Oath of Obedience (Deviant Doms 2)

I don’t know why I’m defending her, why I don’t want Romeo to be the one to bring down the fucking Rossi family hammer. She’ll pay for what she tried to do, but at my hands, not his.

“She didn’t really try to get away. She hit the lock on the car door when I tried to open it.”

His brow furrows as if he’s perplexed. “She tried to… lock you out? Like a child?” When Marialena knew she was in trouble, she’d always run to the pantry and lock the door from the inside, despite the fact that we had a key dangling from the hook right above the door. It was a childish move, like closing your eyes in the hopes of no one seeing you.

I shake my head. “I don’t know what she was thinking, but she didn’t get away with it. And whether or not that plane crash was intentional, there’s no way of knowing.”

Romeo shrugs. “Sure there is.” I know exactly what he means. We get the pilot and the flight attendant and interrogate the shit out of them.

I don’t wanna do it, though. Not now. Jesus, not now.

My childhood may have been brutal, my job may be savage, but I’d had a regular feast of violence in prison, and I want a fucking break. I’m sick of hurting people. I never liked it, I never will. I’ll do what I have to, but this is not necessary. And I don’t want to build my marriage on a foundation of violence and threats.

I exhale and hold his gaze. “Leave it up to me.”

Romeo looks thoughtful, then finally nods. “Of course, Orlando. I trust you. You know what’s at stake.”

I do. It’s within my power to solidify our family. I can do it. I just need to convince the little brat upstairs.

I don’t know what is going on up there, but she’s taking way too much time. I’m over it. I want this damn ceremony done.

I jerk my chin at nearby staff. “Get her, please. Bring her down.” My brothers are the ones that rule with an iron fist. With my size and reputation, I rarely have to. Staff runs to obey.

Good. Now if only my wife would do the same.

We’ll work on that.

Rings, vows, marriage.

Babies.

Obedience.

In that order.

I’m running out of patience. I’m so damn exhausted after everything that’s happened.

Father Richard speaks gently. “Orlando, you’ve been through a lot.” He’s known me since he poured water over my head at my baptism. I eye him warily, wondering what he’s got up his sleeve.

He smiles apologetically. “Perhaps you may consider… a gentle approach to your new wife.”

I draw in a breath, and then I release it slowly. He witnessed the way my father was with my mother, how Leo is with his wife. My mother hated my father for his cruelty, and Leo, on the opposite end of things, has a wife who doesn’t respect him because he’s spoiled her.

I don’t want to be rude to Father Richard, though. No matter who we are, I was raised to respect a man of the cloth. So I only nod my head. “Thank you, father, but the only thing you have to worry about is the ceremony.”

He nods slowly.

Romeo mutters under his breath, “Gentle approach my ass. Let me know how that works out for you. You show her who’s the fucking boss.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

He chuckles softly beside me.

Finally, I hear footsteps. I look up, expecting to see her wearing maybe jeans, or just to be a wiseass the pajamas I suggested. But she isn’t wearing either. The staff’s got my future bride wrapped in a pretty, soft white gauzy gown, no evidence of any scratches or bruises or lacerations anywhere. It isn’t a real wedding gown, maybe more suitable for a summer night affair. Her hair is done up in a gentle braid that sweeps to the side of her neck. She wears pearl earrings, a pearl necklace, and light makeup that accents her eyes and brings her lips full in pink. She’s fucking stunning.

I swallow hard. I can’t be soft on her, not yet, even if she’s a goddamn supermodel.

“Get down here. Let’s go.”

Santo chuckles softly behind me. I don’t fucking care.

She grits her teeth, sets her jaw, and clomps down the stairs.

I’m supposed to be making babies with this woman. But you know what? Not fucking tonight.

I meet her at the foot of the stairs, take her by the elbow, and half march her over to Father Richard. “Let’s get this over with.”

It’s probably the least romantic ceremony on Earth, but I don’t care. In a few minutes, she wears my ring, and tomorrow we’ll make sure her name is legal. She balked at the word “obey” in our wedding vows, but I gave her a look that made her quickly take the vows.