Virtuous Lies: a mafia romance (Lies of the Underworld Book 1) Page 2

  “Surely, Salvatore still doesn't want me?”

  Cat shrugs. “You’re beautiful. What’s not to want, Bianca? You’re the prize of the family. Maybe his attraction to you is deep enough for forgiveness.”

  It’s stupid that beauty can hold such high esteem. I’m beautiful and, therefore, a prized possession of Cosa Nostra.

  “Let’s make you look as beautiful as we can,” Cat blurts. “Maybe if he’s driven crazy with lust, he’ll be more forgiving.”

  “Unlikely. Wait? You don’t think he’s here?”

  “I don’t know. Your appearance is all we’ve got up our sleeve right now.” Cat climbs off the bed, moving into my closet. “Shower. Let’s remove any reminder of Roberto from you.”

  “I have none of Roberto on me.”

  “They don’t know that.”

  I do as she says. Scrubbing my skin to free it of Roberto’s touch. It’s true that Roberto didn’t fuck me. But his hands felt along my body, and his hideous lips tasted my skin. The thought makes me want to vomit.

  “I’ll fix your hair while you put some makeup on,” Cat tells me as I climb from the shower. “We’ll leave it down. It makes you look less severe.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m trying here, Bianca. I’m scared.”

  I grab her shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry. What dress did you choose?”

  “A cream one. Not white or pure but demure enough to look the part.”

  Twenty minutes later, Cat and I have done our best to make me look innocently enticing. It’s a farce. Lorenzo Caruso thinks I let his advisor fuck me. A betrayal punishable by death.

  I make my way down the stairs on shaky legs. My feet are slippery, my nerves seeping through me and dampening my entire body. I dab at my upper lip, trying to rid myself of the physical giveaway of my hysteria before I come face-to-face with my devil.

  My father’s office is off-limits to us. We do not enter unless strictly invited, which is never. Unless, like me, you’ve just signed your own execution order. I stand at the closed door, eyes shut as I steel my nerves. Glancing over my shoulder, my mother turns away quickly, unable to meet my eye. I don’t look at Cat, knowing her panic will only exacerbate mine. Instead, I look at Tony. His fear is potent enough, but he dips his chin in reassurance. His emotions are a contradiction that do nothing but quicken the beat of my heart.

  I knock, a soft rap of my knuckles against the heavy wood.

  “Come,” my father calls through the door, and hand to the handle, I send off a prayer to anyone who will listen to grant me mercy.

  I duck my head toward Lorenzo as I enter the room, in a show of respect that I hope he reads well enough. From the second our eyes meet, my heart regulates. He doesn’t look angered. Frankly, he looks bored.

  Salvatore is noticeably missing. Thank fuck. But Leo and Vincent are present, which sets off a new melody of alarm bells.

  Leo Caruso. Underboss of New York City and Lorenzo’s younger brother.

  Vincent Ferrari. Roberto’s brother and enforcer for Cosa Nostra.

  Fuck.

  Sitting on the chair beside his brother, Leo slides his index finger across his bottom lip. He watches me carefully with a puzzled pull to his brows. Younger than Lorenzo by at least five years, he’s remarkably handsome, and his schoolboy charm has not yet washed off with his years as a Mafia underboss. You’d be forgiven for thinking he’d be the agreeable brother, harmless to an extent. You’d be wrong. Leonardo Caruso is as dangerous as they come. His threat more potent due to the wholesome front you’re sucked into believing.

  Vincent doesn’t even look at me. His focus is on the street outside, hand cupping a glass of whiskey that I’m tempted to remove from his hand and swallow in one fell swoop to calm my nerves.

  My palms sweat, but I refrain from wiping them on my dress.

  “Bianca.”

  “You wanted to see me, Papa?”

  Quiet encases the room, and I’m uncertain of what to do. I’m surrounded by some of the highest-ranking members of our family, yet I feel anything but safe.

  “Lorenzo, I’m—”

  “Don’t speak unless you're spoken to,” Leo cuts through my pitiful apology, and I duck my head immediately.

  I’m trembling, and I bite the insides of my cheeks to focus on anything but the way my breath comes only in short, sharp bursts.

  “For your betrayal, I could kill you.”

  I swallow audibly at the bite in Lorenzo’s voice. I open my mouth to speak but think better of it, closing it again.

  “I could force your father to have you work for him.”

  “Work for him?” I squeak out, the sound of my voice both embarrassing and broken.

  “As a whore,” he tells me proudly, his voice carrying around the room.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh,” Leo echoes, laughing at me.

  “Would you do that, Bianca?” Lorenzo asks, mirth threading through his question. “Would you spread your legs for the family as an occupation like you did for Roberto?”

  I release a shaky breath. I work to meet my father’s eyes, but he keeps them lowered, refusing to acknowledge the disrespect his boss is lacing me with.

  The sound of a glass being placed forcefully on a table pulls my attention, and I look at Vincent. The harshness in his stare has me wanting to look away, but I can’t. His eyes are so blue you could mistake them for silver. The color of a wolf, ready to rip you apart.

  He’s angered, and I can appreciate that. His brother has just been murdered.

  “No,” Lorenzo speaks again, breaking the trance Vincent and I were caught in. “It’s a waste, though. You’d earn us good money.” He smirks. “But while you disrespect me and your father, I wouldn’t do the same to him.”

  “Th—”

  Leo holds up a finger to silence me, and I eat my words.

  “Salvatore will not have you,” Lorenzo tells me with an exaggerated sigh. “I wouldn’t disrespect him by even asking. But you will be married.”

  “I will?”

  “Mm,” he answers, his gaze lazy as it tracks over my body in appreciation.

  Lorenzo came to power early. Not yet thirty and already the ruthless leader of the New York family. A mere ten years older than me, yet in his presence, I feel like a child.

  “You are of no value to me anymore, Bianca.” He pouts. “Lucky for you, Vincent was gracious enough to agree to a union with you.”

  I startle, my eyes seeking Vincent’s once again.

  “What? No.”

  “No?” Lorenzo echoes, the cut in his voice as sharp as a knife. “You fucked one consigliere, so why not his replacement?”

  I look at Vincent in shock. He’s looking every bit of the enforcer that he is. A man dedicated to violence; one who bends others to his will through threats and beatings.

  “You have no choice, Bianca. You’re a whore, or you are Vincent’s wife.”

  Leo laughs. “Sounds the same to me.”

  Vincent almost smirks, his lips twisting, and I want to spit at his feet. I’m supposed to be his future wife, and he smirks at the thought of me as a whore.

  “Papa?” I rush forward.

  Vincent is no better than his brother. From the rumors, he’s worse.

  Vincent Necktie Ferrari.

  A killer, one who garrottes his victims.

  “You will do as you are told, Bianca.”

  “And what of Caterina?”

  My father stands abruptly. “You have no right to ask questions.”

  I stumble backward straight into Vincent’s hard chest. He steadies me, palms to my upper arms, and I skitter forward, escaping his granite body.

  Our eyes snare, and I drop my gaze immediately, but not quick enough to miss the amused arch of his eyebrow at my panic.

  “Your sister will take your place. She will be offered to Salvatore. Let’s hope like fuck he accepts.” Lorenzo stands.

  He takes a step toward the door, pausing to turn back to me.
“Did you do it?”

  Lorenzo Caruso shouldn’t be this frightening. He’s a man closer to my age than he is my father’s. A firstborn son forced into power after the untimely demise of his father. Yet he’s more merciless than his father ever was. Giorgio held a warmth to him and embraced the family within our unit. A black hole long ago replaced Lorenzo's heart, making him cruel and ruthless.

  “Did I do what?”

  Hand cupping his jaw, he rubs it down his face. “Kill Roberto?”

  I’m not quick enough to school my shock. “Kill him? No.”

  His gaze moves above me to the intimidating heat of Vincent, now a step too close to my back. “That’s right. You and Berto were in love. Right?” He smiles.

  I lift my chin. “That’s right.”

  “My condolences then.”

  The men laugh, and my fists clench without permission. I want to stab each and every one of them. My father included. I want to take a knife and carve out their hearts. I want to slice out their tongues for the disrespect they feel it is their right to dress me with.

  The burn of Vincent’s stare fires at my back, and my rage consumes me. I signed my own death warrant only to be forced into a living hell.

  Vincent Ferrari is not a kind man. He’s a monster.

  I whirl around, my temper catching me off guard. “I’m not a virgin,” I blurt out.

  The tic in my father’s jaw does not go unnoticed. The other men have the decency to drop their heads, an act of respect to show they heard nothing of my confession. As though it was a secret to begin with. I’m only in this predicament because of my defiled nature.

  Vincent, unperturbed by my outburst, takes a step forward, and it takes everything within me not to flinch. My breath holds as he moves toward me, his face as unreadable as ever.

  I turn my face as he steps into me. I can feel the freshness of his breath fanning across my profile.

  He leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I’m sure at least one of your orifices retains its virginal status. I’ll take pleasure in deflowering that.”

  My eyes widen, and I pull in a sharp breath.

  He smiles against my ear, and I’m glad that his face is tucked into my neck to hide the gesture. I’ve never seen Vincent smile, nor do I want to. His unhinged nature does not complement a smile.

  His lips move away from my ear, touching the soft underside. He places the most tender kiss I could ever imagine receiving there.

  He steps back, his impassive mask back in place.

  Gaze sliding down my body, he frowns. Reaching out, he brushes the back of his fingers over my upper arm. They’re adorned with black and silver rings that caress my skin with the cold touch of metal.

  Pulling my scrutiny from his face, I look at where his touch meets my skin, the bruise of Tony’s fingers staining my bicep in blue and purple stripes.

  “Who did this?” he asks.

  I cover the bruise, choosing silence.

  “Roberto?” he tests.

  Roberto was a pig, but he wasn’t aggressive.

  “No,” he murmurs. “Your father?”

  My father moves to speak, but Vincent lifts a hand, stopping him.

  “No,” I defend.

  His bottom lip tips out. “Your brother?”

  A fleeting glance of confirmation must make itself visible on my face because Vincent’s eyes darken.

  “Armando,” he rasps, the menace in his voice sucking the oxygen from the room. “Tell your son that if he marks what is mine again, if he touches what is mine,” he corrects. “I’ll take to his throat with barbed wire.”

  His fingers flick at my hand, and I let it fall away. The pad of his thumb brushes the discoloration.

  “Am I understood?” He speaks again when my father keeps his silence.

  “He was furious at her indiscretion.”

  “Am I understood?” Vincent repeats.

  “Of course,” my father answers, the irritation in his tone palpable.

  Without sparing me another glance, Vincent brushes past me, and they all exit the room. When I’m certain they’re gone, I rush from the room, needing to escape the suffocating space.

  three

  “Other orifice? Was he threatening to take your anal virginity?” Caterina whispers the word, her face twisted in disgust.

  “What else could he have meant?”

  She considers my question, her face scrunched in disgust. “Your mouth?”

  “Yeah, maybe he meant that.” I swallow my trepidation.

  We look at one another skeptically, knowing Vincent was definitely not referring to my mouth.

  “Is that expected?” Cat asks after a long pause. “Anal sex?” She shifts on the bed, pushing her backside firmly into the mattress.

  I shrug, throwing myself back onto my bed. “I think you’re expected to do whatever the fuck they say. They give zero fucks on whether you want it or not.”

  Her face blanches. “That’s rape.”

  My sixteen-year-old sister is blissfully ignorant. I used to think she was naïve, a byproduct of her sheltered upbringing. I've come to realize that she chooses her ignorance. She thinks on a scale of light and dark, refusing to contemplate the shadows between. She romanticizes life in all its ugly glory. It’s never annoyed me until this very moment. I want to shake her. I want to make her see that we were born in the shadows and don’t have a choice. Our father is a career criminal, and whether we want it or not, we’re cast in the same way. The men in our family don’t abide by society’s rules of wrong and right. They’ve created their own laws, and they’re binding to all within the faction.

  “I’m sure they’re not all like that.” I don’t shake her. I appease her.

  Her head moves up and down quickly, swallowing my lie eagerly. “Maybe Vincent won’t be like that.”

  Fat chance of Vincent Ferrari having any consideration for my feelings whatsoever, but I don’t tell Cat that. I smile in reassurance. “Yeah, he’s probably just doing Lorenzo a favor. Maybe he won’t even want to touch me.”

  Cat smiles happily. “Did they say anything about me? About what will happen now that Roberto is dead?”

  I’ve been waiting for this. She let the conversation stay with Vincent and our impending nuptials for the last hour. But I knew it was eating at her.

  Your sister will take your place. She will be offered to Salvatore.

  He’s happy and friendly until you cross him, Bianca. Then he’ll slit you from ear to ear, forcing you to smile as he watches you bleed out.

  “No,” I lie, hating myself as the single syllable falls from my lips. “They were too consumed with threatening me.”

  “Of course.” Guilt passes over her features, and I feel even worse. But I can’t save her from Salvatore. Not without putting a bullet to her head and removing the promise of her from this earth.

  “Let’s watch a movie. Distract me from the disaster of the day.”

  Caterina forces a smile. “Sounds good. You choose.”

  Halfway through the film, my mother walks into my bedroom without knocking. “You’ve had a package delivered.”

  “Me?” I ask dumbly, sitting up. “Who from?”

  She sighs, her exasperation palpable. “I don’t know, Bianca.” She hands me the small box with little finesse. “Well”—she hurries me when I make no move to open it—“let us see.”

  I look at the box and then back at her. “What if I don’t want it? What if it’s a finger?”

  Fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, my mother groans. “Who would send you severed body parts, child?”

  “I don’t know,” I argue defensively. “Maybe my new fiancè?”

  “Ew,” Cat complains.

  I rip away the packaging and peek inside.

  “Well?” My mother strains to see.

  “It’s nothing.” I hold it in my lap.

  “Nothing?” she repeats.

  “A face cream I ordered online.” Up until today, I never held bac
k on the truth. I had no need to. But now I can’t seem to stop. My lies fall from my mouth as easily as I breathe.

  Sliding off my bed, I place the box on my dresser, forcing a yawn. “I’m actually pretty tired. I’m ready to crash.” I look at my mother and sister pointedly.

  Caterina leaves without argument, kissing my cheek before traipsing off to her bedroom.

  “Why doesn’t it have the sender’s details on it?” My mother pauses at the door.

  I mumble incoherently. “I’ll be sure to send them an email and ask.”

  I rush toward the bedroom door the moment she leaves, closing it behind her. I click the lock quietly into place, plastering my back against the wood.

  Rushing back toward my dresser, the ring box mocks me from the tissue paper it’s stuffed within. Pulling the card out first, I let my gaze track over Vincent’s severe writing.

  “I’m confident you’ll find this to your liking.”

  “I’m confident you’ll find this to your liking,” I mimic petulantly. “Asshat.”

  I reach for the ring box as though it’s covered in lava. Afraid it will burn me. The remnants of Vincent’s evil nature pouring through, cursing me for an eternity. Instead, the blue velvet is smooth under my fingers, and I rub the material. It soothes something within me, creating a layer of ease inside my stomach with the tranquility of touch.

  Opening the small box, I want to laugh at the absurdity of me opening my own ring box. No proposal, just the delivery of a ring in discreet packaging.

  Am I supposed to slide it onto my own fucking finger, too?

  I gasp aloud, my hand cupping my mouth to stop the sound.

  Inside sits one of the prettiest rings I’ve ever seen, both delicate and timeless. A pavé-set halo surrounding a princess-cut diamond. It’s ornate and everything I would choose for myself. It’s expensive too—more than some people earn in an entire year expensive.

  I’m afraid to touch it. The absurdity of this being mine makes me feel like a child playing dress-up.

  Pulling it from the security of the cushioning, I hold the band between my thumb and forefinger, bringing it close to my face. It glitters and shines, and I gulp down the lump in my throat. This must have cost a fortune. Considering the way in which Vincent was forced to marry me, I hadn’t even contemplated an engagement ring.