

When I only stand there glaring at him, he adds, “I vetted him. He’s not Enzo.”

At the sound of my late husband’s name, a shudder goes through me. The acid churning in my stomach sears a burning path up into my throat.

I stand still for several moments, struggling to regain my equilibrium. Then, so I don’t start breaking furniture, I start to pace.

Gianni watches me silently for several moments before trying a new approach.

“We’ll get territory. Trade routes. Important allies we desperately need. The match will make us a substantial amount of money. Tens of millions at least. Potentially hundreds.”

I mutter, “You sound like a pimp.”

He brushes that off. “Not to mention garner us influence over the other families. You know how desperate everyone is to make an alliance with the Mob. If we can pull this off, I’ll be named capo. The stakes are huge, Rey. We can secure the family’s position for generations.”

“You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘us.’ I don’t want anything to do with forcing my niece into slavery.”

With exaggerated patience, he says, “Lili was always going to be matched for the betterment of the family. You know it. She knows it. Everyone knows it. This is nothing new.”

I stop pacing and look at him. “She’s still a child.”

“At eighteen, she’s now an adult. And you were two years younger than she is when you were married.”

I say bitterly, “Yes. And look how well that turned out.”

His expression sours. “You inherited Enzo’s fortune. You gained your freedom. I’d say it turned out rather well for you in the end.”

“You conveniently skipped all the carnage in the middle between our engagement and his death.”

“Lili isn’t you, Rey.”

“No, she’s my niece. And my goddaughter. And one of the sweetest, brightest girls I’ve ever met. She doesn’t deserve to be married off to some horrible old Irishman!”

“I never said he was old.”

“Who probably stinks like cooked cabbage!”

“I promise you, he doesn’t smell like a vegetable.”

“And has a kiddie porn habit! Any man who wants to marry a teenager has to be a pervert!”

Careful not to raise his voice, though it’s obvious he’s annoyed with me and wants the conversation to be over, Gianni says, “I don’t believe he’s the type for child pornography, but you can judge for yourself. He’ll be here any minute.”

I recoil in disgust. “He’s coming here?”

“To meet Lili.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. “Why are you only telling me about this marriage contract seconds before the Irishman sets foot in the house?”

After a short pause, he says carefully, “Considering your temper, it seemed like a good idea to give you as little time to start smashing things as possible.”

That might be a reason, but I can tell it’s not the main one. I know my brother well.

“You son of a bitch. Lili doesn’t know yet, does she?”

Gianni rises from his desk. Smoothing a hand down the front of his bespoke navy-blue suit jacket, he walks toward me. He stops in front of me and gently grasps my upper arms.

“I was hoping you could tell her.”

I say flatly, “I will kill you where you stand.”

He examines my expression, then drops his hands to his sides and takes a step back.

Smart move.

“This is why I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry this brings up bad memories for you, but it’s happening. The terms have already been negotiated. The only thing left is for the Irishman to meet Lili. If she pleases him, the contract will be signed and the date will be set.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what will happen if Lili fails to please, but I know it won’t be good.

For Gianni, failure on even the smallest scale is unforgivable.

He continues in a softer tone. “And her zia will explain to her how this is all for the best, and how family comes first, and how, if her new husband proves to be anything like her zia’s late husband Enzo, he’ll replace himself the victim of an untimely death, too.”

He pauses. “A meticulously planned death with no witnesses or evidence of foul play. An ‘accidental’ death so well executed, it even fooled the police.”

Without missing a beat, I say, “I didn’t kill my husband.”

He smiles. “I’ve never met anyone who can lie as well as you do.”

“It’s a gift.”

His smile grows wider. “One of many.”

“Stop trying to flatter me so I’ll do your dirty work for you.”

“She won’t listen to me, Rey. You know how she is.”

“Yes, it’s very inconvenient for the men in this family when the women have minds of their own.”

I can tell he wants to sigh, but he doesn’t. He simply stands and looks at me beseechingly until I give in.

It’s not like I have a choice, anyway. As the head of the Caruso family, Gianni calls all the shots. Someday, there will be a female head of one of the five Italian crime families in New York. It’s a dream of mine that I’ll live long enough to see it.

Until then, all I can do is exert as much influence as possible.

It helps that my brother’s afraid of me.

“I want final approval about this Irishman. I’ll tell Lili for you, but if I don’t like him, the deal is off.”

Gianni runs his tongue over his teeth. He’s probably counting silently to ten in his head or cursing, wishing he had a sister more like his best friend Leo’s. A docile, dim bulb of a girl with no opinions about anything except what her father and brother tell her to have.

Instead, he’s got me.

A woman with a bad reputation, a chip on her shoulder, and a sword for a tongue.

“Agreed?” I prod.

“You won’t think anyone is good enough for her,” he counters. “We’ll be having this same conversation over and over again for the next twenty years.”

“Untrue. I can be reasonable.”

He lifts a brow.

“Don’t make that face. I simply want to make sure he’s not a monster.”

“I assure you, he’s not a monster.”

“This would be a good time to point out that you liked Enzo, too.”

Gianni winces. “Enzo was a sociopath. They’re very good at pretending to be charming.”

“Exactly. Which is why I need to have the final word. If anyone can spot a psycho a mile away, it’s me.”

He doesn’t have an argument for that. How could he? It’s the truth.

I earned my monster radar the hard way.

Gianni gazes at me with an unreadable expression for so long, I think I’ve lost. But then he surprises me by saying, “Fine. If you don’t like the Irishman, the marriage is off.”

Relief floods my body. I exhale, nodding.

“But you still have to tell Lili.”

At the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel of the circular driveway outside, Gianni and I turn to the windows. Sounding amused, he says, “And I think you better do it quick.”

My ears burn with anger. “You’re a shitty father, Gi.”

He shrugs. “It runs in the family.”

I turn and walk out before I grab the letter opener off his desk and do something I’ll regret.

I take the stairs up to the second floor two at a time. At the landing, I make a sharp left and head down another corridor, the opposite direction from my bedroom. Grim ancestral oil portraits framed in gold glower down at me as I pass.

Ignoring the hand-painted frescoes on the walls, Venetian glass chandeliers sparkling overheard, and a startled housekeeper dusting the leaves of a potted palm, I stride quickly toward the room at the end.

I don’t have any time to waste.

I stop in front of the heavy oak door and pound my fist on it. “Lili? It’s me. Can I come in? I have to talk to you.”

“Just a second, zia! I’ll…I’ll be right there!”

From behind the door, Lili’s voice sounds faint. And panicked.

Maybe she already knows. She’s very clever for someone who’s been sheltered her entire life.

I hear some scuffling noises, then an odd thud. Concerned, I lean closer to the door. “Lili? You okay?”

A few long, silent moments later, my niece pulls open the door.

Her cheeks are flushed. Her long dark hair is disheveled. The white T-shirt she’s wearing is wrinkled and untucked on one side from a pair of black yoga pants. She’s barefoot and looks disoriented, as if she just woke up.

Which would be strange, considering it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.

“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?”

“Um…working out.” She points over her shoulder to the television on the wall on the opposite side of the room. On the screen, a woman in hot pink spandex is doing jumping jacks. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.”

She’s about to close the door, but I push past her into the room. “This can’t wait.”

Like the rest of the house, her bedroom is overdecorated. There’s not a spare inch of space where the gaze can rest that isn’t bedeviled with velvet, gilt, mirrors, ornate wallpaper, elaborately carved wood, or stained glass.

At least in here, the colors are muted pinks and greens. My bedroom is all black, burgundy, and gold. It looks like a bordello inside the Vatican.

Gianni’s late wife was big on the Catholic church school of interior design. She died giving birth to Lili, but her unique taste in décor lives on.

I grab the remote control from the top of the dresser, click a button to mute the TV, then turn back to Lili. She stands in the same spot, looking nervous.

“What’s up, zia?”

“There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” When she starts to wring her hands, I add, “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Oh God. Who died? Is it Nonna?”

“Your grandmother’s fine. She made a deal with the devil to live long enough to annoy the rest of us to death first. Now listen, we don’t have much time.” I walk closer to her, take her hands in mine, and look her in the eye. “I’m going to tell you something. You won’t like it.”

Her face pales. “Oh shit.”

“Yes. And you know how I feel about you cursing.”

“Judging by the look on your face, I’m going to be cursing a lot more in the next few minutes.”

“You make a good point.”

“Plus, you curse all the time.”

“I don’t want you to turn out like me.”

“Why not? You’re a bad bitch.”

“Exactly.”

“No, zia, being a bad bitch is good.”

“Oh. Thank you. I think. Back to what I need to tell you. Are you ready?”

“No. Tell me anyway.”

I give her hands a reassuring squeeze before letting her have it. “Your father negotiated a marriage contract for you. You’re meeting the man today. As in right now. His car just pulled up.”

Lili falls still. She swallows. Other than that, she has no reaction.

“You took that better than I expected. Brave girl. So that’s the bad news. The good news is that if I don’t approve of his choice, the contract will be canceled.”

She closes her eyes, exhales, and says faintly, “Holy fucking buckets of cat shit.”

“Very creative. Anything else?”

She opens her eyes and stares at me in panic, clutching my hands so hard, it hurts. “I don’t want to get married, zia.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re sane.”

Her voice rises. “No, I mean, I can’t get married!”

She pulls away from me, crossing the room to stand defiantly in front of the big wooden wardrobe near her bed.

The thing is huge, a floor-to-ceiling antique made of shiny carved mahogany. It’s always reminded me of the magical wardrobe from The Chronicles of Narnia that can transport a person to a land of talking animals and mythical creatures.

She props her hands on her hips and declares passionately, “I’d rather die than marry a man I don’t love!”

From inside the wardrobe comes a distinct thud, as if a body just fell to the floor.

Afterward, there’s silence.

I stare at my niece. She stares right back at me, her normally sweet brown eyes on fire with defiance.

I say calmly, “Lili?”

“Yes?”

“What was that noise?”

She lifts her chin and folds her arms over her chest. “What noise?”

I look at her mussed hair, her untucked shirt, her bare feet, and her rebellious expression, and know in my bones that we have a big fucking problem.

I cross the room in several long strides, headed to the wardrobe.

Lili tries to stop me, jumping in front of the wardrobe doors and pleading, but I push her aside and yank open the door.

And come face-to-face with the young man standing inside.

Hiding inside between a mink coat and a beaded evening gown, shrinking back as far as he can against the back wall.

He’s good-looking, I’ll give her that. With liquid brown eyes, full lips, and a chest that could be featured on magazine covers, the boy is undeniably attractive.

He’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight white briefs, through which his erection is clearly visible.

He can’t be more than eighteen.

I slowly close the wardrobe door. Then I turn back to Lili.

She stands with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pulled between her teeth, her shoulders rounded. If she had a tail, it would be tucked between her legs.

I say quietly, “You know what would happen if your father discovered this.”

She doesn’t bother with lame denials. She simply nods.

But it has to be said aloud. Things gain a certain gravitas when they’re spoken.

“He would kill him, Lili. Whoever he is, the boy standing in this wardrobe would die. Slowly. Painfully. And most likely, you’d be made to watch.”

Lili’s eyes well with tears. She nods again, swallowing hard, her face contorted with misery. She whispers, “I know.”

My heart breaks for her.

She’s a fool. A young, reckless fool, but I understand her completely.

I was young once, too. I had dreams once, too. I had needs and desires and a wide open future that stretched out ahead of me like a golden, glimmering dream.

Until all the beautiful dreams were destroyed by the cold, killing weight of a wedding ring.

I gather her into a hug, pulling her close and wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

“I don’t know how you got him in here,” I murmur into her ear, “but make sure no one sees you when you get him out. I can buy you ten minutes, maybe fifteen, but no more. Meet me in your father’s office. Wear your blue dress, the one with the pearl buttons. Smile and look sweet. Let me do the rest. Deal?”

Nodding, she sniffles. “Deal. Thank you, zia.”

Hearing voices drifting up from the courtyard below, I release Lili and hurry to the bedroom windows. I nudge aside the curtain and peer out.

Below on the circular driveway, a shiny black Escalade is parked in front of the fountain. Two of my brother’s armed guards stand several feet away from a man I don’t recognize.

He’s big and barrel-chested, larger than both of the guards, but he has a friendly smile and manner. Clad in a black suit and shiny black oxfords, he cuts an imposing figure.

The guards and the man continue to speak. One of the guards pats him down, searching for weapons, then all three of them nod. The guards step back, the driver rounds the car and opens the passenger door, and another man clad in black exits the vehicle.

My breath catches.

This man is leaner than the first. Just as tall and wide-shouldered, but not as bulky. A quarterback to the other’s defensive lineman.

His hair is dark gold. It looks carelessly styled, as if he dragged his fingers through it instead of using a comb. His beard is a darker shade, closer to bronze, covering an angular jaw. One of his nostrils is pierced with a small metal ring.

He’s incredibly handsome. Half aristocrat and half bare-knuckled street fighter, he exudes a kind of raw, brutal power, unmistakable even from this distance.

Clearly visible above the collar of his starched white dress shirt is a spiderweb tattoo.

He glances up at the window and catches me staring.

Our eyes lock.

My heart skips a beat.

And in that instant, I know with dark certainty that I’m gazing into the eyes of the man who will tear my family to shreds.