Page 60 of Hostile Vows
“Of course I am.” His brow creases, as if he can’t believe I hadn’t thought about it before. “André signed a legally binding contract to produce an heir, or he has to forfeit his reign over Miami. It would be a huge embarrassment for the Souzas to lose a solid foothold in the states. He wouldn’t only lose respect, but their entire organization would take a fucking beating too. He thinks he’s got elements of his father in him, but he's a tiny shrew compared to Elias. The boy is playing with the real gods and I’m the one holding all the cards. If it turns out his dick has more brains than his head does, and he allows a woman to get in the way of business, I’ll become the biggest threat the Souzas have ever known—until then, we’re family.”
My hands tremble, rage siphoning through them when I scrub my stinging eyes. “Your interpretation of family is pretty fucking distorted. Haven’t you got the hint yet—your so-called family doesn't want anything to do with you.”
He shakes his head. “You have no self-preservation. I’ve asked myself, would it really matter if you died after your child was born? Do you really think André would be a stay-at-home father and raise a baby if you were dead? He’d hire a hot little nanny, fuck her, and hire another. Or better still, he’d hand it over to me. Your role has a limited shelf life. If I were you, I’d be a little more cooperative.”
“I’m not you. And you’re awfully certain I would let André anywhere near me,” I said, letting my voice frost over, my anger freezing in a thin film of icy fear.
“Given his reputation, I’ve no doubt he’s fucked you already, which troubles me somewhat as he habitually moves on to the next good-looking woman. It was, however, assuring to witness that public display of devotion for his new plaything. Make sure André Souza doesn't lose interest in you. Fuck the man as often as it takes to get pregnant. I’m sure it won't be a hardship for you, picciridda.Surely, you’d rather screw your husband than have your mother’s corpse turn up in a peat bog.” His face reappears on the screen.
“I’m on birth control.” I shoot a phony smile at him.
“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “The fake drug in the blister packet? You assumed the little pills were contraception?”
My heart stutters. “Fake…”
“Not so confident now, picciridda.” Frankie laughs darkly. “I knew a headstrong woman like you wouldn’t willingly allow a stranger to impregnate her. Doctors can prescribe anything for the right sum of money. Those innocent pills you’ve been taking are called norethisterone. All they do is delay your period—like a contraceptive pill would—but they don’t protect you against pregnancy. Genius, right?” He chuckles. “That way, I eliminated any possibility of you taking the real thing. Women are sneaky bitches, but men are smarter.” He shrugs. “My biggest regret is never having a son. A true heir. These days I’m firing blanks, which makes it impossible to father another Sapori child. I guess you weren’t that big of a mistake after all, not when you can serve a purpose. The next time I call your phone—answer. Or life will get very difficult for both of you.”
He leans in closer to the lens. “By the way, has it sunk in how easy it was for me to track your movements—and locate your husband’s whereabouts too? Look at how simple it was to separate you from him and inside his own hotel.” Frankie cocks a smug brow. “There’s still time for me to change my mind…”
I frown. “About a baby?”
“No, you silly little girl,” he chastises. “However, I might decide that André isn’t the best choice for you anymore. Scott Acer still wants his mafia bride. So, if your husband were to have an unfortunate accident… you’d be free to marry your original suitor.”
My heart stills, frozen by his suggestion. “You wouldn’t dare kill a Souza. His whole family would come after you.”
Frankie laughs low and menacing. “I have many enemies, picciridda.The Souzas don’t scare me, they’re insignificant. Don’t you think I’m being rather generous, under the circumstances? You can stick with the devil you’re married to for now and have his baby… or I’ll have him assassinated and hand you over to Acer.”
He sits back and runs a hand over his silver hair. “Give my daughter a taste of what’s to come if she fucks with her daddy. But… don’t kick her in the stomach in case she’s pregnant already.”
Frankie waves two fingers at the screen, signaling my captors. “And Sinéad, if I get a whiff of a Souza counterattack after today or hear any rumors of an uprising against me, I’ll give the order to have your mother’s head hacked off at the neck with a blunt machete. That way it takes longer to sever the spinal cord… a few attempts at most, and she’d likely feel every chop unless she has a heart attack first. One phone call is all it would take.”
A thunderous wallop cracks the side of my skull, followed by a jarring punch to the chin, knocking me off-balance. I helplessly topple off the bed, my face smashing into the carpet, my gaze drawn to the only exit out of reach.
I’m dazed, momentarily paralyzed by the overwhelming ache at my temple and a surge of crippling emotions. All I can think of is Mammy—and the new threat my so-called father has projected at André.
My bruised jaw cries in agony as I try to open my mouth to speak. I’d endured pulsating panic before and faced it with courage and strength. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for the concentrated crash of fear Frankie’s words had conjured.
I don’t want either of them to die. Not my poor mother, and not André. He isn’t simply a rebellious mobster anymore. I’ve slowly started to accept him asmy husband. So now, in the light of day, if I was given the choice to pick between Scott or André—I’d pick my old friend without hesitation, even if our bond won’t last forever.
Frankie was able to reach me even though André’s armed guards swarm us twenty-four seven. It doesn’t matter that it’s my body or that it’s a female prerogative whether I get pregnant, because he’s taken the decision out of my hands. He’s more powerful, cruelly evil—and horribly vainglorious.
Originally, I thought André might help me protect Mammy. Only, now I’ve learned he has too much to lose—his kingdom being the most important. On the ship, when he’d planned our wedding, he knew what Frankie wanted from us all along. It was an acceptable trade-off for a man conducting business.
But he also knew I was on birth control and didn’t push me to come off it. Now he’s in danger too, just like Mammy.
Exhaustion and confusion crushes my shoulders. I’m furious, scared, and filled with dread.
Tapping noises from outside the room have the men checking their weapons. The phone flies through air and lands on the crumpled duvet at the very moment Frankie barks out a question.
One gunman aims at the doorway, while the other inches closer, his ass flush to the wall. He pushes down the handle and cautiously opens the door, his mask still covering his eyes and mouth. The tireless fire alarm shrills in my pounding skull, somehow growing louder when his bulky body moves into the corridor, plunging into a dying smoke haze.
There’s a loud crack, then a second. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly to appease the acidic sting and when they open; the henchman is slumped against the doorjamb, his motionless body sliding downward. I take a deep breath and force my streaming gaze upward to the next guy who’s pointing his weapon at the exit.
He wasn’t sent here to murder me. Frankie had only planned an elaborate scare tactic for his noncompliant daughter. This isn’t about inheritances and bloodlines—it’s all a show of authority. A greedy old man stamping his authority on the Souzas, in the wake of their father’s murder. He saw an opening and took an opportunity.
Frankie Sapori thinks he’s a god, but he’s just a weak mortal who sends those with strength to do dirty work for him. Sick of feeling powerless, I launch myself at the last man standing in the room with me. I slam my fists into his chest, pummeling solid muscle and ammunition-lined pockets. It’s pointless trying to wrestle him to the ground when he easily swats me away like a fly. My head wallops against the wall and I sink like a stone.
He shoots into the corridor, angles around to where I’m slumped, seizes my throat in his large hand, and hauls me to my feet. Holding me at arm's length, I’m forced out of the room with a gun to my belly, so I’m the first to reverse out over the threshold—the first to get a bullet if anyone fires.
