Defiant Vows

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LUCIANO

Viviana and I spend the next two weeks toeing the line between ambivalent civility and complete disregard for one another’s existence.

Sharing a home with her proves to be less of a chore than I expected, namely because we ignore each other throughout our waking hours. If our paths do cross, we share brief, cursory greetings then continue on with our days. I work, and Viviana…

Truthfully, I don’t know how Viviana spends her days. And I dislike how much that disgruntles me.

More than once, while passing through the halls, I’ve heard her laughing with Carlo in the kitchen—working on some new vegan recipe, no doubt. She helps him cook supper every night, then eats alongside the chef, Alonso, and Mrs. Ajello before I’ve finished work in the evenings. By the time I emerge from my office at the end of the day, she’s tucked herself away in her bedroom.

It’s fine. That’s what I tell myself, at least.

It’s the same routine that her sister and I would’ve endured. A marriage in name only. No companionship. No intimacy. None of the little things that only serve as distractions to a man like me.

And yet… I can’t shake the gnawing, uncomfortable tightness in my gut every time I see a trace of Viviana in my home. Every time I see her oversized sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair in the kitchen. Or her muddy, neon-green clogs, which, apparently, she purchased after Alonso promised to help her plant a vegetable garden, perched beside the back door. Her hair ties littering our bathroom counter… All small, inconsequential reminders that she’s here and living and mine.

Except she isn’t mine. Not at all. Not in any way that counts.

When I’m striding down the hallway after a video conference with my lawyers and pass a large window, my gaze snags on two figures standing by the pool in the back courtyard, and I’m startlingly reminded of that fact.

My steps falter, brows pinching together.

I immediately recognize Viviana, lounging on a pool chair with her arms folded gracefully behind her head. She’s clad in a bright orange bikini that’s so little it should be illegal. Mere scraps of cloth held together by equally flimsy strings cover the swells of her breasts, and a thin triangle of orange stretches over her pussy, the adjoining floss-like-thread riding high on her hips. She looks like sex-incarnate, displaying the soft curves that she typically keeps hidden beneath baggy t-shirts and leggings.

And there, admiring my wife, is my brother.

Gio stands above her, hands tucked neatly in his pockets. Their mouths move in what appears to be an easy conversation. One corner of Viviana’s lips tips up in a smirk, and Gio throws his head back in a laugh.

Rage simmers beneath my skin, and my feet move on their own accord, carrying me to the courtyard to claim what is mine. Neither Viviana nor Gio look in my direction when I open the back door, though their voices float toward me on the wind.

“We had a dog growing up,” Viviana chirps. “My dad wanted one for protection. A big ol’ doberman. He ended up being more of a couch-potato than anything.”

Gio chuckles. “My father wouldn’t have minded a dog, but my mother hates them. Like most other living things.”

Dogs? I falter. They’re talking about dogs ?

Viviana makes a low sound of acknowledgment, no doubt biting her tongue against some scathing remark about my mother. She notices me then, tilting her sunglasses down on her nose. “Hello there, husband.”

The title holds no affection on her tongue. She wields it like an insult.

“Viviana,” I greet her with rigid formality, then turn to my brother. He wears sweatpants and a stained t-shirt, like he’d rolled out of bed at my parent’s and made the trek across the estate immediately after. “Gio.”

“Afternoon,” he drawls, and I don’t miss the subtle, shit-eating smirk curling on his mouth. I’ve seen that smile before, usually before he imparts bad news.

Wariness grips me, and I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I came over to discuss business with you and ran into Viviana.” He nods towards my wife, and that smirk grows.

My eyes flicker down at her, then widen and do a double take when I realize that she’s flipped onto her stomach. She rests her chin on her hands, and her legs bend at the knees, scissoring up and down in oblivious contentment. Her bathing suit bottoms bunch together at her ass, leaving her perky backside on full display.

Christ.

“Viviana, ” I bark, raking a hand through my hair while searching the surroundings for a towel to cover her with. Her bronze ass has no obvious tan-lines, which makes me think that she’s spent too much of her life sunbathing in a thong.

She perks up, glancing at me from over her shoulder. “What?”

The word holds enough attitude that I have to fight the urge to bend her over my knee and punish her for it. And she knows it, the hellion. She slides her big, bulky sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and cocks a brow, issuing a silent challenge. Well ? She practically dares me to say something.

I want to throttle her.

This is the longest we’ve been in each other’s presence since the night of my parents’ dinner party, and I want to fucking throttle her. Or, at least tan her hide with the print of my palm, marking her for the world to see. Especially my brother, who looks a little too pleased with himself right now.

Teeth clamped to the point of pain, I unbutton my white dress-shirt. Every movement is jerky as I shrug out of the sleeves and drape the damned thing over her near-bare ass, leaving myself in a plain white tee. “You’re going to order a new swimsuit tonight,” I inform her, leaving no room for debate. “Full coverage. One piece.”

She wrinkles her nose, then shrugs. “Gladly. This came from the shit-pile my mom sent. I thought you’d like it,” she adds, wiggling her brows.

My answering scowl earns a laugh from Gio, and I’m reminded of Viviana’s joking remark that she and Gio would’ve been a better match.

Bitterness flares at that same spot deep in my gut, even as I acknowledge the truth of it. Under different circumstances, the pair could’ve burned bright for one another, for some time. Eventually, the inferno would’ve consumed them both and left nothing in its wake. They would never last, but might Viviana have preferred that brief blip of passion over whatever she and I share?

Unsettled by the way this thought has overshadowed my better judgment, I huff and brace both hands on my hips. “What did you need, Gio?”

He waves his hand and grins. “That can wait. I need to congratulate you on the newest addition to the family.”

I almost choke. My eyes widen like saucers before landing on Viviana. There’s no way in hell she’s pregnant, unless her sitters in Italy severely failed to keep their eyes on her, and I can’t imagine what she would gain by lying about it to my brother.

“What is he talking about?” I demand.

She groans, a distinctly unladylike noise, and tips her head back to shoot my brother a glare. “Thanks a lot, Gio. I was still deciding whether or not to...” She pauses and eyes me. “ Surprise him with it.”

Surprise. Right. The word has never sounded so ominous.

“Surprise me with what, Viviana?”

Gio laughs again, clutching at his belly, but I pin Viviana in place with my stare. One problem at a time. I’ll deal with my brother later.

My wife huffs and pushes herself up into a seated position, legs swinging over the side of her lounge chair. She snatches her cellphone from the nearby side table and swipes across the screen a few times. Suddenly, I empathize with all of the teachers and headmasters I terrorized throughout my youth.

She hands me her phone, crossing her arms against her chest immediately after. I don’t miss how the movement causes the tops of her breasts to spill over the edge of her bikini.

My pulse spikes, but I squint at the screen.

Two big brown eyes stare back at me, attached to a massive brindle head with a shiny black nose and a tongue the length of my damn foot. A dog. A huge fuckin’ dog that looks like it might weigh more than Viviana herself.

“I couldn’t decide if you were more of a dog or a cat person,” she mumbles, using her big toe to draw circles on the pool deck. “I usually prefer cats, but Biggie only has a few days left. He’s the shelter’s longest resident.”

“Biggie?” I echo, scrolling to the next photo. The massive mutt stands on his hind legs and rests his front paws on a volunteer’s hips, showering her with slobbery kisses.

“That’s his name.” She rises and slips her arms through the sleeves of my dress shirt. It dwarves her, hanging almost to her knees, and the sight pleases me more than I care to admit. “They say he’ll need training—like, a lot of it—but it’s not like I do anything else around here.”

I blink and hand her the cellphone again. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s being absolutely serious. She wants this behemoth of a dog. “Have you ever trained a dog before?”

Her shoulders shrug, and her toe starts to work the pavement again, nervous. “I’ve watched The Dog God re-runs online.”

So that’s a big, fat ‘NO.’

I scrub my hand up and down my face and groan. “This isn’t some chihuahua, Viviana.”

“I know that, but Biggie needs me. And Mrs. Ajello and Carlo say they’ll help take care of him when I’m busy. Gio says he’ll play with him too when he’s in Bedford. I’ll have help.”

The muscles lining my spine stiffen. A frown twists on my lips. “You’ll have me, too.”

The words are sharper than I intended. Defensive. Matching the prickly jealousy that festers in the pit of my stomach. Viviana stares at me like I’m a stranger, and Gio’s eyes burn into the side of my face.

I shake my head, clearing away the heat creeping up my neck. “I mean, if we bring him home, he’ll be my dog, too.”

A slow smile stretches on Viviana’s lips, and it strikes me how lovely she is, with her hair pulled back in a messy bun and a smattering of freckles strewn across her cheeks and nose. Her eyes spark with delight. “Are you saying we can get him?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

This is a mistake. I know it is. This monstrous dog will leave dirt and fur and slobber and piss on every surface of my home, and he’ll probably eat as much as a race horse. It’ll cost a fortune to vet him, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Viviana might buy him an ungodly number of art-related doggie shirts to match her…

I sigh and hold up a finger. “Two conditions. One— he’s not allowed on the furniture. Two— we’re not calling him Biggie.”

A high-pitched, content whine slips from Biggie’s slobbering jaws as he yawns and stretches all eighty-five pounds across my favorite couch. Water stains mar the hand-stitched fabric, and I’m fairly certain his massive claws snagged one of the cushions he’s currently lounging on.

Viviana and I sit on the living room floor, both panting and sweating profusely after thirty minutes of wrangling the beast for a bath.

What the hell have I gotten myself into ? I think to myself, even as affection for the mongrel swells in my chest.

We picked him up from the local animal shelter two hours ago, after we made a stop at a pet store to buy all of the essentials—and plenty of non-essentials, too. The shelter volunteer filled me in on Biggie’s temperament and tendency to destroy nice things while Viviana played with him in the adjoining yard. I drove home with a sinking feeling, but she rode in the back, snuggling our newest family member.

I’d never seen Viviana happier. She pecked kisses on his thick snout, inches away from teeth the size of a shark’s, and whispered sweet gibberish in his floppy ears. More than once, I caught myself smiling in the rearview mirror before remembering the volunteer’s warning that Biggie enjoys eating leather shoes.

We hosed him off before allowing him inside of the house, then spent twenty minutes chasing him after he escaped his leash. In the process, he rolled in mud, so we hosed him off again before leading him inside. It took time and almost an entire bag of treats, but we finally finished giving him a proper bath in one of the guest bathrooms on the first floor.

“Do you think he’s scared?” Viviana whispers, scooting closer to the couch that Biggie claimed a few minutes ago. Worry clouds her hazel eyes.

My brow furrows as I glance at Biggie, who looks like he belongs on a calendar titled Happiest Dogs of the Century. In the dim lighting, I can only just see his flank rise and fall with each steady breath. He’s sleeping. I chuckle and shake my head. “That dog isn’t scared of anything, sweetheart.”

The nickname slips off of my tongue accidentally. It tastes foreign but not entirely unpleasant. Even so, I find myself holding my breath for Viviana’s reaction.

She’s quiet for a beat as she stares at me, uncertain and hesitant. Eventually, she ignores my slip-up entirely and shakes her head. “I’m serious. I read it can take days for a shelter dog to feel safe in their new home.” She chews her bottom lip. “Do you think he needs a more comfortable bed?”

“Seeing as he’s currently on the couch, I don’t think he’d use it.”

She shoots me a flat look. “Let’s just give him a few days to settle in, then we can enforce the no-furniture rule. Yeah?”

Yeah, right. I won’t count on it. I knew from the moment Viviana stroked the dog’s velveteen ears that he’d have free rein of the house, furniture included.

“What about a new name?” I venture.

Her teeth drag on that full lip. “What were you thinking?”

“I like Champ. Or Bruce.”

The nearby lamp illuminates one half of her face. She nods slowly, letting the names wash over her, but it’s obvious that she doesn’t love either option. Still, she manages a small, encouraging smile. “I could get behind Bruce...”

I chuckle. “You hate them both, don’t you?”

Her eyes widen defensively. “No! I don’t! I just have to get used to—”

“What about Biggie?”

She blinks. “Biggie?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, resting an elbow on my bent knee. “It’s growing on me.”

I don’t imagine the warmth in her smile. It could melt the whole North Pole.

“What if we name him Big Bruce Venturi, but call him Biggie for short?” She walks on her knees closer to me, waggling her eyebrows as she plops directly in front of me on the rug. Somehow, the smell of lavender and orange blossoms lingers beneath the overbearing stench of wet dog. Her hair is a disheveled mess atop her head, and water stains cover her oversized t-shirt.

This time, a real laugh rips from my chest. I tip my head back. “When will we ever use Big Bruce Venturi?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “When he’s in trouble, of course.”

“That might be more often than you think.”

“It’s a good thing we both like the name, then.”

We share more laughter, and when a comfortable silence descends over the living room once again, both of our eyes land on Biggie. His tail wags once in his sleep.

“Hey Luc?”

My heart thunders to a halt. It’s the first time she’s called me that. Luc.

The name once wielded by my closest friends, only to slowly fade away as they did. As friendships were replaced by acquaintances and subordinates. As I shedded the yolk of my childhood and stepped into my role as heir to the Cosa Nostra. After I signed those notes with the nickname, I never imagined that she’d address me by it, but now that I’ve heard it from her lips, I never want her to call me anything else.

“Yeah?” I croak, throat dry.

“Thank you.”

Viviana turns her gaze back to Biggie, but I can’t. Not yet. Not while she’s sitting so close, contentment sparkling in her eyes. Beautiful and happy and filled with a zest for life that I’ve long since forgotten.

And, for the first time since we uttered those heartless vows two weeks ago, I have hope.