Page 35 of Hostile Vows
He always wore a clandestine aura of greed, lies, and carnage. But that night, under the sheets, he was buck naked and vulnerable. Until he seized Mammy's neck and threatened to snap it.
As I shuffled from foot to foot, out-of-control nerves knotted in my belly. A splintering pain left over from his attack earlier had almost made me black out. In the drawn-out seconds of my hesitation, he witnessed my soul tremble from within and my unharmed eye, salty and bloodshot, blink wildly.
I had wanted him to stop beating me. To quit telling me I was a worthless piece of shit only good for breeding when I’d come of age. But most of all, I wanted him dead.
Except crippling fear took over and I couldn’t pull the trigger.
“If you had known where we were traveling to, would you have come after me?” I finally ask, snapping my mind back to the present and pinning him with earnest eyes.
He stubs out his cigarette, studying the dull ash in silence. Then he looks up at me under his villainous black lashes and smiles. “I would have done anything for you, Sinéad. But I guess we’ll never know what lengths I would have gone to. No doubt I would have flown back to Ireland as a teenager, and we would have fucked a few times before going our separate ways. Not that it matters anymore, because we’re legally tied now. And eventually you’ll be the mother of my kids.”
My heart stops beating. “M-mother of yourkids?” I repeat, utterly dumbstruck by his comment. “You’re joking, right?”
He pinches the cigarette with his fingers and slowly exhales a gray fog. “That’s why your old man was fixated on marriage. Frankie wants legitimate grandkids. He’s growing the Sapori family tree so his life’s work can be passed down through the generations.”
I force myself to lock eyes with him even when I’m screaming inside. Slapping him would appease my temper, but the fallout wouldn’t be worth it.
“No way,” I hiss under my breath, scooting to the other side of the booth. “I don’t want kids. That’s a hard fucking no.”
A slight smirk tilts his lips. “Unfortunately, it’s not up for debate. It was a stipulation he added before he put your life on the table.”
“Mr. Souza.” A woman dressed in a cobalt power suit stops at our table, her timing inconvenient. “Is something wrong?” Shoulder-length hair the color of flax swishes as she cocks her head in silent assessment of us.
André’s revelation washes over me in a sickly wave. As if an arranged marriage wasn’t bad enough, now he plans to impregnate me, and I have no say in the matter.
He casually sits back as if he hasn’t just blown up my world. “Janel, are you still on the lookout for more bar staff? My wife would like to work here for a while. She’s new to Miami, so this would help her settle in. Can you make it happen?”
I fling myself back against the seat, quietly containing the waspish temper bubbling under my skin. He’s started to speak for me now, too.
The woman’s bold red smile fades and her brow creases. “You’re… married?” she stammers slightly and swallows, her shocked gaze hunting mine.
His mouth stretches wide at the corners, the grin lethal. “Sure am. This is my wife, Sinéad.” A slow sweep of his pillowy bottom lip has Janel entranced. “Janel is the general manager of Sky Hotel, Sin. She's a real taskmaster.” The way he looks over at her twists my insides under the cool facade I’m displaying.
My bones involuntarily oscillate; the emotions I’m fighting are fatally messed up. Janel folds her arms, hitches her chin a notch higher, and clears her throat in a dignified cough. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Souza. That’s wonderful news.” Her unreadable gaze slides back to André. “We’re always on the hunt for experienced staff. Can she start straightaway for orientation?”
“Absolutely. She’ll be free after breakfast.” He scrubs the coarse hair on his chin in contemplation. “Best to keep her identity between us. No one needs to know who she is to me. Not yet.”
Janel offers a tight smile to portray a businesslike demeanor, yet her French-tipped fingernails play across her breastbone. I can’t quite decide if her heart is breaking, or she has indigestion.
“Understood. I’ll update the bar manager. It’s good timing; we have another person starting today too.” She glances at her glitzy Cartier watch. “If you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be. I’ll catch up with you later, Mr. Souza.” Her lashes flutter. “Once you’re ready, Mrs. Souza, please make your way to the inside bar. David will be expecting you.”
Mrs. Souza.
That’s who I am now.
Nodding respectfully, the woman pivots in her high heels and struts back the way she came.
“Dré?” I pin him with a serious glare. “Neither of us would be fitting parents. You’re eyeballs deep in criminal activity and I’m not the slightest bit maternal. I’ve no intention of dragging a baby into this pantomime.”
After a tense pause, he says, “The majority of my businesses are legitimate. I’m an upstanding member of the community.”
My blood boils when the server skirts the table, sets down two flutes, uncorks the champagne magnum, and pours, then backs away from the table. Ice crunches when he twists the bottle into a silver bucket. “Your food is on the way. Do you need anything else, sir?”
André eyes me over the glass of bubbles at his lips. “We’re good.” His gaze stays on me, his voice calm.
The second the server disappears behind a potted palm, André takes a long drink and finally says, “I’m not in a rush to fulfill Frankie’s request.” His dark eyes haven’t left mine, except when he blinks in that measured, assessing way of his. “Being a father is not on my agenda at the minute, not when I’m growing an empire and hunting the men who assassinated Papá. But you should know that when the time comes, and it will, I’ll put a baby in your belly, because you’re the only woman who’s worthy of my superior cum.”
I glare at his messy dark hair, bulging muscles filling the plain black t-shirt, and try to gauge the unusual expression he offers. It’s not cruel or vindictive, not even cocky. Rather, it’s sincere and utterly terrifying.
