Defiant Vows

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LUCIANO

Something is wrong with Viviana.

I noticed midway through dinner. Although the Florentinos’ cook prepared a vast array of vegan options as I requested, she simply poked at the vibrant greens with her fork, spreading it around her plate without consuming a bite. Her gaze turned distant and distracted, like she’d seen a ghost, and she hardly spoke a word to the men and women around her. She seemed particularly keen to avoid speaking to the man beside her, Aldo’s bastard son, Nathaniel.

Though Aldo keeps me occupied with conversation throughout the meal, I place my hand on Viviana’s thigh beneath the table, squeezing thrice. That earns me a small, gentle smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Yes, something is very wrong.

When the servants clear our plates and we’re led through to a sitting room, I draw Viviana to the side. Her cheeks lack color.

“Are you okay?”

Members of the Fiorentino family pass behind me, and I don’t miss the way Viviana watches them warily before giving me a thin, forced smile. “Of course.”

“Did that man say something to you?” I growl, lowering my voice for her ears only. My eyes snap across the parlor, where Nathaniel pours himself two fingers of whiskey. He sits alone, an outcast among the pure-blooded Italian royalty, here by the graces of his father only.

He’s made his disdain for the impending alliance between the Cosa Nostra and Chicago Outfit evident through every poorly veiled scoff and eye roll during dinner. Massimo and Aldo ignored him, but I wouldn’t put it past the inconsequential bastard to say something that hurt Viviana’s feelings. And if he did, I’ll have his tongue for it.

It was careless of Aldo to allow bastards to be conceived. Countless men have extramarital affairs, but most are smart enough to seal their cocks in rubber to avoid the consequences of their actions. Men of power especially must take care to avoid the mess of illegitimate heirs.

Viviana follows my gaze, and, when her eyes land on Nathaniel, she shakes her head. “No. Not like you’re thinking, at least.” A little line creases between her brows, and she frowns. “He knew Elenora.”

My head tilts to one side, and I lift a palm to cup her cheek. “That’s hardly news. Elenora went to Chicago on several occasions throughout our engagement.”

“Right.” She chews on her fleshy bottom lip. “But the way he spoke… He made it seem like Elenora and Massimo were close. ”

It’s clear what she’s implying, and understanding washes over me. I offer her a small, sympathetic smile. “It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve told you before, Elenora and I didn’t uphold a traditional engagement. We both sought relationships elsewhere.”

Never mind that Elenora and Massimo share common blood, albeit, distantly. The old Italian families had encouraged stranger unions to keep the bloodlines pure.

Viviana’s frown deepens, and I see the gears in her head turning. When she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper. “Elenora’s accident… Have you considered the Outfit as the possible culprit?”

I stiffen. There’s genuine concern etched in my wife’s features.

No, I hadn’t, but perhaps I should. If Elenora did have a deeper relationship with the notoriously hot-headed mafioso and it soured...

There are too many things that could’ve gone wrong. She could’ve stumbled upon sensitive information or used sex to slip past Massimo’s defenses. Perhaps he loved her and killed her out of jealousy, just weeks before our wedding. I don’t doubt that he would be capable of staging a terrible accident to get rid of her. Unease curdles in my gut.

“I’ll look into it.”

Across the room, Massimo and Aldo hover in an entryway, their eyes watching our entire interaction as they wait for me to join them in a private office. I shouldn’t—it’s foolish to reveal the extent of my affection for her—but I smooth a piece of hair behind Viviana’s ear and bend to kiss her forehead.

“Stay with Lex and Freddy while I meet with Aldo and Massimo,” I murmur against her skin. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

She nods, one of her hands fisting the lapel of my jacket and holding me there just for a moment longer. “Be safe.”

Those two words kindle something inside of me. A month ago, she wouldn’t have given a shit about my wellbeing, and now she implores me to take care of myself like we share the same body and soul. It’s astounding and terrifying, all at once.

And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

An hour later, Massimo, Aldo, and I have drafted the beginnings of a lucrative trade agreement between our respective organizations. If all proceeds as expected and the alliance remains strong, the Cosa Nostra will rise uncontested as the most powerful criminal enterprise on the east coast.

I should be more excited, but every time Massimo opens his mouth, I can’t shake the underlying feeling that he might be responsible for Elenora’s demise. Viviana planted a festering seed in my mind, and now it’s all I can think about. Am I making a deal with the devil?

Aldo pushes away from his desk, rising slowly with age. Somehow, he appears worse off now than he did three hours ago, as if every second takes its toll on his body. “I hope you’re as pleased with this agreement as we are,” he croaks, extending a trembling hand between us.

I stand and shake it with considerably less force than usual, half-afraid that his fingers might crumble into dust if I apply any fraction of pressure. “I am. When we return to New York, I’ll share the plans with my father. If he agrees, we’ll sign the contract.”

I don’t doubt that my father will approve whatever agreement I’ve arranged, but it’s important to give the illusion that he still controls the Cosa Nostra.

“Girardo would be a fool not to,” Aldo grumbles, though there’s no maliciousness in his words. He’s a tired old man desperately trying to appear powerful despite his obvious illness.

Massimo watches his father like a damned predator that has been coddling its prey for years, fattening it up only to strike when it’s most vulnerable. He knows he holds absolute control over the Chicago Outfit, yet he allows his decrepit father to pretend. I can’t decide whether his actions are admirable or deplorable.

“Now,” Aldo shuffles away from his desk. “Let’s go rejoin the party. I’d like to see how well you play poker, Venturi.”

“We’ll join you soon,” Massimo answers before I have the chance to agree. “Luciano and I have a few more matters to discuss.” At Aldo’s hesitation, his son waves his hand in dismissal. “Nothing important. Go on. We’ll only be a moment.”

Aldo grumbles something under his breath and exits the room, the door closing heavily behind him. Newfound tension settles over the office as soon as Massimo and I are alone.

“My father enjoys poker far more than politics in his old age,” Massimo drawls, crossing the room toward a beverage cart with a crystal decanter of bourbon on top. “Every once in a while, like tonight, he’ll take an interest in family concerns again.”

He pours two glasses, lifting one to his lips and extending the other toward me. I take it but don’t drink.

“You don’t seem to mind,” I muse, tilting the glass back and forth and covering the interior with the syrupy liquid.

“Mind that my doddering father likes to spend his days gardening and his nights playing poker instead of endangering our family’s business? No, I don’t mind at all.” Massimo takes another long sip of his bourbon, and, when he lowers the glass again, there’s a grim smile on his mouth. “Just as I’m sure you don’t mind playing puppeteer for your own father.”

I shrug. “My father maintains a healthy relationship with his duties.”

“I’m sure.” Massimo moves to take a seat behind the desk, occupying the grand chair that his father abandoned minutes ago. “My father is dying. Sickness is eating away at his brain and muscles. He wants this alliance with the Cosa Nostra to be the lasting mark of his reign.”

“And what do you want?” I challenge.

Here it is. Our previous meeting with Aldo was merely smoke and mirrors. This conversation with Massimo is what counts.

“I want to be realistic.” Massimo sighs, and he sounds nearly as tired as his father. “Many generations have tried an alliance between the Outfit and the Cosa Nostra before, and it’s always unraveled.”

“Yes, but they were greedy motherfuckers who couldn’t follow simple rules. I like to think you and I have evolved past these limitations.” I counter, one corner of my lips curling into a smirk. “The fact of the matter is, the Cosa Nostra does not need the Outfit. New York is a conglomeration of businesses and criminal enterprises that will thrive, with or without an alliance in the midwest. You, on the other hand, need a friendship with the greatest force on the east coast if you ever want to expand your influence beyond Chicago.”

Massimo’s gaze turns hard and cold, and he leans forward on the desk. “Just because my father and his predecessors failed to recognize the Outfit’s potential does not mean I will make the same mistake. With or without the Cosa Nostra’s help, I will transform the Outfit.”

There’s an unmistakeable threat in Massimo’s eyes, dark as the whiskey at the bottom of his glass. I hit a nerve, it seems, and I have to fight back my grin. Massimo is a powerful man with a volatile temper, but he wears his emotions on his sleeve. He’s far too easy to read, and, in our world, that’s a terrible weakness.

A muscle in his jaw clenches, and his fingers tap restlessly on the mahogany desk. “With that being said, I’d be a fool not to recognize that this alliance with the Cosa Nostra is the easiest and most efficient way to achieve my goals.” The words sound like they cause him physical pain to speak out loud. “We will uphold our end of the contract we mapped out tonight.”

Satisfaction unfurls in my chest, and I lean back in the chair. “Very good.”

“And I trust you will do the same?” Massimo prompts.

I see the opportunity and take it. “Didn’t Elenora tell you that I’m a man of my word?”

His brow creases, and he tenses, undoubtedly reading the underlying insinuation in my question. He shifts in his seat. “Elenora wanted this alliance more than any of us. She spent countless weeks in Chicago over the last year in an effort to build the relationship between our families.”

“There would’ve been more than one way for her to foster this relationship,” I drawl, tracing a finger over the edge of my glass, prodding and prodding…

Massimo huffs a laugh, cold and blunt. “Elenora was a power-hungry bitch, but she wasn’t foolish enough to fuck a rival boss when she already had one’s ring on her finger.”

He’s not lying. I see it in his eyes. I sigh, simultaneously relieved and disappointed, and rise from my seat. I’ve done what I needed to do, and now I want to return to my wife.

“Elenora was killed,” I admit, bringing my glass of bourbon to my lips at last. The liquid fire burns my throat, and I set it on the desk between us. “I’m almost certain of it.”

“And you thought I had something to do with it?” Another chuckle. “I have my own family to protect. I wouldn’t risk their safety by fucking with yours.”

Right. Massimo had a son to think about, his only child and heir after the death of his wife years ago.

I shake my head and opt for the truth. “Viviana spoke to your half-brother. He led her to believe that there might’ve been something more to her sister’s visits here.”

Massimo pauses, his eyes boring into mine with newfound interest. “Nathaniel?”

“Do you have another half-brother?”

His features darken, and the entire room grows thick with tension. Slowly, he leans back in his chair and gestures toward the seat I just vacated. “Sit back down, Venturi. There’s something else we must discuss...”