A Vow of Love and Vengeance

“Luca Donato. I am—”

“I know who the fuck you are.”

“Good.” I slid a drink in front of him and rounded the bar. He turned on the bar stool as I came to a halt in front of him. “That makes this easier. I have a proposition for you.”

“Let me guess, you want me to turn on my uncle,” he sneered.

“No need. Your uncle will be dead very, very soon. What I need from you is to lead The Outfit.”

He frowned at me, confusion blanketing his face.

“And in exchange for my allowing you to live and take the throne, you and I will be allies through marriage. You will act as… well, think of it as a franchise of the Famiglia.” I knew he wouldn’t go for that last part, but Emilia had dangled it in front of Nero like a pot of gold at the end of a blood-stained rainbow, and now he wanted it.

Luca laughed, throwing his head back as he clutched his ribs.

Jackson jerked his thumb toward the guy who was almost as bulky as him. “Just kill him now, Gio. You’re wasting your time.”

The laughter cut off before Luca pushed to his feet. “Fuck you. He’s right. Kill me, just like you did my father.” He looked me up and down with a level of hate reserved for the real personal shit. “I will never ally with you. Never betray my family.”

And that left us both in a predicament. Him, for obvious reasons, and me, because Emilia would never forgive me if I killed him. There was no doubting the fact that I really should kill him regardless. Even if he did eventually agree to terms, I couldn’t trust that he’d hold to it. A man would do and say anything to save himself. And given the level of hatred I saw in Luca Donato’s eyes right now, I’d say betrayal was likely.

Which brought me back to why the hell I wasn’t putting a gun to his head right now and pulling the trigger—Emilia. She was no longer just my weakness. She’d become a gaping fucking hole straight to my heart.

“Why not? Betrayal seems to be a common theme in your family. I guess I shouldn’t be offended that Sergio fucked me over when he could so easily do it to his own nieces.”

I watched his reaction carefully. Did he know Sergio had double-crossed me? Did he know or care what happened to his sisters?

Luca’s jaw ticced, but he said nothing, gave away nothing.

“Soon enough, you will be forced to make a choice, Luca. In less than a week, I will marry Emilia—”

“Just because you’ve made my sister your whore, doesn’t mean a thing.”

My fist collided with his jaw hard enough to send him sprawling off the bar stool. He was up and in my face a moment later. Jackson made no move to intervene. He didn’t need to.

“I’m trying really hard not to kill you, but you’re making it difficult.” I shook my head as he spat a glob of fresh blood onto my floor. I turned my back on him and swiped the bottle off the bar, refilling my drink. “Emilia will be upset if I hurt you. Now…if the only way I get her is by forming an agreement with you, then you will form a fucking agreement. Do you understand me?”

He laughed again before staggering back to his seat. “So, my little sister has you wrapped around her finger, too.” He shook his head. “She had Renzo turning traitor for her, and now the great Giovanni Guerra tempered.”

“Make no mistake, Donato, your uncle will die.”

“Perhaps, but not before you’re forced out of Chicago.” He let out a hacking cough that did not sound healthy. “You can’t fight the mob and us. How many men have you lost in my city, Guerra?”

I fought the urge to snap his fucking neck right there and then. The death of my men was not something I took lightly. I hated that their wives and children were now paying for my mistakes.

I showed none of my feelings to him, though, instead painting a smile on my face. “How many have you lost to me, Luca? How many of Sergio’s men have died for a war he started? For one man’s greed.”

He fell silent.

“Exactly.” I let out a breath, dragging my gaze over him in disgust. “On second thought, I may not have a need for a man who cares so little for his own men. Perhaps Renzo could run The Outfit instead.”

His gaze met mine, jaw tense. “You think they’ll follow my little brother?”

I shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. What you fail to realize is I don’t give a fuck whether The Outfit survives or whether you live or die. You’re here because of your sister.” I stepped closer, looming over him deliberately. “I’m going to give you a few days to think about it. Ten to be exact. After I marry Emilia, we’ll speak again.” I patted his cheek. “Of course, I can’t just let you scamper back to your uncle. So, you’ll be our guest.” I smirked. “You’ve already experienced some of Jackson’s hospitality.”