Chapter 3
Adora
Six weeks earlier
Iclench my shaking hands on my dress as I stare into the coldly handsome face of the man I’m supposed to meet in just a few hours. My future husband. His face fills my laptop screen, angular lines and striking features that should be attractive, but they only fill me with dread.
Vincenzo Vici.
The eldest son of the most bloodthirsty family in Malus.
Our territories border theirs to the west, but though we’re neighbors, there are no warm feelings between us.
My father controls the northeast of Malus, a vast swathe of the city where people are wealthy and move in exclusive circles.
Large, expensive houses line leafy streets, and glittering skyscrapers graze the horizon.
Many casinos and upmarket restaurants line the Acheron River that twines through the city.
Dad takes me there to eat sometimes. He talks to his capos or business associates instead of me, and I pass the evening staring into the river at the colored lights reflected in the water.
Vici streets are in the northwest of Malus, where the buildings crowd closer together and the shadows run deeper.
It’s a darker, grittier place. Their money comes from blood and bullets, not stock portfolios and real estate.
They’re the city’s assassins-for-hire and arms dealers, the family other dons call when they need someone eliminated quietly and efficiently, or when they need the weapons to do it themselves.
And I’m supposed to marry into that.
I’ve never met a Vici before. Even if I’d wanted to meet a Vici, it would have been impossible.
My life is strictly constrained to home and the nearby college, and Dad’s bodyguards accompany me wherever I go.
I feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of their watchful eyes and my father’s iron control.
I trace my finger over Vincenzo’s jaw on the screen, trying to imagine what he’ll be like in person. His blue eyes stare into the camera with cold defiance.
Will he be kind? Will he hurt me the way Dad does?
The questions circle in my mind. Dad wouldn’t give me a picture of Vincenzo.
I had to search for him on the internet, and all I could find was his mugshot from a year ago.
His date of birth tells me he’s twenty-seven, which is seven years older than me.
Vincenzo was arrested on suspicion of killing the owner of a used car business who was mixed up in money laundering for the Dervishis, but the charges were mysteriously dropped.
Or not so mysteriously. In Malus, if you pay the right official enough money or some similar favor, you can get away with murder.
The door to my bedroom slams open without warning.
“Adora. Why aren’t you ready yet? We’re leaving soon.”
My father fills the doorway, his face flushed with anger, and probably whisky as well. His drinking is getting harder and harder these days.
I snap my laptop shut, guilt flooding through me even though I’ve done nothing wrong. “I’m almost ready, Dad.”
“You need to be downstairs in fifteen minutes. Do you understand me?” His voice is cold and clipped. “This marriage is the most important alliance our family has ever made, and you will not embarrass me by making us late.”
I smooth my hands over my satin lilac dress with its ruffled sleeves and hem, the one I spent an hour choosing. I wanted to look nice for Vincenzo, but after seeing my hard-eyed husband-to-be, the dress feels girlish and na?ve.
“I don’t understand why it’s suddenly so important that we ally with the Vicis. Last month you said they were animals.”
“It’s not your place to understand.” He steps into my room, and I instinctively flinch away. “Your duty is to obey. To smile. To make that man like you. Can you do that, or are you going to be as useless as your mother?”
The words hit like a slap. Mom worked herself to a shadow trying to please Dad, but it was never enough. I wonder if I’m doomed to the same fate with my own marriage.
I swallow hard, nodding. “I can do that.”
“Good.” His eyes narrow as he looks me over, cataloging every flaw. “Fix your makeup. You look like you’ve been crying.”
Several tears ran down my face as I brushed mascara over my lashes, but I cleaned them up, and I didn’t think anyone could tell. “Yes, Dad.”
He turns to leave, then pauses at the door. “The Vicis are dangerous people, Adora. Don’t forget that you’re a Montoni first. Always.”
The door closes behind him with a decisive click.
I turn to the mirror, makeup remover in hand, ready to obey like I always do. But I pause, studying my reflection. The mascara isn’t smudged. There’s no evidence of tears. Dad just wanted to make me doubt myself.
I set the makeup remover down. I’m not fixing anything. If Vincenzo Vici thinks I look like I’ve been crying, then he can deal with it. At least he’ll know what kind of family he’s marrying into.
One where brides arrive at their engagement parties already broken.
My hands tremble as I open my laptop one more time and look at the face on the screen.
I shiver as Vincenzo’s blue eyes bore into mine.
What the hell am I going to talk to this man about?
What common ground can we possibly find?
I picture him spattered with blood as a stripper grinds in his lap, a glass of whisky in his hand, and a gun laid on the table before him.
He’s probably a playboy who’ll be impatient and bored with an inexperienced virgin bride.
I’ve never seen an R-rated movie. Never been kissed. Never been to Europe, Japan, New Zealand, or any of the other places I long to visit. My life has been forcibly sheltered, and now Dad’s marrying me off to a killer.
I move closer to the screen and gaze into Vincenzo’s eyes.
He looks terrifying.
He looks…lonely.
I sit back with a sigh. That’s just wishful thinking, and I’m projecting my own feelings onto him. Vincenzo Vici no doubt leads a full, blood-soaked life of danger and adventure, and he’s going to resent his na?ve bride.
He’ll be disappointed the moment he lays eyes on me.
I close the laptop and finish getting ready, my stomach twisting with nerves that feel more like nausea.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in the back of Dad’s car, watching the city slide past the tinted windows. My father sits beside me, checking his phone, his face unreadable. His capos occupy the car behind us, and another car of soldiers follows that one. A convoy for an engagement party.
“Where are we going? I thought the party was at the Bellissimo,” I say, naming one of the restaurants by the river.
“Change of plans,” Dad says without looking up from his phone. “I decided on somewhere more private. The Regal Grand Ballroom.”
I open my mouth to protest that the Regal Grand Ballroom is a massive space, more suited for a wedding with hundreds of guests than a private engagement celebration between two families, but it’s best not to question my father. I close my mouth and turn back to the window.
I wish Mom were here. She’d hold my hand and tell me in her soft, sweet way that everything would be all right.
Vincenzo couldn’t help but fall for me the moment he lays eyes on me.
My throat tightens with grief as I realize she’ll never see me in my wedding dress.
If I get pregnant one day, I’ll never be able to share the good news with her or see her holding her grandchild.
Finally, we pull up to an enormous building that looks like it was once a theater or opera house. Its facade is golden stone, carved with angels, glowing warm in the afternoon light. Garlands of white roses frame the entrance, and a red carpet runs up the steps.
Dad gets out of the car without helping me, and I scramble to follow, my high heel catching on the curb.
Inside, Dad leads me down a wide hallway lined with oil paintings in gilded frames, his men flanking us like an honor guard. We pass through a set of towering double doors.
The ballroom is vast and magnificent, a vision of old-world opulence.
Golden light pours from an enormous crystal chandelier, illuminating pale marble floors that gleam like polished ice.
The walls are covered in intricate molding, cherubs and flowers and vines all painted in gold leaf that catch the light.
Tall arched windows line one wall, the glass sparkling.
It’s beautiful.
Breathtaking.
And completely empty.
No guests. No waiters. No one but Dad’s men, who are positioning themselves around the edges of the room with practiced efficiency.
There isn’t even somewhere for us to sit down and eat, or a table at the side of the room with champagne and glasses.
I wonder if the catering manager isn’t expecting us yet.
“Are we early?” I ask, but Dad doesn’t answer.
“Stand there. Don’t move.” Dad points to a spot beneath the chandelier before striding away to speak in a low voice to one of his men.
I move to the place he indicated, my footsteps echoing in the silence. I feel exposed standing here alone in the center of this golden room. The enormous chandelier hangs above me, and the back of my neck prickles as I imagine it crashing down on my head.
I count my breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. In and out. I can do this. It’s just a meeting. Just an engagement party. The rest of my life has already been decided, and all I need to do is smile and let it happen.
Several figures appear in the doorway.
The Vicis enter.
The oldest man must be Don Elio Vici. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, his dark suit immaculate, a raven tattooed on the back of his hand. His eyes sweep over me with predatory awareness.
Beside him walks a woman who must be his wife. She’s beautiful in a severe way, her pale hair pulled back, her black dress elegant. She moves with grace, but there’s steel in her spine.