Stolen Vows (Vicious Mafia Kings #6)

Chapter 1

Valentina Denaro

I pop awake at the sound of footsteps in the hall and tighten my fist around my knife as fear sweat joins the sheen on my skin.

Nightmares linger in the back of my mind, clouding my thoughts, but I focus on the soft braid clutched in my other hand and force my lungs to expand. The footsteps stop outside my door.

I force my body to relax into the mattress. The clock ticks in the hall. A breeze ruffles the curtains, but the cool San Francisco evening air doesn’t reach my skin through my long-sleeved nightgown and tangled sheets.

I wait with my heart pounding and ears straining, fighting against my instinct to roll off the bed, dart into the bathroom, and lock the door behind me.

My door swings open, and through my lashes, I glimpse my father. Terror grips me.

He flicks on my light and stomps into the room.

I leave my knife under my pillow and sit up with a startled gasp even as relief pours through me.

Drunk father never turns on the light.

“Daddy? What’s wrong?”

I cringe at my words but appeasing him is always more important than my pride.

“Nothing, baby.” My stomach roils at his tone. “We’re going to New York.” I blink and swipe my hand over my face before donning an eager smile. Worms crawl under my skin as his eyes roam over me. “Get dressed and pack an overnight bag. Our plane leaves in two hours,” he says.

I nod and pull my braids over my shoulders before reaching for my blankets. He turns and disappears down the hall. I slide my hand under my pillow and slip my knife into the flowy fabric of my nightgown as I swing my legs over the side of the bed.

The smooth Saltillo tiles cool the soles of my feet as I cross the room and close myself in the bathroom. I press my shoulder against the door and turn the lock as quietly as possible, holding my breath until it slides into place.

With shaking hands, I rush toward the sink and turn on the water before I drop to my knees and open the cabinet.

After tucking my knife into the pocket of duct tape hidden on the underside of the counter, I rise and shut the cabinet, but the doorknob jiggles and I lose my grip. The wood bangs closed.

I meet my eyes in the mirror as I cringe.

Even with my haunted eyes, mature features, and darkened hair, my two French braids, frilly nightdress, and makeup-less face make me look too much like the child my mother left behind.

Which is by design, but no less startling. I’m no longer the pampered twelve-year-old girl who felt cherished and safe with both parents watching over her. Instead, I’m a broken twenty-two-year-old woman desperate to escape her father’s growing mania.

The only way out is the marriage he arranged for me in New York City.

“Are you hiding something from me, Valentina?” my father asks from the other side of the door.

My heart leaps into my throat. I crack the cabinet, sneak my arm inside, and grab the first thing my fingers touch.

“No, Daddy, I’m just packing,” I say in as innocent a tone as I can manage.

A wrapper crinkles in my hand. Mortification and fear flood my mind as I realize I grabbed a pack of menstrual pads.

“Are you hurting, baby?”

Sourness coats my tongue. I instinctually shake my head even though he can’t see me.

“No, I’m fine. Better safe than sorry, so I’ll bring a few with me just in case.”

“I thought you had emergency products in your purse already. Did you need to use them?”

I scramble for an excuse, teetering on the edge of panic as I envision the glint of warped interest in his eyes as they soften in concern.

“No, I gave them to a girl at the mall who had an accident, so I need to restock. I think it was her first period, so she wasn’t expecting it. She was so embarrassed.”

I clamp my teeth together and curse my nervous rambling. My father’s silence fills my veins with ice.

“Did you have a crowd?” he asks.

“Of course. I was out shopping with the ladies from the country club. Don’t worry, Daddy, I—” I swallow and gather myself before lying in the high-pitched, sugary sweet voice I used as a child.

“I bought the girl a pretty skirt from the top luxury brand store, and she was so happy she thanked me over and over again and all the ladies kept saying you raised such a sweet young woman and they couldn’t wait to tell their husbands how trustworthy you must be and—”

“Alright, Valentina. I understand. Good job, baby. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I know your periods are always irregular, but your last few were fairly mild, so you’re due for a—”

I grit my teeth and glare down at the feminine products in my hand, blocking out his voice for a few moments while I regulate my breathing.

Hatred roars through me so fiercely my entire body shakes. Disgust crawls over my skin. Hopelessness throbs deep inside my chest.

“I’m sure, Daddy. I’ll be ready to go in less than half an hour,” I promise.

The disappointment in his reply curdles my stomach.

I shove the pads in the purse hanging from the hook just inside my walk-in closet before unbraiding my hair, shoving my sweaty nightgown in the hamper, and jumping into the shower for a quick rinse. Less than fifteen minutes later, I stand in front of the mirror wearing jeans and a modest top.

I fashion my hair into a quick and easy updo, piling the brunette strands on the top of my head and securing the bun with a few metal-free ties before leaning close to my reflection and checking my roots.

I’ll need to buy another box of hair dye as soon as we get to New York.

Ever since my father began drinking after my mother left, I’ve tried to change my appearance so I look less like her, but there’s no hiding my delicate features and bright blue eyes.

My father fell in love with my mother at first sight.

I remember the sparkle in their eyes as they told of how he swept her off her feet—literally—and carried her off the football field.

A stereotypical Cali girl through and through, my cheerleader mother had never met a dark and dangerous Italian mobster before, but he had the funds to keep her in luxury and the charisma to steal her heart.

For fourteen years, they lived the American dream, twelve of those with me as the center of their universe.

Then everything fell apart and I became my father’s deepest wound.

I shove several pairs of clothing into a medium suitcase, ensuring I have something to wear no matter what situation my father throws me into, and fill a smaller case with makeup, jewelry, and shoes.

Kneeling beside my dresser, I pause as my eyes catch on the item tucked into the corner of the bottom drawer.

The only remnants of my most treasured doll as a child, I lift the bundle of bright yellow yarn and hold it on my palm before cupping my hands under my nose.

Bittersweet memories spear through me as I inhale.

My mother’s perfume lingers under the smell of smoke.

I barely saved this tiny piece of my favorite doll from the fireplace when my father turned his back to toss more things into the flames.

The burns on my fingertips bubbled and scarred, but I feared losing my treasure so fiercely I bore the pain in silence.

That was the first time in my life I didn’t run to someone else when I was hurt.

There was no one to run to anymore.

Also masked within the smell of flames lies a rich, masculine cologne. Not my father’s. My uncle’s. Tears gather on my lashes even as my heart grows cold.

I spent so much time with him as a child he was like a second father to me, even though my mother only treated him as a brother. Maybe life would be easier if they had crossed that line and run off together instead of shattering my heart one after the other.

I tuck the yarn back into the drawer, unwilling to ruminate on the man who ripped every ounce of security from my life. The snake who destroyed my family and shattered my trust.

I close the drawer and zip my suitcases before standing and wriggling my socked feet into my tennis shoes.

Keeping my word, I’m ready to emerge from the bedroom before half an hour passes.

I grab my phone and charger off my bedside table before turning off the lights as I follow the trail of illumination my father left for me.

With my purse on one shoulder, my jewelry bag strapped onto the handle of my rolling suitcase, and the wheels clicking over the floor tiles, I meet my father in the living room.

He smiles as he rises from the couch, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You will have dinner with Romeo Yovanni tomorrow evening, so I expect you to go shopping for a new dress in New York before you settle into the hotel. Capisci ?” he commands.

Bitterness and resignation war within me.

Once upon a time, I enjoyed shopping, but now I’d happily never set foot inside a store ever again if given the choice. The wonder I once felt at the sparkling jewels and fancy dresses died a slow, agonizing death as my father wielded my bubbly persona like a weapon in petty socialite power games.

Even if Romeo only wants me as a trophy wife in a loveless marriage, at least I won’t be under my father’s thumb anymore. Freedom lies less than three months away. I can handle a few more visits to top brand stores to scout future business conquests for my father.

He gestures for me to lead the way to the car. I step out of the house and add a carefree bounce to my stride as I cross the pristine driveway to the covered parking area.

Despite it being nighttime, my father spends most of our travel time on either his tablet or his laptop, so I keep a small smile on my face and a sparkle in my eyes, ensuring he sees me bright and happy every time he looks away from his screen.

It’s exhausting. I hate traveling but staying at home is worse. There are too many memories in my childhood home. It’s too isolating.

After landing, we exit onto the tarmac and slip into different vehicles, my father driving himself in a sedan while I sit in the backseat of a black SUV.

The man behind the steering wheel has a shaved head and overflows the seat with his bulk. The woman in the passenger seat isn’t much better. She may have feminine curves and long hair, but her suit strains to contain her bulging muscles.

I take a deep breath and scratch my nails over my scalp, tucking a few wayward strands of hair back into my messy bun before donning my most disarming smile. After introducing myself, I memorize their names and thank them for their time and expertise.

My father may have hired them to protect me, but his money means nothing if they hate me, so I slather on as much charm as I can.

It works. It always works. Within minutes, the man opens up and tells me of his wife and kids.

The woman takes longer, since her interests lie mostly in working out and learning different fighting styles, but I find as many commonalities between us as I can and praise her for her dedication just enough to disarm her.

By the time we reach the street of high-end boutique shops, my cheeks hurt from smiling and my entire body throbs from traveling, but the new connections ease some of the angst in my soul.

No matter which store I enter, my bodyguards follow with watchful eyes. I stay vigilant despite their protection.

Many people covet my father’s wealth and power, and since I seem like his biggest weakness, I always carry a bright red target on my back.

After several hours of mundane shopping, I stride across the sidewalk toward the opened back door of the SUV.

The setting sun glints off a nearby building, momentarily blinding me.

I turn my head and pass my bags full of newly purchased items to the attendant.

As he steps toward the trunk, the hairs on my nape rise.

I scan the busy storefronts and stumble when I glimpse a familiar set of shoulders in the crowd, but the man disappears behind a bus before I can confirm who it is.

Fear sweat gathers on my brow.

Unsettled and uncertain, I drop into the SUV and shut the door.

I must be losing my mind. There’s no way I just saw Mario Luciano, my father’s ex-best friend and consigliere, in the streets of New York City.

He’s dead. My father hunted him down and killed him after he betrayed my entire family.

My heart must be playing tricks on me. I shouldn’t have woken emotions I buried long ago by smelling the charred yarn of my doll’s hair.

He was my uncle in every way except blood. My parents trusted him. I trusted him.

He was always larger than life to me. Always the calm in the storm. Always the one I ran to first, whether in excitement, fear, or pain.

His greed ruined everything.

Because of him, I’ll never trust another human being again.

I swallow the lump in my throat and hide my expression by fastening my seat belt. With my smile plastered on my face and my exhaustion tucked away, I lift my head and meet the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

Alarm skitters down my spine, but he offers me a flash of a smile, shifts his attention out the windshield, and pulls out into traffic.

I berate myself for seeing things that aren’t there.

The bodyguards my father paid ridiculous amounts of money to protect me aren’t out to hurt me.

And the man I once daydreamed over, who betrayed my father and shredded my happiness, isn’t following me through the streets of New York City.

My first crush and bitter enemy, Mario Luciano, isn’t back from the grave and watching me like he always said he would.