Vows and Vendettas

Chapter 3

Blair

This is not the wedding day I envisioned having as a little girl, let alone the one that I planned, which was supposed to take place next month. There was no white dress. No aisle for me to walk down. No bouquet of flowers that I'd spent months choosing because they were all so beautiful and I just couldn't make up my mind.

There was just a priest standing in my father's living room. A hurried exchange of vows while a man I barely knew slid a simple gold wedding band onto my ring finger. Neither one of them wanted to waste time. They couldn't even wait a month to use the wedding that had been paid for already.

I didn't even get the chance to tell my friends what was happening, let alone my actual fiancé, that we weren't getting married anymore. I fiddle with the band of my wedding ring. Spinning it around my finger as I watched the city pass by the window. What should have been a symbol of love felt a lot more like a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

My phone buzzes in my hand; flipping it over, Luca's name flashes across the screen. My hands tremble in my lap as I lift my gaze to my now-husband sitting next to me. His eyes narrow at the screen. What am I supposed to do? Just let it ring? Answer it and tell him what happened?

He deserves to know. To hear it from me that we aren't getting married anymore. My heart beats so fast that I feel lightheaded; the buildings outside the car grow fuzzy and sway as we drive past them. This is an absolute sh*t show. Warmth closes around my hand, and my buzzing phone is suddenly removed. Lazzari presses the green button on the screen and holds it up to his ear. He is silent for several seconds as Lucas' voice comes through the speaker.

My heart clenches so hard I wouldn't be all that surprised if it caused a rib to crack.

“Blair, hello, are you there? What is going on? Why does your father say the wedding is not happening anymore?” Luca’s voice is panicked, and it only makes me feel worse about all of this.

"Blair isn't available,” Dante says. His voice is flat, almost bored, the Italian thickness of his accent seeping into his voice as his fingers tighten around my phone.

It's the first time that I've ever heard his accent. The few times that I have overheard him at gatherings, there was never a hint of it when he spoke. But now I hear it, a thick richness that rolls through my body. There is a pause, and before Luca has the chance to ask anything further, my husband continues, his tone growing darker.

“Voss, I would highly advise you to stay away from my wife from this point forward. If you value your life, that is.”

I can feel my eyes widening at not only the blatant threat but the sheer no f*cks given. Jeez, he could have softened the blow, but there isn't anything soft about my husband.

“Lazzari, what do you mean by your wife? Where is Blair? I want to talk to my fiancé,” Luca growls loud enough for me to hear.

The corner of Dante’s mouth lifted. “Like I said, stay away from my wife.”

And with that, he hangs up the phone. His grip on my cell phone is so tight that the plastic and glass pop under the pressure. The sound echoes through the back seat. I go to reach for it, but Dante calmly lowers his window and drops my phone on the other side before rolling it back up.

I stared at him as anger built inside my chest. “Hey, that was mine. You had no right to do that.”

Dante straightened the sleeves of his jacket before he turned and leveled me with one dark look. “I am your husband. I have all the right when it comes to you.” He leans in, his large frame pressing into my personal space and backing me up against the car door. “You will stay away from Voss. You will not speak to him for any reason.”

“And why would I do that?” I snapped back, narrowing my eyes at him.

Dante moves before I can blink. His body hovered so close to mine that our breath mingles. His hand comes up fast, fingers closing around my jaw — it’s not painful, but it's firm enough to keep my face pointed toward his. A sharp spark of electricity shoots through me, my breath catching in my throat from the darkness that swims in his eyes. This man is downright dangerous; I know that. I've heard all the ‘rumors’ of just how Dante Lazzari built his empire. It's dark and covered in blood.

You don't become the most influential King of Langston by handing out bread and soup at the homeless shelters. My lips part in a gasp as I try to shift away from him a bit more, but in this car, space is already limited.

“Listen carefully,” he says, voice low. It's the kind of tone that leaves no room for argument.

“You are a Lazzari now,” he continues, leaning in until the warmth of his breath brushes my cheek. “And you will act like it.”

His grip on me isn’t cruel, but it’s unyielding. Commanding. My heart thunders; each beat is loud enough that I swear he can feel it through his fingertips. Tremors rack my body. My lungs forget how to work. Heat floods my skin. Whether from anger, fear, or the impossible awareness of just how close he is, I couldn't tell. My mind screams at me to pull away again, to put some kind of space between us, but my body stays frozen. Pinned beneath the reality that nothing about my life belongs to me anymore.

"You seem to mistake my silence for agreement,” I bite out rather stupidly, because I refuse to let him see just how much he unnerves me.

His gaze flicks down my face, then slightly lower to the top of my breast in my low-cut top. Warmth crawls its way up the back of my neck. How he manages to have this effect on me already is baffling. My chest heaves the entire time until his hold on my chin softens, and he leans back into his own seat and pulls out his own phone. His fingers tap at the screen a couple of times before he puts it back inside his coat pocket.

“Your new phone will arrive in the morning,” he says calmly. His accent is no longer present.

I don't know what to say. I want to fire off another snarky remark, but my brain stops working completely after that. The rest of the car ride is in complete silence. I do my best to keep my eyes pinned to the window as the city of Langston rolls past. On the tall buildings that climb towards the sky. Brick and glass that rise high above the city. But every few minutes I find myself sneaking a glance at the man next to me.

As far as forced marriages go, I guess I can't be all that upset. Most people would say that I was lucky to have Lazzari as my husband over someone much older and likely balding. Not that there's anything wrong with bald men. You get what I mean. Dante is all sharp lines and muscles that disguise his strength. If you didn't know who he was or what he does, you would assume he was just another good-looking billionaire.

I tear my eyes away from him and glue them to the busy streets. Vehicles and pedestrians are milling about the businesses on the ground floor. Everyone hurries about without a care in the world, and I try to pretend that I am one of them as well. I loved this part of Langston. The way the lights glittered at night from above made the city breathtaking if you're lucky enough to get to see it. I had begged Papa to let me live in the city after I turned eighteen, but he flat-out refused, saying it was far too dangerous for a young woman to be on her own in the city.

I guess I'm finally getting my wish after all.

The car slowly rolls into a private parking garage at the back of Lazzari Heights, a luxury hotel that only catered to the wealthiest of families within a fifty-mile radius of Langston. I have attended a few galas here over the years. Even a wedding or two. The inside of the hotel had screamed wealth and power.

“This is the main entrance to the penthouse,” Dante says as the car stops in front of a mirrored glass door. He goes to open his door, only to pause when his phone rings. He answers with a cold greeting to the other person. “What is it?”

The muscle in his stubbled jaw pulses at a steady rhythm. I am not sure if I am hearing things or if the growling sound that just echoed through the cabin of the car actually came from him or my imagination. Whoever is on the other end of the line does not see the fuse they just lit. But I do.

His free hand flexes on his lap so tightly that his knuckles turn white. A second later, Dante ends the call and looks over at me.

“Something’s come up,” he says flatly. “Rocco. Take Mrs. Lazzari inside.” He doesn't bother to look at me as his fingers fly across the screen of his phone while completely ignoring the fact that he basically just dismissed his wife like I was a servant. “If you need anything, ask him. He’ll handle it.”

My mouth falls open before I can stop it. I’m not sure what I expected from him—but it wasn’t this. I wasn’t thrilled about our sudden nuptials, but I didn't think that he would leave me …alone just hours afterward. But I guess that I shouldn't be all that surprised by his departure. My door is suddenly opened, and the massive man from the front seat now holds out his hand for me.

I turn back to see that my husband still wasn't even looking at me. The crease between his brows says that he is already annoyed and would prefer for this entire exchange to be finished with, so that's what I do. Exiting the car without Rocco’s offered help, I turned and slammed the car door harder than necessary.

I shouldn't be bothered by the fact that he was leaving. That I would be left alone to my own devices for who knew how long, but I was. And I was going to make sure he knew it. Was it childish? A tad, but oh well, he pushed to marry me; this is what he is going to get. The window rolls down, and Dante leans over just enough to where he can catch my gaze. “Behave.” Is all he says before the car pulls away, leaving me alone with a wall of a man named Rocco.

“Happy wedding day to me, I guess,” I mutter to myself as I turn on my heels and head for the entrance.

Rocco doesn't say anything as he steps aside and allows me to enter the building first. He presses a key card to a reader that opens the doors of a private elevator. Once inside, he presses the P button and the doors close. I cross my arms over my midsection and glare at my reflection in the mirrored metal as it rises high above the city.

The elevator dings a minute later, and the door slides open silently to a brilliant foyer. Dark marble tile, dark walls with gold accents everywhere. A chandelier with crystals hanging overhead illuminates the entire hallway in a warm glow. Three guards, all dressed head to toe in black, with weapon holsters on both sides, stand silently against the wall.

Not one of them moves as Rocco and I step out of the elevator and head to the only door. He presses the same key to another reader, and the lock clicks, low and heavy, and he pushes the door open.

I step inside—and stop.

The short foyer opens into a massive living area. For a moment, all I can do is stare. Dark marble stretches across the floor in seamless slabs, polished so perfectly that it reflects the lights overhead, making the space feel warmer than it really is. The walls are a deep charcoal color, broken only by gold trim that catches the glow of recessed lighting and throws it back in soft, warm flashes.

It’s beautiful.

My heels clicked against the marble as I moved deeper into the space, the sound swallowed instantly by the sheer size of the room. Floor‑to‑ceiling windows dominate the far wall, revealing Langston’s skyline in glittering fragments. The city looks so small from up here. Tiny. Like something the King of Langston could crush in his fist if he wanted to.

A long, low sectional sits near the windows—black leather, sharp lines, not a single bit of softness anywhere. A glass coffee table rests in front of it. Everything is sleek, modern, and very expensive. My gaze drifts upward. The ceiling is higher than most, lined with thin gold strips that run in geometric patterns, drawing the eye to the dark chandelier hanging in the center.

It’s made of dark metal and smoky glass instead of the crystal-cut one, just outside the main door.

To the right, a bar stretches along the far wall, stocked with multiple bottles of amber whiskeys that probably cost a fortune. The black shelves are backlit, casting a soft glow over the bottles. There is a hallway next to the bar that disappears into deep shadows. I don’t need to be told that’s where the bedrooms are. The kitchen is immaculate. The dark cabinetry and stainless steel appliances dominate the space. A dining table sits just off to the side, far larger than what one man would need.

“I will be just outside the door, Mrs. Lazzari. Should you need anything, just ask,” Rocco says as he steps back into the hallway, closing the door and leaving me in this place that feels more like a fortress than a home.

Hours pass, and there is no word from my husband. I've explored the entire penthouse. Well, all of it that I could. There are two rooms that are locked. Why? I don’t have a clue. I wonder what could have been inside that Dante felt the need to lock them before I arrived? I press my ear to the rich colored wood. I couldn't hear anything on the other side, but that didn't mean that there wasn't anything there.

The main bedroom, though, is clean and done in the same dark, brooding color theme. It wouldn't kill him to have a little bit of color in his home. It smells like him. Sharp and masculine, and it clouds my senses. Reminders of how close he had been in the car fill my mind, so close that turning a fraction of an inch would have brought his lips to mine. Stop it, Blair. He is the enemy. Dante inserted himself into your life and ruined everything. Stop letting how good he smells sway you.

When there was nothing left to explore in my new home, my stomach let out an ungodly protest. I hadn't even thought about food all day. I had been too anxious to eat before the ceremony, and now my stomach was in full revolt. After poking my head out and nearly being scared to death by Dante’s man standing so close to the door, I asked him to order me a pizza. I would have done so myself, but my phone was lying somewhere along the inner city, crushed by passing cars.

Thirty minutes later, the entire penthouse smelled like gooey melted cheese and pepperoni. I ate alone while staring out at the city as the sun slowly sank over the horizon. There was still no word from my husband, and without my phone, I doubted I would be given any information on when he might return. I watched out of the bathroom window as darkness slowly crawled its way across the city while I soaked in the oversized tub until the water grew too cold to bear anymore.

“I wonder what actually pulled Dante away earlier. Could it really need his attention for this long?” I said aloud to the empty closet as I rifled through one of the drawers searching for something to sleep in.

I pulled a silk camisole and short set in black out from the drawer and slipped the thin fabric over my body. Papa used to have late nights, but I don't believe I can remember a time when he was gone for this long. I stare at the bed. His bed. Sleeping on the couch wouldn't be that bad, but I am sure that tomorrow I wouldn't be able to turn my neck properly. This is ridiculous. He clearly isn't coming back tonight. He likely has multiple penthouses across the city to choose from to stay in.

Sighing, I finally crawl under the covers and roll on my side so that I can watch the twinkling light of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I really should see this as a good thing. Maybe it means that the King of Langston has more important things to occupy his time than his new wife. My body relaxes as sleep begins to claim me. My lids grow heavier with every breath, and as they close, the last thought that flickers through my mind is the fact that this is my new life.

Alone, in a gilded tower.