Cruel Vows

MASSIMO

The day before my wedding and I still can’t tame my feisty red-head.

She’s been trying anyway she can to put me off marrying her, but there’s nothing she could do, aside from murder me, that would stop this wedding.

This meeting with the Callaghan clan seems like a pointless idea and conveniently timed a day before I’m meant to marry. I can’t help but feel it’s a mistake. My father and Rourke came to an agreement to liaise about the Russians.

After all, they’re our natural enemies and the tensions all started when my father accidentally killed Rourke’s mother during a misunderstanding. It was never intentional.

She got caught in the crossfire, and shouldn’t have even been there.

The murder of Ronan by the Bratva is the reason for this shit show and if we’re going to get anywhere, communication is key.

I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at Rourke. We were rivals at The Syndicate Academy, being in the same year.

“Nice to see you, Mas.”

I narrow my eyes. “Not so nice to see you, Rourke.”

He chuckles. “Now, now, I thought this was supposed to be an amicable discussion.” Rourke clasps his hands together in front of him on the table between us. “Although I should kill you for murdering my mother.” His nostrils flare as he stares at my father.

“It was an accident,” Father says, sitting back further in his seat. “One, I apologized to your father for many times, but I appreciate it’s not a forgivable offence.” His eyes narrow. “After all, your grandfather shot my wife dead fifteen years ago.”

Rourke claps his hands together. “Indeed, let’s not drag up the past.”

“Now, what exactly is this information you’ve stumbled across?” Father asks.

“A plot that could harm each one of us in this room.”

I raise a brow. “A plot by Spartak?”

He shakes his head. “No. A plot by someone in his Bratva, to seize control of the entire city.”

“Impossible,” Father says, shaking his head. “There’s no way in hell anyone could oust us all.”

Rourke tilts his head. “I have evidence. Have you heard of Adrik Volkov?”

“Of course, he’s Spartak’s waste of space, nephew.”

“Perhaps not so much of a waste of space after all.” He pushes a photo over to us, which shows him at the Estrada Cartel mansion with Hernandez Estrada, the head of the Cartel here in Chicago. “He’s pulling strings behind his uncle’s back. Rumor has it they’ve only been having discussions with all of us to buy time.”

“Motherfuckers,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “It makes sense why they haven’t yet taken sides, but how exactly did they expect to take all of us down?”

Rourke has a cocky smirk on his face, one I’d love to wipe off of it. “The bastard is crazy. He’s got some pretty hefty artillery.” He pushes another photo over of short and long-range missiles.

“What the fuck?” Father asks.

“He intends to blow us out of Chicago and then pick up the pieces with the Estrada Cartel behind him.”

“And his family?”

“He hates his family, so I’d assume he intends to blow them away as well.”

“Maledetto figlio di puttana,” I mutter, as it’s truly the most insane plan I’ve ever heard.

“Unfortunately for us, it means we need to work together to stop him.”

Father sits up straighter. “How can we be sure this isn’t some elaborate ploy?”

Rourke runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “You can’t be sure, but you can do your own research.” He nods to one of his men, who I recognize as Gael Ryan, and he comes forward. “Gael will instruct your spies when and where to dig, and you can find the evidence for yourself if you don’t trust ours.”

Father glances at me, our eyes meeting. “What do you think, Massimo?”

“I think that partnering with the Callaghans would be suicide.” I meet Rourke’s gaze. “But if what he’s saying is true, it may be better than complete annihilation.”

Lorenzo nods in agreement. “I can get our guys to verify the information.”

My father stands. “Thank you for reaching out to us, Rourke. We will discuss it with your man and get back to you on this.”

Rourke stands also, holding a hand across the table. “Of course.”

Father observes it for a few seconds before shaking his hand.

And then we walk away, leaving the mutual meeting place together.

“That went far better than I expected, other than the fact that we could be dealing with some unhinged pyromaniac.”

Father clears his throat. “Yes, but I fear if this is true, we may have to consider a partnership with the Russians as well.”

“Are you insane? The Russians are the ones behind this.”

“No, Adrik has gone rogue, and he’s working against Spartak and his own family.” I’ve never seen my father look so burdened before as he runs a hand through his graying hair. “It means we have no choice but to consider all avenues, even if that means the Russians.”

“Even after what that bastard did to Imalia?” I ask, rage coursing through my veins.

Father stops and places a hand on my shoulder. “You still have a lot to learn, son, but one thing you must understand is that being a don of a family means you must make hard choices.” He shakes his head. “Often choices you never thought you’d make.”

I clench my jaw at the mere thought of joining forces with a man like Spartak. A man that kidnapped our cousin and then brainwashed her into believing she loves him.

We haven’t seen her for four months, not since the incident on her wedding day when we stole her from him. It’s been a turbulent four months of bloodshed, theft, and escalation on all sides. And that’s why we were so surprised to receive this invitation from Rourke.

“I understand,” I say, even though deep down all I want is to string Spartak up by the neck and watch as the life slowly leaves his eyes. A man like him shouldn’t be allowed to walk this earth, let alone have so much power.

Father nods. “Good. Now let’s go home and brief the famiglia.”

He turns and leads the way, following Lorenzo out of the rundown bar and onto the street, where our driver is waiting for us.

All I really want to do right now is return to my room and take my rage out on Paisley’s beautiful ass. Less than twenty-four hours and I’m going to make her mine in every sense of the word.

* * *