Shattered Vows (The Sullivan Mafia #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

CIARA

I adjust the strap of my dress for what feels like the hundredth time, though what I really want to do is rip this thing off of my body.

At this point in the evening, it’s just becoming a nervous habit because the dress isn’t the problem.

It’s the suffocating air in this ballroom where my friend is hosting her engagement party.

I’m still surprised I’m even here, though that might have something to do with the serious talking-to my best friend Mila gave me on the phone this afternoon when I texted her to let her know I was backing out.

When Mila starts threatening my life, I know there’s no point but to give in. So, here I am.

In order to get through this night, I’ve made it a point not to venture too far away from the champagne bar because the only way I’m going to survive is by drinking an ungodly amount of the stuff.

“How much longer do you think we need to hang around?” I mutter under my breath.

“We’ve been here less than an hour,” Mila laughs. “It would look bad if we left now. Besides, we haven’t even had a chance to congratulate Sarah on her engagement.”

I tug on my dress strap once again. “Is marrying a mafia boss really something that needs congratulating?”

“Sarah is our friend. We don’t need to agree with her choices.”

“But we do need to blindly support them?”

“Exactly.”

I curse under my breath as a thin sheen of sweat starts to coat the back of my neck.

Why do these parties always have to take place in a furnace?

The Vue is a high-end reception venue in the heart of New York City, and under different circumstances, I’d be in awe of the enormous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the gilded gold detailing of the crown molding.

Instead, I want nothing more than to tear my own skin off.

I shouldn’t be here, and everyone in this room knows it. I’ve walked into enough rooms like this over the past few years to know when I’m not welcome, and tonight is no different.

As I look around, I can’t help but feel like this is more of a power summit than a party, with every man dressed in an expensive tailored suit and wearing a watch that cost more than my college degree, using tonight to secure deals and schmooze with potential allies.

It should feel like my own personal episode of the Bachelorette, but when your last name is McCarthy and you’re one of only two members of your family left standing, you might as well have exile branded across your forehead.

Their whispers still ring in my ears as I sip on my champagne.

Why is she here?

Isn’t her family basically dead?

Wasn’t her father disgraced?

I’m so fucking tired of this. I didn’t choose this life, but it chose me the day I was born into the McCarthy name. A name that used to hold power and status among these people.

I had dreams back then. Dreams of a family, a man who loved me, a man like my father. And if life was generous, maybe even a kid or two.

But when my father died, my dreams died with him.

My brother and I became pariahs, and everyone treats us like we carry the plague.

The McCarthy name was once a force to be reckoned with, a reference.

Now, it is a curse.

My brother and I are all that’s left, and the life my father worked so hard to build for us has crumbled before my very eyes.

How did I get here?

I blink and force my attention back to Mila, schooling my expression into something that resembles interest.

Thankfully, she seems too distracted by all of the hot men to notice my lack of attention.

But as I sip on my overpriced champagne, guilt settles in my stomach as I listen to Mila gossip about the various guests in attendance.

I should be happy that one of my closest friends is engaged, except I’m too lost in my own head to feel anything but shame.

My family name used to carry weight in circles like these, but now it just hangs around my neck like a noose.

My parents are gone, both of them nothing more than memories that will eventually die with me. And despite everything that has happened to my family, I do my best to stand straight and to act like I belong here because if I falter, if I let them see even a crack, then they win.

Mila sighs as she looks around. “How are so many of these men single? They’re all so freakin’ gorgeous.”

I shrug. “Men like this don’t do commitment.”

“I’m okay with that. I’m all for a little one-night stand.”

“I am aware.”

Mila scoffs. “Don’t be a prude.”

“I am not a prude! I just don’t see the appeal of any of the men in this room.”

She suddenly reaches out to grip my arm as her jaw practically hits the floor. “Oh, my god.”

She tightens her grip so hard that her red nails almost pierce my pale skin as her face lights up, her eyes settling on a spot behind my left shoulder.

I frown. “What?”

“There he is.” She jerks her chin toward the entrance, so I subtly glance over my shoulder to see who has just arrived.

Though when I clock who it is, I wish I had stuck to my original plan of leaving the party after one drink.

There he is indeed.

The devil himself.

Ronan Sullivan.

Dressed in all black, Ronan should blend into the crowd of New York’s mafia elite, but instead, he draws the attention of the entire room. His powerful, broad frame cuts a path through the adoring crowd, his tailored suit looking like it might burst under the swell of his muscles with each step.

His usual arrogant smirk plays on his lips as he looks around, as if he knows every woman here would drop their morals, and their panties, for a second of his attention.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I watch him walk across the room like he owns it.

The resentment I feel toward not just Ronan, but his entire family, coils tighter in my chest with every passing second.

The Sullivans dismantled my family and its legacy piece by piece until there was nothing left but my brother and me. They’re the reason my father’s name was dragged through the dirt.

The McCarthys are shells of what we once were, and perhaps if I was a better daughter, I’d fight harder to keep my father’s legacy alive.

But even if I did fight back, I’m no match for the Sullivans.

They have money, connections, and resources, three things that are essential if you want to survive in this world, and I have none. So, what’s the point in even trying?

What makes it even worse is that while my life was torn out from underneath me, Ronan gets to bask in his family’s success like a fucking king.

I hate him.

I also hate how good he looks.

“God, he’s hot.” Mila practically drools as she gazes at Ronan, and I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes.

“Girl, stop. The guy is an asshole.” I turn my back on the room and grab another flute of champagne from a passing tray, downing half in one gulp.

“Maybe, but he’s a sexy asshole. I bet he knows how to satisfy a woman.”

I snort into my drink. “The only person Ronan Sullivan is capable of satisfying is himself.”

“I could give you the numbers of a few dozen women who’d argue differently,” a deep, gravelly voice says from behind me.

I freeze, my glass halfway to my lips.

Mila laughs under her breath as I slowly turn around and come face to face, or rather face to chest, with the man himself.

Even though I’m in six-inch heels, he still towers over me.

He’s standing a little too close, so when I inhale, I catch a waft of his expensive cologne. It’s rich and musky, the kind of scent that clings to your skin like a brand.

Mila clears her throat, and I realize too late that I’ve been staring at him like an idiot.

Ronan’s dark brown eyes flicker as his mouth pulls up into a half-smile that makes my skin crawl.

Unfortunately, other parts of my body react as well. Something that has absolutely no business happening when it comes to this man.

I glare at him, though the fact that my cheeks are now burning gives away my embarrassment, which only adds to Ronan’s smugness.

“Wow.” I place a hand on my hip. “You must be so proud to have such rave reviews. Should I clap for you? Or just take notes from your fan club?”

He huffs a laugh, though there’s no lightness to the sound. It’s more of a deep, throaty rumble that has all the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

“If you're going to talk about me, at least make sure you’ve got your facts straight.”

“I’d rather chew glass.”

His eyes darken just a little as they flick over me, and it takes everything in me not to cower under the weight of his gaze.

If I wasn’t so pissed off, I’d take a little satisfaction in the way his eyes linger on my chest for just a second too long.

Ronan’s dark eyes lock with mine. “It’s good to know your sweet personality is still intact.”

“You’re mistaking honesty for personality, Sullivan.”

“Is that so?”

“I have no interest in talking to you or your harem, so you can leave now.”

“I seem to recall that you were the one mouthing off to your friend about me, which basically confirms you’re a liar.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Ronan smirks as he takes another step closer, but I refuse to back up. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he intimidates me, even though he one hundred percent does.

His face comes within an inch of mine. “I think you’re obsessed with me. You can’t stop talking about me, thinking about me.”

“In your dreams.” My mouth is too dry, so I take a sip of champagne.

“My dreams are filthy, McCarthy.”

I nearly choke on my champagne, and another rumble of a laugh builds in his chest.

I want to slap him. I want to throw my drink in his face. I want to…

God, I want to not want him.

Ronan smirks again, as if he can read my thoughts, and I hate how heat pools in my lower belly.

Am I really that starved for attention that the mere presence of a man has me losing all control?

He straightens again. “Though I will say, when it comes to things you have no idea about, maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself.”

“I was. You were just listening in on people’s private conversations.”

“Is that so?”

I’m about to retort when Mila steps up to my side and links her arm through mine. “Are you done harassing my friend?”

Ronan flicks his gaze toward her, then back to me. But before he can answer, someone nearby calls out his name, and his broad shoulders stiffen.

“For now.” He turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd like smoke.

The second Ronan is gone, I let out a breath, and my entire body sags under the weight of what just happened.

I gulp the rest of my champagne. “He’s a piece of work.”

Mila chuckles. “He’s definitely something, for sure. I swear, you could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife.”

“Trust me when I say I want nothing to do with Ronan Sullivan.”

“It sure didn’t look like that.”

“What did it look like?”

“It looked like you were both picturing each other naked, and honestly, I don’t blame you. That man is two hundred pounds of pure muscle and has the face of a Greek god. I suspect he could crush me with his thighs—and I’d thank him for it.”

“Mila…” I shake my head.

“What? A girl can fantasize.”

“Yes, but not about him.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “Why? Because you called dibs?”

“Hell, no.”

“Uh huh…”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re telling me that you would turn Ronan Sullivan away if he made a move?”

“Yes.”

“You’re full of shit.” She laughs, setting her empty champagne glass on the bar and waving down the bartender for another.

“I mean it.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Ciara. But I know what I saw.”

I scowl at my best friend. But from the way my heart is still pounding and my cheeks are burning, I can’t deny that my body reacted to him with a mixture of pure, undiluted hatred and…lust.

And if I’m being honest with myself, which I rarely am when it comes to Ronan Sullivan, it’s been that way since the beginning.

But the man is dangerous, and I’d do well to remember that.