Page 47 of Of Vows and Betrayal

The sound of a car pulling up outside gets me out of my thoughts. I straighten my dress and take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The doorbell rings, echoing through the house like a herald of fate.

Mira, my father’s housekeeper, opens the door and Romero steps in, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, a single red rose in his hand. His polished exterior and confident stance exude a menacing charm. He smiles, but there’s an edge to his demeanor that I can’t ignore.

“Good evening, bella Ophelia,” he says smoothly,stepping inside and offering me the rose.

“Good evening, Romero,” I reply, accepting the rose and forcing a smile. “Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

He captures my hand in his, his grip firm and possessive. As his lips brush my skin, his eyes lock onto mine, a silent assertion of control. “Shall we?”

I nod, glancing back at my father, who is watching us with a look of pride and something else I can’t quite decipher. I turn back to Romero, allowing him to lead me out the door and into the night.

As we walk to the car, the cool evening air wraps around me, contrasting with the heat of my conflicting emotions. I slide into the passenger seat, feeling the expectations pressing down on me. Romero gets in beside me, starting the engine with a confident ease.

We drive in silence for a while, the city lights blurring into a mosaic of colors through the window. I steal a glance at Romero, wondering what lies beneath his polished exterior. Can I find some semblance of happiness in this arranged future, or will I always be haunted by the what-ifs of a different life?

“Where are we going?”

“La Trattoria. Is that okay with you?”

I nod. This is afamigliarestaurant, one of the most popular in the city. I know that people must book months in advance, but not when you are a Gambino.

When we arrive, Romero exits first. I sit stiffly, waiting for him to open my door. His hand rests too low on my back as he guides me out, his fingers brushing possessively over my ass, sending a shiver of unease down my spine.

As soon as the hostess sees us, she leaves the guests she was talking to and rushes over.

“Mr. Carmine, what a pleasure to have you here. Please follow me; the back room is ready.”

My pace falters as his grip on the swell of my ass tightens, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Why the back room? There are plenty of tables in the main room.”

Romero lets out a small chuckle as if I were just a silly girl and pushes me forward. “I’m not anyone, Ophelia—for safety reasons, the back room is always best. Plus, I’m keen on keeping you away from prying eyes.” He leans down and brushes his lips on the apple of my cheek, and I have to use all my willpower not to recoil.

We walk past the kitchen until we reach the back room. I’ve never been here, but I know a lot offamigliameetings happen in this room. Being in here all by ourselves feels far more suffocating than being in the main room with everyone else. There’s a table set for two in a corner, and once again, Romero tightens his hold on me.

“Come on, Ophelia, let’s move. I won’t bite.”

I force a smile despite my mind screaming to run away at the tone of his voice that seems to contradict his words. We sit at the table, and if the waitress is conscious of my discomfort, she probably doesn’t care.

You’re the one who agreed to go out, Phee. Nobody forced you,the voice in my head reminds me.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I will take an old-fashioned, and the lady will take a tall glass of pinot grigio,” Romero orders without lookingat me for approval.

“Actually, can I get sparkling water with lime? I’m not feeling like drinking tonight.” I try to keep my tone light, knowing that with all the alarm bells going off in my head, I would rather not cloud myself with alcohol.

“So tell me, what changed your mind about this date?” he asks as soon as the waitress exits the room. “I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. Is it because of your father’s troubles? I won’t lie to you, having me on your side will help the situation.”

I feel an uncomfortable chill as lead weights settle in my stomach. I know something is wrong, but having some responsibility resting on my shoulders is not easy.

“No, why do you say that? What’s wrong with my father?”

“He’s been fucking missions up far more than usual, and people are starting to talk.” I want to ask more, but before I can, he reaches for my hand. “You didn’t seem interested, which honestly was ludicrous.” He lets out a little laugh. “I’m glad you came to your senses.”

The waitress comes back with the drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

I’m about to tell her that I didn’t yet have a chance to look at the menu, but Romero nods.

---