Brutal Vows

Prologue I'd never imagined it would happen to me. I'd heard the stories and even seen the scars. That was the evidence of someone else's fate. Not mine. Never mine. Our family was different. I was going to be different. It had been my dream until my dream ended, and reality took over. Papá and I stood in the doorway. The sun mercilessly shone down on the Lucianos' gardens, casting the guests in a shower of sunlight. The corset of my wedding gown kept me from slumping forward as bile rose from my empty stomach, teasing my throat. Slowly and steadily, I inhaled and exhaled, swallowing my physical response. I couldn't show my unease especially not with our special guest. Doing so would be an unacceptable sign of weakness, one that wouldn't be tolerated, not by my father, our family, or Dario's family. With my chin held high, my shoulders straight, and my hand resting on the sleeve of Papá's custom suit, I kept my expression unreadable and faced the altar. As my father and I stepped onto the path, the music filled the air. Without prompt, the congregation stood. The long path separating our two families was covered by a soft runner and dotted with red rose petals. I imagined each petal as a droplet of blood, signifying the c*****e that would occur if I ran away, turned around, or answered the priest truthfully when he asked the question of my willing sacrifice. There was no escaping. Even if I ran, the damage would be done. A deal was made uniting the Roríguez cartel and the Kansas City Famiglia. Much the same as for the men who swore a vow to the different crime organizations, this marriage was my vow—my promise to be the obedient daughter and wife—a promise that was only escapable through death. Despite the fanfare, this wedding was nothing more than a transaction, the exchange of goods and services, the type that happened nearly every minute of every day. Soon, I, the daughter of one of Patron Roríguez's top lieutenants, would be the property of the Kansas City Famiglia, more specifically, of Dario Luciano. Throughout my twenty-four years, I'd read stories and watched movies about women in history calmly walking to their death. With each step closer to my future husband, I pictured some of those women: Anne Boleyn and Mary, Queen of Scots came to mind. As hundreds of pairs of eyes watched my progression, my mind fixated on the two queens, one killed by her husband and the other by her cousin. Those stories were from the past, yet the irony wasn't lost on me. The family members seated to either side would consider my failure to marry a betrayal, punishable with the same fate as the queens endured. For the last few yards to the gazebo housing the altar, my mind was no longer thinking about ancient history. Those thoughts were lost, sucked into the black abyss of Dario's dark stare. The future capo of the Kansas City crime family had his attention laser-focused on me. Even through the lace of my veil, I physically felt the scorch of his gaze warming my skin, singeing my flesh, and leaving goose bumps in its wake. Dressed in his custom suit, Dario was as handsome as he was intimidating. Towering at least eight inches taller than I, he stood statuesque next to his brother, Dante—a younger version of Dario. Dario's wide shoulders created the V to his trim torso. With his dark hair combed back away from his forehead, I dared a glance at his prominent cheekbones, and the sharp edge to his clean-shaven chin. He wasn't capo yet, but his aura personified the title. As Papá and I came to a stop, the priest began his sermon. While everyone around me spoke a familiar language, what I heard was foreign, an unrecognizable agreement, such as the teacher from the old Peanuts cartoon where the words were garbled. I watched in slow motion as Papá lifted my hand from his sleeve and placed it in Dario's larger one. The giving away of the bride. An object, a good for a service, a transaction. Dario's fingers surrounded mine as I willed myself to stay calm. Years of experience within the cartel had secured my mask. I could appear the perfect bride with eyes only for her future husband. While the guests could be fooled, I doubted Dario was. After all, he undoubtedly felt the way my hand trembled in his. “Today," the priest said, “we gather together to witness the holy union of Catalina Ruiz and Dario Luciano."