Chapter 8: Veiled Vows: Chapter 8

Two weeks later, Jasmine sits across from me with her father presenting some interesting logistical changes to how we bring shipments overseas, and I can only think about one thing.

She’s in love with someone else.

That sentence has fed my curiosity ever since the party announcing our sudden engagement. I shouldn’t care. Jasmine isn’t mine in any shape or form; she’s merely a tool to help me keep my family safe until it’s my time to slaughter them all. She’s a woman with her own goals and desires, so why does it bug me so much that she’s in love with someone else?

I looked into her social background but couldn’t find any boyfriend or girlfriend. The only romantic partner she comes close to is her best friend’s boyfriend, but they don’t even seem to like one another. The rest of the time, she’s at home with her mother or at work with her father.

Is she in love with herself?

If that’s what she was implying then it’s a very clear message for me to back off, but that’s difficult because she flirted back with me. It was light and loose, but knowing she was in the bath while on the phone with me was rather exciting. The same kind of excitement as having her pressed against me in that closet with the overwhelming risk that someone could catch us at any second.

Jasmine tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and slides another folder across to my father. While Santino’s face is calm, I detect the hints of frustration lingering in the corners of his eyes and the restrained anger each time his lip twitches. He’s not used to a woman laying out the rules for him. After the party, he made it clear that the wedding was not going to happen, and he stood his ground until the official congratulations flooded in from every notable Mafia family in New York.

Now he’s trapped, and watching him squirm brings me a particularly sweet delight. I presented the wedding in such a way that he could take credit, which he did at the time because when put on the spot, he had no other choice. But behind closed doors, his desire to tear the engagement to shreds was strong and likely would have won out if not for the Mancinis personally sending someone with gifts.

My father may be cocky and arrogant, but he won’t spit directly in the face of the Mancinis. He’ll do it in private like everyone else.

Enzo, however, seems perfectly relaxed and agreeable about the whole thing, including the ideas Jasmine presents about shipments. He’s taught her well, and either he’s really laid back or he’s putting on a fantastic mask to hide behind.

“Well?” Jasmine clasps her hands together. “I think you’ll find these terms more than agreeable.”

“Agreeable?” Santino leans forward and I tense up. “You’re asking me to carve out a section of my livelihood to make way for your blundering ideas.”

“Hardly a sacrifice,” Jasmine replies smoothly. “It’s only been part of your livelihood for six years. Do you get that comfortable so easily?”

My father’s face hardens into stone as his hand curls into such a tight fist that the creak of his knuckles is alarmingly audible. “Six years is a lifetime, little girl,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

“What my father means to say,” I interrupt quickly. “Is that your plan is bold. And you’re correct, appeasing the Yakuza would give us a straight line to a more profitable drug deal. But settling things with the Yakuza may be more difficult since we don’t have issues with them. You’re asking us to sabotage a good deal in order to make up for their wrongdoings to you and your family.”

Jasmine’s eyes narrow.

“But,” I continue on quickly. “The prospect of a better deal is what we should focus on because let’s be honest, why let the Yakuza earn more money when we could pocket it ourselves?”

Jasmine relaxes a fraction as her pleasant smile returns. “Exactly.”

“Leave this with me,” Santino says gruffly. “I need to speak to my son.”

Jasmine shoots me a brief, curious look as she stands, then she’s led out of the room with her father by one of our guards. The door is barely closed when he slams his fist on the table.

“I swear I would be in the ground before that cunt sat across from me and told me what to do!”

“Dad—”

“Don’t you dare!” He turns to me, anger blazing in his eyes. “This is your fucking fault!”

“I know. I know. But I saw an opportunity and I took it. We’ve been over this.”

“What opportunity?” He throws his hands up and stands so abruptly that his chair clatters back. “All I see is the enemy at my dinner table because of you.”

“And they will stay there, don’t you see?” Rising, I follow him to the drinks cart. “As long as they are here making plans with us, they aren’t out there making war. And as soon as that ring is on her finger then her family becomes my family. Our family. I will remain the patriarch and she will fall in line under me.”

“Will she?” Glasses clink and clatter as he pours his drink. “Are you sure about that?”

“I am. I know women like her. And if she resists, then it’s more fun for me.” The words turn my stomach, but they appease my father’s cruel streak, and within a few sips, he starts to calm.

“You’re balancing on a blade, Roman. One wrong move and …” He shakes his head, clicking his teeth.

“I know. The Yakuza.”

He locks eyes with me. “What about them?”

“Will they be a problem?”

“Should I be asking you that?” Santino’s eyes narrow to slits, and just like that, all my decades of hard work to prove myself to my father threaten to crumble into nothing if I say the wrong thing.

“You know where my loyalties lie,” I say firmly, staring unwaveringly into his eyes. “My misguided years in the Yakuza were because of my search for you. You know this. My loyalties are here with you, not them. You know this.”

“Do I?” He stares at me over the edge of his glass, then waves me away with one hand.

I know this game. He’s pissed. He’s pissed at Jasmine and her father, at how the bigger families are watching us, at how I handed him this union on a silver platter and let him take credit—but it wasn’t his idea so it’s just not good enough.

I could tell him the truth. That the Mancinis want to kill us all because this fucking war is spilling across borders, but that would ruin my fun. This way he gets to suffer a little and I get to watch it.

Still, knowing that all it takes is one angry day for him to throw my entire life of servitude under the bus is fucking infuriating. I’ve killed for him. Cleaned up more messes than I care to count. I’ve ripped my soul out and charred it for him and told myself it will all be worth it because in the end, I will be on top and I will get to watch him wither.

That dream feels further and further away the older he gets and the more temperamental his mood becomes.

My sourness follows me through the manor, and I bite the head off the guard that informs me that Enzo Falzone has departed, but his daughter is still here. Why he left her behind is beyond me, but I find her in the library.

With Alto.

I see red.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jasmine’s head snaps up from the desk she’s leaning over. All her thick, dark hair cascades over one shoulder and brushes down the length of her arm to the pen clasped in her fist. Alto hovers over her with one hand on the book they’re both studying, and when we lock eyes, his smile turns into a sneer.

“Told you. He’s like a fucking bull.”

“You want to tell me what the hell you’re playing at?” Stalking inside, my anger burns a few degrees hotter. Seeing Alto always puts me in a bad mood, but seeing him that close to Jasmine is even worse. She’s not mine, and yet his very presence around her is enough to make me want to rip his fucking face off.

“Alto was just helping me find some Yakuza history,” Jasmine explains as she straightens up. “Should we not be in here?”

Yakuza history. Of course he is.

“You were supposed to be at the meeting supporting Father, but you weren’t. Where the hell were you?”

Alto rolls his eyes. “I had more important things to do.”

“Bullshit.”

“Unlike you, Father doesn’t need to keep a constant eye on me, and I trust him to do the right thing. You’re the one that hangs around like a bad smell incapable of taking a hint.”

My hand curls into a fist while my teeth clack together. “For someone so intent on getting back in his good graces, you’re doing a piss poor job of showing that you even have worth.”

“Should I leave you two to it?” Jasmine tucks her hair behind her ear and closes the book. Despite the softness of her words, the annoyance is clear in her tone, which only angers me further.

“No, don’t worry,” Alto smirks. “I’m leaving. Because I’ve got shit to do.” He winks at her, making my skin crawl, and then passes by me uncomfortably close. “You forget, Roman, that I have the one thing you will never have. The one thing that Father values the most.”

“And what’s that?” Spinning to face him, Alto reaches the door and gives me a cold smirk.

“Blood.”

He slips out the door, narrowly missing the mantle clock I launch at his head. It shatters against the door and cascades into a thousand pieces, leaving an alarming silence in its wake, followed by the twisted retreating cackle of Alto.

“I fucking hate that guy.”

“You don’t say,” Jasmine snorts. “So, I’m marrying a guy with anger issues. Cool.”

“I don’t have anger issues.” Turning to face her, I’m surprised to see her standing so close with several books in her arms.

“Could have fooled me,” she replies, her eyes darting quickly around my face.

“I have Alto issues.”

“Aren’t siblings supposed to grow out of the loathing stage?”

“Fuck knows.”

“Hm. Glad I’m an only child.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I don’t care.” She shrugs one shoulder. “You don’t scare me.”

In an instant, my anger starts to dissipate. “Oh really?”

“Really.” A hint of a smile warms her lips. With a toss of her head, she turns and crosses the room to the wooden ladder that grants access to the higher shelves.

“I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Do you want to scare people?”

“No.”

“Good, because you’re not scary.”

“I can be.”

“Maybe.” She glances over her shoulder and looks me up and down. “But not to me.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’m sure to countless others you’re terrifying. But I know I could kick your ass so I’m not worried.”

“Hold on.” It’s impossible not to follow her. “I’m triple the size of you. There’s no way you could kick my ass.”

“See, that’s where big guys like you always fail. You think size wins every time, but really, it doesn’t.” Balancing the books in the crook of one arm, Jasmine begins climbing the ladder. “I’m small, sure. But I’m fast. Scrappy. And you, Gigantor, have one low center of gravity. When you go down, you go down hard, and it’s really not that difficult to bring down a giant.”

She really knows what she’s talking about. I noticed the muscular hint of her build back when we were locked in that closet, and in this day and age, it’s impossible to exist in this world without some kind of skill. I just didn’t know how much, and now I want to know more.

“I feel like you’re threatening me,” I say as she gathers her skirt close to her knees with her other hand and loops the fabric around one of the ladder rungs.

“Does that scare you?” She smirks down at me.

“Scare isn’t the word I would use.”

“Interesting.”

“What were you reading anyway? I didn’t think anyone gave a shit about these books.” Certainly not Alto.

“I bumped into your brother and he was asking me about the meeting, so I laid out a brief version of how we could bottleneck the Yakuza into a better deal. The threat of cutting them out completely only works if they believe we have the power to do it. I just don’t know much about the Mexican drug trade where the Yakuza get the majority of their supply, and Alto claimed you had books on it.”

“And did we?”

“Sure,” she scoffs, sliding one book back onto the shelf. “If we were still navigating the nineteenth-century drug trade.”

“Sounds like Alto,” I scoff bitterly. “So full of fucking shit.”

“I thought he was just being nice.”

“Doubtful. Probably wanted a look up your skirt.”

Jasmine pauses, climbing higher as I step forward and place one foot against the base of the ladder. It’s nailed to supports that glide horizontally across the shelves so there’s no danger of it slipping, but it calms my mind.

“Is that what you are trying to do?” She peers down at me over the remaining books in her arm. “How dirty.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure her, desperately averting my eyes from her gorgeously toned legs that disappear into the creamy frill of her bunched-up skirt. “I’d ask.”

“What a gentleman,” she chuckles. “So what’s your beef with your brother?”

“Half,” I murmur on reflex.

“And that. Why is he talking about blood?”

“He’s my half brother, if you couldn’t tell.” I pat my chest with one hand. “And he’s a racist piece of shit who cares about garbage like that.”

“Santino Gatti has a bastard son in his home?” Jasmine finishes sliding one book back and hangs onto the top rung while staring down at me. “How did you manage that?”

“A lot of hard work.” Somehow, when she says it, it doesn’t feel as insulting as when it comes from Alto.

“I’m impressed.” Jasmine leans far to the left and slides the last book back. “Maybe I should be scared.”

“Maybe you should.”

Books secured back on the shelf, she starts to climb back down, but a few rungs away, she stops and looks over her shoulder at me. “Full disclosure, Alto told me he was the better choice. He said you’re not marriage material and if I wanted a real man then I should choose him instead.”

“Fuck,” I snort as laughter bubbles up. “He’s been on my ass about how shitty this plan is, and it turns out he just wants it for himself.”

“I quite like being in demand. If it wasn’t for the fact that your father is a psychopath and your entire family has been our sworn enemy for six years.”

“We were allies once.”

She pauses her climb not far from the ground with her body angled away from me in order to look down at me again. “Yeah. Once.”

Jasmine slips on her next step, missing the rung by an inch. Despite the grip she has on the ladder, both my hands fly out and catch her hips and leg as she squeaks in alarm. She clings to the ladder with a soft laugh as her skirt bunches up higher on her thighs. Face-to-face with her ass, I look up at her.

“You good?”

“Yep. No shame here.”

“Oh, none at all.”

But now I can feel her. An inch of hot skin under my thumb where her skirt caught and rode up further, exposing her thigh to my saving hand. My other hand rests on her hip, and I know I should pull away and let her down.

Then something urges me on.

Before I can think it through, I’m stroking up the back of her thigh with my thumb until I find the lace hem of her panties.

I should stop.

But she doesn’t stop me. Instead, she’s watching me over her shoulder, and when I look up at her, she smirks. “Pervert.”

Her skin is silky soft and radiating a heat I want to bury myself in. She doesn’t stop me when I slide my hand up further and cup the swell of her ass. She doesn’t stop me when I move my other hand down to caress her opposite leg and push her skirt fully out of the way. She doesn’t stop me when I reach the waistband of her panties and slowly tug them down.

She also doesn’t stop me when I cave to the sudden primal urge to taste and kiss the back of her thigh.

What am I doing? This has too many ways in which it can go wrong, but the first taste of her warm skin against my tongue has me hooked. I kiss her again, and again, following a path up the back of her thigh to the swell of her ass while she shuffles back and forth to drop her panties.

The fabric lands against the leg I have planted to keep the ladder steady, and a soft breath rushes out past her lips. “That’s all you got, big boy?”

Clasping her ass in both hands, I shove Jasmine against the ladder and firmly pull her cheeks apart. Then I dip down and shove my face between her silky soft legs.