A Vow of Lust and Fury: A dark mafia romance Read online

  Renzo never let down his guard, though, standing at the window and watching the parking lot. Red light from the neon sign outside sliced through the parted curtains, highlighting the heavy circles beneath his eyes.

  “You should sleep for a few hours. We need to move again,” Renzo said without looking at me.

  “You need to sleep, Ren, not me.”

  He stayed where he was, gun clutched in his hand like he was waiting for a SWAT team to storm the place. In reality, it was probably worse.

  On a sigh, I got up and took a shower, the first I’d had in three days. Then I changed into my jeans and a fresh shirt because if there was one thing I knew, it was to always be prepared to have to wake from a dead sleep and run. I lay down on top of the floral bedspread, unwilling to get any closer to the mattress that probably had more bodily fluids on it than a community bathroom. My gaze trailed over the silhouette of my brother’s back, wishing I could take some of the strain that pulled his muscles tight. Not that I could blame him.

  I could practically feel the wolves nipping at our heels, their hot breath lingering over my skin. An image of my uncle’s face was constantly at the forefront of my mind, the rage painted in his cold eyes along with the glee he would find in punishing me. It was imprinted as a warning of what would happen should we get caught. And I knew exactly what my punishment would be…

  “Renzo?”

  “Yeah,” he replied without looking at me.

  “He’s going to give me to Matteo, isn’t he?” I whispered into the darkness.

  The second I’d told him what Uncle Sergio had threatened, Renzo had vowed to get me out, even if it killed him. I hadn’t taken that literally, but now I wondered if this would cost me dearly. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about getting caught, but now I was thinking about the consequences. If Giovanni got us, he might kill us both. If Uncle Sergio did, then Renzo would be punished and I’d be thrown to Matteo like a chew toy to a pitbull.

  “They won’t catch us,” Renzo said resolutely.

  “But if they do….”

  “Romano won’t touch you, Emi. I promise.” His voice broke, and my chest squeezed tight.

  My worry was that Renzo would die keeping that promise and that I couldn’t bear.

  * * *

  I woke to a weird scratching sound. Quiet. So quiet. The TV was now off, and I glanced around the dark room, trying to orientate myself. A tiny sliver of the neon-red light from outside cut over Renzo’s sleeping form. That scratching sound started again, breaking through the silence that had settled over me like a blanket of needles. It was coming from the door. I sat up and reached for Renzo just as the lock clicked and the door knob turned.

  “Renzo!”

  Red light spilled into the room like a doorway to hell itself had opened. A single gunshot rang out, the bang deafening me as a flash lit up the darkness. Everything stopped, the scene playing out in soundless slow motion as shadowy figures suddenly filled the small room. It took a second shot for my frozen body to finally respond and roll off the bed.

  My knees collided with the floor, though the pain barely registered past the adrenaline flooding my body. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard shouts and a struggle. And then everything fell ominously quiet. Renzo. I tried to force myself to move, but I was paralyzed. Years around dangerous men, yet I’d never found myself in the middle of flying bullets. Funny, how I thought I would react and the stone-cold reality of survival instinct could not be further apart. Ragged breaths slipped past my lips, my heart thrumming against my ribs like it would tear free of my chest if it could. Too loud. I was too loud, a wounded animal screaming in the midst of hunters.

  Muted footsteps whispered over the threadbare carpet, and all I could do was stare at the pair of shiny dress shoes that rounded the bed and stopped in front of me. My gaze slowly raked up over the dark form of a man in a suit. Red light played over a scarred face I recognized as one of my father’s capos—Stefano. He’d guarded our house before, come to birthday parties and my grandma’s funeral. He’d watched me grow up… and yet his eyes were detached, merciless. I knew then he was going to kill me.

  Panic clawed its way up my throat, and though I had no way to escape, desperation kicked in. I lurched to my feet and tried to scramble over the bed. He grabbed at me, and I fought, scratching and lashing out. My fist rammed into his throat like Luca had once shown me, then I jabbed my thumb into his eye. He roared and struck me in the side of the head before I was yanked by my hair. Pain radiated through my temple, and the room spun as I was dragged against his much bigger body. Hot, cigarette-tinted breath washed over my face before he spoke in my ear.

  “Matteo Romano said if he can’t have you, no one can.”

  No, no, no. The terror that had already been choking me reached a frenzied crescendo at the sound of that man’s name, but really, what did it matter whether it was Matteo or my uncle? Either way, I was about to die, and honestly, there was a certain peace in that knowledge. Maybe there was something beyond this life and Chiara would be waiting for me.

  That thought made it a little easier when Stefano forced me back to my knees in front of him. I stared at him in the darkness and realized that this moment felt inevitable. My family was determined to bend me until I broke, but I refused to break. I would rather be on my knees, right here, right now, than be on them for the rest of my life for a man like Matteo Romano.

  With icy purpose, Stefano lifted his gun. My heart let out a furious beat as though rushing to get in its last few precious moments before it would beat no more. I closed my eyes, a trembling breath slipping from my lips as the cool barrel nudged against my forehead. A single tear tracked down my cheek, a staggered breath filled frozen lungs, and then… bang! My entire body jerked, and I choked on a breath, but there was no pain, no final moment, no bright light. When I opened my eyes, an angel of death stood before me, bathed in shadows, with Stefano’s body at his feet and a gun in his hand. I felt like a lowly mortal bowing in front of the terrifying stranger.

  Sapphire eyes met mine, not a trace of warmth to be found in them as they swept over me with the assessment of a predator weighing its next meal. He would probably kill me next, but God, he was beautiful. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen, with cheekbones that could cut glass and dark hair falling over his forehead in messy waves. Maybe I was already dead and he truly was an angel come to collect my soul. He sure as hell looked like one. The throbbing in my head intensified, and those full lips of his pressed into a tight line as I swayed side to the side slightly.

  “Get the fuck away from her, Guerra,” my brother spat.

  Whatever weird bubble I’d been in burst and everything around me filtered in once more. I glanced across the room to where Renzo stood in front of the window, a gun pointed at…Guerra? Giovanni Guerra? My brother’s free hand was pressed to his stomach, where blood pooled through his fingers. Another man seemed to materialize from the shadows by the door and had a weapon rammed to my brother’s temple in an instant.

  “Don’t get excited,” the newcomer said.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” I stammered, pushing to my feet and fighting to stay there as the room warped and spun around me. “Just… just kill me but leave Renzo.”

  “No, Emi,” Renzo practically snarled.

  I looked to the one who was clearly in charge. The dark angel. The man I was supposed to marry. “Please.”

  His head tilted to the side, those eyes giving away nothing before he waved a hand at his companion. The other man took away Renzo’s gun and dragged him outside. Deep down, I knew they’d find me and potentially kill me from the second I got into that car, so why had I bothered running? Because you had to try, a little voice whispered in the back of my mind.

  “Come.” One word, the only one he’d uttered since entering this room. It felt like a rumble of thunder in a summer storm, like static in the air promising chaos.

  He took a firm hold of my arm, guiding me around the three bodies littering the motel room floor and outside into the parking lot. As adrenaline waned, I stumbled and swayed, but his grip never faltered. I was led to a waiting SUV, my brother leaning heavily against it, a red-haired guy beside him. Renzo’s gaze met mine, and he gave the smallest of nods before he mouthed, “run.” I wasn’t going to leave him—I didn’t get a chance to think on it before he threw a punch at the guy. I didn’t want to leave him. Couldn’t. They’d kill him.

  “Run, Emi!” he shouted just as the guy hit him back.

  The edge in Renzo’s voice threw me into a blind panic, and I drove my knee between Giovanni’s legs. I barely saw him double over before my feet were moving of their own volition. I turned and sprinted across the parking lot, tripping and stumbling as hot tears poured down my cheeks.

  “Emilia!” Giovanni shouted after me.

  Just fifty yards and I’d make it to the woods behind the motel. The sound of the gunshot was enough to make me stop, fear for my brother overriding everything. But then the pain registered, fire tearing through my thigh before my leg buckled. I hit the ground and glanced down at the blood rapidly soaking through my jeans. The pain was like a hot poker being rammed through my leg, and a desperate sob slipped through my lips as shoes crunched over the gravel and came to a stop beside me.

  “The next time I have to chase you, it won’t end well, princess.” Giovanni gripped my arm and wrenched me to my feet with a cry. “Now, be a good girl before I put a bullet in your brother’s head.”

  I whimpered and limped to the car, every step a lesson in agony. My head spun, and black spots dotted my vision as I climbed into the back seat.

  Renzo was already there, gasping breaths pouring from him almost as easily as the blood that covered his stomach and soaked into his jeans. Giovan
ni got into the passenger seat beside the red-haired guy.

  “He needs a doctor, Gio,” the man said before focusing out the windshield and pulling away.

  “I’ll have one at the jet.”

  Renzo was panting, his face pale and clammy. Gently, I tugged him down until his head rested on my uninjured thigh, his distant gaze fixed on the ceiling. With a trembling hand, I stroked his sweat-damp hair and prayed to anyone who would listen not to let him die. But there was so much blood. I tugged my T-shirt over my head and wadded it up, pressing it into his stomach.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He had taken a bullet because of me, and if he died, I’d never forgive myself. He grasped my hand, slick fingers threading through mine, and it terrified me.

  “You’re fine,” I said, my voice cracking under the words I didn’t really believe. “You’ll be okay.”

  Blood was spreading across the back seat. Mine and Renzo’s combined, and the sight of it had a sob catching in my chest. Too much. It was too much.

  He made a choked sound, and I squeezed his hand harder.

  “He needs a hospital. Please!”

  Giovanni glanced over his shoulder at me. “He’ll be fine.” That was it; then he started making calls on his phone.

  I had never hated anyone as much as I hated him in that moment. But I was helpless to do anything, and that meant I might have to watch my brother die.

  A low buzzing rang through my ears, and my vision swam as my head began pounding even harder. I touched my temple, and my fingers came away crimson. Damn, that hurt almost as much as the bullet in my leg. As the last dregs of adrenaline ebbed, my body became nothing but pain. When I blinked, it was in an effort to open my eyes again.

  “Emilia?” Giovanni’s voice sounded distant, like it was coming through a tunnel. He spat a curse as black spots danced in front of me.

  And then everything went black.

  4

  Emilia

  I woke in the front seat of a car with someone shaking me. The first thing I noticed was it was dark, an amber light cutting through the windows and casting shadows over the concrete walls of the parking garage beyond. A foggy layer of confusion clung to me as I tried to figure out where I was and how I had gotten here. My gaze shifted to the person sitting behind the wheel of the parked vehicle. Giovanni Guerra. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled up, revealing tattooed forearms, the intricate ink work seeming to swirl and shift with my hazy vision.

  “Where am I?” I asked, my tongue thick in my mouth.

  He didn’t answer, and as the fog slowly cleared, the last few hours rushed in. The blood… The motel room…

  “Renzo—”

  “I would worry about yourself, princess.” His voice was a low rumble of warning, a precursor of what was to come.

  I had run, he had caught me, and the consequences were sure to be dire. But all I could think about was my brother. The last time I’d seen him, he was bleeding out. My own fate was as doomed as it had always been, but I never had wanted to drag Renzo with me.

  Giovanni got out of the car and rounded the hood, shrugging on his suit jacket before pulling open my door. I had no idea what awaited me out there, but I knew he would drag me out if I didn’t go willingly.

  I swung my legs over the edge of the seat, noticing then the man’s shirt that drowned me and the gaping leg of my jeans that had been cut open, my thigh bandaged. Giovanni gave me no space, his broad frame blocking my view beyond him, as though he were trying to prove that I’d never reach the big, wide world ever again. And I didn’t doubt he thought that was the case. The iciness in his gaze combined with his bloody reputation made Giovanni Guerra terrifying. Only a crazy person would risk inciting that dangerous attention. I vowed then and there that I would escape him, but if he had Renzo…

  “Please. Just tell me…is my brother alive?”

  His silence was my only answer, and my temper spiked. He had me. He’d won. The least he could do was just tell me if I’d cost my brother his life for nothing.

  My teeth clenched. “If he dies—”

  “You’ll what, princess?” He laughed, a cruel, cutting sound that echoed off the concrete walls of the parking garage. “The Outfit can’t and won’t stand against me. So, there is absolutely nothing you can or will do but submit.”

  The feeling of helplessness that washed over me with his words was debilitating, and I knew he was right. I was on my own. I never should have run, definitely shouldn’t have let Renzo run with me. And now…now there was nothing I could do. It had changed nothing. I was still here, still my uncle’s pawn. Only now, Renzo was… I cut off the thought. He couldn’t be dead.

  Giovanni gripped my arm and yanked me out of the car, tugging me flush against him. Pain shot up my leg as I bared weight on it, and I gritted my teeth, my gaze drifting past him and marking the exits.

  “Don’t do anything stupid. I’d hate to have to put another scar on your body.”

  “Of course.” I glared at him, fruitlessly trying to pull away. “Couldn’t have a scarred trophy wife.” Acid dripped from my tone, and I hoped he felt my hatred. If I couldn’t find a way to escape, then I might have to marry this man, but he would be under no illusion as to just how much he disgusted me.

  He dragged me across the parking lot to a waiting elevator, and I was shoved inside so hard that I stumbled against the metal wall. He was right there, invading my space, the woodsy, minty smell of him washing over me. He was so close I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his sapphire irises, feel the heat of him seeping through the material of my shirt. He was beautiful. The thought was an unwanted one but no less true.

  His face was perfection, his body honed, broad shoulders straining against the veil of civility that suit jacket was trying to portray. No suit could hide what he was, though—a weapon, a monster. A hand landed beside my head, caging me in just like the captive I was. Hot breath washed over my neck as he brought his lips to my ear, and I closed my eyes, trembling against the elevator wall. Fear and something foreign and unwanted slid through my veins like a drug, and I couldn’t help but revel in the high of it for just a moment.

  “I’ll do more than just scar you, piccola.” Piccola. Little one. There was something inherently disturbing about the whispered endearment mixed with a threat. “You are a means to an end. So, I suggest you behave like a good little mafia princess.” He shoved away from me, and I sucked in my first full breath since I’d stepped in here.

  If he thought threats would make me cower, he was sadly mistaken. I’d been threatened my whole life, and my father and uncle hadn’t broken me yet. Though I could admit that Giovanni was far more terrifying.

  He pressed a button on the wall panel, and the doors glided shut. I was now locked in a metal box with a man who would not hesitate to kill me. A man I was sold to and had run from. I assumed he wouldn’t want a bride who had dishonored him. That he would either kill me or hand me back to my family. But he had saved me from my father’s capo, so what did that mean? Were those elevator doors about to open and reveal my uncle, maybe even Matteo Romano, ready to take ownership of his new toy? Oh, God. My breaths came faster, and I thought I might throw up.

  The elevator eventually stopped moving, and if he noticed me hurrying to get out of that confined space with him, he didn’t say anything. We were in a hallway with marble flooring and soft music drifting through speakers. No sign of my uncle or Matteo. Yet. I looked around for an exit, willing to chance being shot again at this point. There was only a single door at the end of the corridor. Giovanni strode down the hallway and opened it, and for a moment, I was stunned. Beyond was an apartment that looked like it belonged in an edition of Good Housekeeping. The penthouse was huge, the floor-to-ceiling glass exterior offering uninterrupted views of New York. I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with wealth, but this was next level. Snapping out of my daze, I took a step back. A prison was still a prison, no matter how pretty.