Vow to Me: A Mafia Arranged Marriage (The Romano Empire Book 1)

Chapter Three

“I’m so happy for you man, look at you wearing your tux, getting all dolled up for your little princess,” Enzo laughs from the armchair.

We’re in my penthouse getting ready for this fucking wedding. I tried for weeks to find an alternative, so I don’t have to go through with this deal, but the Russians and Colombians are closing in on us.

We’re no closer to finding our rat and if it carries on this way our father is gonna blow a gasket and make himself ill, landing himself in early retirement, and there’s no fucking way I’m becoming Don right now at the ripe old age of thirty.

So, alas, I’m getting ready to meet my bride to be, at the fucking altar. Antonio Bianchi must have kept his little girl behind lock and key, or at least off of social media, away from the press and away from any fucking cameras because I haven’t even seen her face.

All I know from the digging Alec did on her is that she’s twenty-four and has a degree in computer science that she completed remotely. What the fuck she plans on doing in computer science I don’t know. The weird thing is that he couldn’t find anything else on her, and considering his occupation, that’s a fucking red flag if there ever was one.

I dug around with some contacts I have in Chicago and found out that she’s the epitome of spoilt Mafia princesses, spending her days at home, or out shopping while spending her Daddy’s money and spending her time with equally spoilt socialites, drinking the day away out for brunch with her friends. I don’t really give a fuck what she does with herself as long as she doesn’t annoy the fuck out of me, stays out of my way and as long as she upholds her vows.

I may not love the woman, or even fucking know her, but to me, marriage is a lifelong commitment. I won’t have her fucking around with other men. Same as I won’t fuck other women.

It’s simply a matter of respect, if a man so much as looks at my wife for a second too long, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes, and if someone thinks they can touch her? Yeah, I’ll dig out their fucking intestines and use it as a noose before hanging him from the Empire State Building for all of New York to see. Let that be a warning of what happens when someone touches what’s mine.

Huh, maybe I’ll do that anyway. Could be fun.

“He’s not paying us any attention, Enzo. He’s lost in his own little world dreaming up a white picket fence and a minivan,” he adds and Marco chuckles. Clearly, they’re both enjoying my demise.

“Go fuck yourselves. I hope Dad makes some more deals and gets you both married off.”

They both snort, knowing that that’s highly unlikely. Lucky bastards.

They might piss me off, but I know that both of them would step up and do exactly what I’m doing right now if the family needed them too. My brothers and I have always had each other’s backs.

Enzo is the wild card out of the three of us, he’s either chill as fuck or quite literally blowing shit up—there is no in-between. Whereas Marco is the serious one, the planner, he does nothing without planning everything methodically and he never lacks a plan. And finally, I’m the one everyone comes to for help, I’m the fixer out of the three of us, as shown by this sham of a wedding.

Growing up without our Mama taught us to appreciate the family we have. I’d take a bullet for the both of them, just like they would for me. Before Mama died—and before Enzo was born—she would read me and Marco bedtime stories to get us to fall asleep, sometimes she made them up too.

I always remember her telling me a story about a prince that saved a princess from a dragon. The dragon had kept the princess locked up in a tower, only letting her out when it served its own needs, or something along those lines. My point is, after that story, my Mama told us that one day, we might be the prince that saves our very own princess. She told us not to be afraid of the dragon, and that sometimes you have to become one yourself in order to survive in our world. She taught us to not fear darkness, but to embrace it, and that maybe one day, we might have our own happily ever after.

I can’t help but wonder if she’d be disappointed in what we’re doing today, because this sure as hell isn’t the start of a happily ever after for me. Then again, I never believed it would happen for me anyways, at least I’ll be able to save the princess.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself from raging at the fact I’m basically being forced to marry a complete stranger. Over the last couple of weeks, I debated reaching out to her. I thought it might be a good idea to meet her at least once before she becomes my wife. However, Marco pointed out that I’ll be better off going into this indifferent, rather than giving her false hope of us having a happy and loving marriage.

“Seriously, brother, we can probably find a different way to get ahead of the other organizations without you going through with this, there’s still time,” Marco says from where he stands at the kitchen island, nursing a glass of whiskey.

“You know as well as I do that if we back out now, not only will we be at war with the Cartel and Bratva, but we’ll be adding the Chicago outfit to that list as well. There’s no fucking time at all,” I sigh.

Speaking of time, I check my watch and cringe. Fuck. I need to be at the altar in thirty minutes.

Ilook out over the crowd, they’re mostly familiar faces, with a few I don’t know from Chicago. Both of my brothers are on my left, snickering to themselves about who the fuck knows what, probably gossiping away to each other and using me as a punchline to their jokes, the usual. I’m past caring at this point, ready to get this over with so I can go home and drown myself in a bottle of whiskey.

On the other hand, I’m dreading getting home, knowing it will no longer be my sanctuary and instead my space will be taken up by some random woman. I don’t even let my fucking booty calls into my home, no woman has ever stepped through the threshold for as long as I’ve lived there.

I wonder what she expects of tonight, will she want to consummate the marriage? Her Father needs heirs, so I’ll have to fuck her at some point.

Fuck, what if she’s a virgin?

I’m not a nice man, I’m not fucking gentle or into love making or whatever the fuck women expect when they lose their virginity. What does she do with her days? I hope to fuck she doesn’t expect to come in and redecorate my space, or move my things, or—

My thought process is cut off as the orchestra starts playing and I turn just in time to see Bianchi come into view, he walks a couple of steps and then his daughter joins him at his side. I take in her long white, silk dress, noticing the curves of her body. She’s not stick thin like I expected and like most Mafia princesses who only eat salad and won’t eat anything with over three hundred calories.

No, she’s got curves in all the right places. My gaze travels higher to see her full breasts, and then I get to her long blonde hair, which of course is perfectly styled and suddenly Bianchi is handing his daughter off to me as she steps up next to me, and I see her face for the first time and, well, fuck. I have to make an effort to keep my expression indifferent, I don’t want her getting the wrong ideas before we’ve even exchanged rings.

I stare straight into her chocolate brown eyes, getting lost in them. She’s got long, thick lashes and rosy cheeks and goddam, she has to be the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life. Still, just because she’s gorgeous doesn’t mean I’m about to like the woman, she could have the personality as prickly as a cactus for all I know. And I hope she doesn’t expect me to end up falling in love with her, because I sure as shit do not do all that emotional stuff. She’s also tiny, like really fucking small. I tower over the girl.

My brain isn’t even registering the vows we’re repeating back to each other while we stare at each other. She doesn’t seem particularly happy, but she’s not scared either. She’s not afraid to meet my gaze as most people are. No, the little spitfire holds eye contact, where half the men I know would end up looking away.

Finally, the rings are exchanged, and the priest kindly says, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Yeah… no. If I’m ever going to kiss the woman, the first time sure as hell isn’t going to be in front of three hundred fucking people. I give her a quick, chaste kiss on her cheek before turning and extending my hand out to her, ready to escort her back down the aisle.