Chapter 13: Veiled Vows: Chapter 13

“If you’re going to force me to watch you marry that man, the least you can do is let me plan something beautiful for you.” My mother stands in the middle of our cream and gold lounge surrounded with fabric swatches in more shades of white than I even knew existed.

“Mom, he really isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Oh don’t give me that,” she mutters. “I know all about Roman Gatti and his ilk. Men with a reputation like his are all the same.”

“Are they?” My wrists ache under the weight of the fabric book she places in my hands. “Is Dad exactly like his reputation?”

Bianca pauses between me and the table filled with catalogs of flower arrangements and sighs. “We both know what your father is like.”

“Exactly, and his reputation isn’t entirely true. The same can be said for Roman.”

“But darling …” She turns to face me with tears swimming in her eyes, and my heart immediately lurches.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I dreamed of such a magical wedding for you, with a decent man that we thought was a good match. And then your father picks someone we’ve been at war with for years.” She presses her fingertips to her mouth and shakes her head. “It’s not how I dreamed this at all.”

Moving to the table, I set the book down over the other catalogs and take her outstretched hand. “Trust me, it’s not what I want either.” Although for different reasons. I don’t want to marry Roman any more than I want to marry whichever random man they choose for me. I want to find my savior and marry him instead.

“Perhaps we can talk to your father.” She places one hand over mine and squeezes, blinking away her tears. “He might listen if we both speak to him.”

Memories of listening to the Mancinis talking about killing us burst to the forefront of my mind. If I tell her the truth, will she be more understanding? Doubtful. Despite her irritation with my father, I know she will tell him everything, and then he will try to find a way to twist this situation into wiping out the Gattis. He won’t believe that both of our heads are on the chopping block and this marriage is the only way we can keep everyone alive.

Enemies included.

“Mom, think about it. I have to marry someone, right? You said yourself that we’re worn thin. Marrying Roman takes one war off the table, which means Father will be able to focus on other things. Isn’t that something you want? You’d be able to spend more time together if he wasn’t so focused on fighting, right?”

Bianca sighs deeply as if she’s reminiscing. “You don’t know your father like I do,” she says, patting the back of my hand. “He will just look for another project.”

A flash of sadness enters her eyes when our gazes meet, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m seeing a hint of my real mother. Not her floaty moods, her wandering mind, or her fluctuating emotions. That sadness is honest and real, and my heart clenches.

“I want to sit in on the meeting with Father, you know I’ve been pushing for a meeting with the Yakuza for a long time, and he’s finally giving me an answer,” I say gently. “But I value your thoughts on the wedding. There’s more to think about than I could ever imagine, and I would be honored if you would lead the planning for me.”

“Really?” The sadness vanishes in an instant, replaced by utter delight. “But I will still need your input, darling.”

“You know what I like,” I say with a smile. “I trust you.” It’s a half-truth. We differ a lot in fashion at times, but this wedding is a means to an end, so I don’t care about any of the details. Plus, giving her something to focus on will surely keep her mind off of everything else.

“Oh Jasmine, you’re going to look so utterly radiant that Roman won’t know what hit him!”

“See? That’s the excitement we need at this wedding.”

Laughter comes easily after that, and I spend twenty minutes appeasing my mother by poring over place cards and cake designs until a guard gently alerts me to the meeting my father is hosting. Despite Bianca’s pleas to stay, I kiss her cheek and scurry away to my father. This meeting is important. I haven’t been clued in on all the details, but he did tell me it’s my answer to my Yakuza requests. To him, I’m looking out for the family’s interests, but my real desire to meet with the Yakuza remains hidden.

Unfortunately, the meeting is incredibly brief, and my father merely states that Alto Gatti is to attend a meeting with the Yakuza as a show of good faith between us and the Gattis, to present terms and bring this whole mess with them to an end.

A face-to-face meeting with the Yakuza.

I have to be there.

What if my mystery savior is there? Would I even recognize him? Those tattoos are burned into my mind and so ingrained in my everyday thoughts that it would be terribly painful if I didn’t, which means I have to be there. Any contact with the Yakuza is something I need to be a part of.

Securing Alto’s number is easy, and he answers on the third ring as I wander through a greenhouse filled to the roof with more plants than I could ever name.

“Who’s this?” Alto barks down the line.

“Do you answer all your calls like this?” I ask, my gut clenching faintly at the sharp irritation in his tone.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Fucking hell, it’s me, Jasmine Falzone.”

“Oh.” Alto’s tone changes immediately. “Sorry, didn’t have your number.”

“Clearly.”

“If you’re looking for Roman, then you’re talking to the wrong guy.”

“If I was looking for Roman, I would have called Roman.” Cool leaves brush past my bare legs as I wander between large potted plants and overflowing foliage boxes. “I want to talk to you.”

“Oh?” A slimy sneer slips into his voice. “Thinking of taking me up on my offer?”

It takes all my control not to say ew. “No, I’m here to talk business.”

“Marriage is a business.”

“Not the one I’m interested in. Your meeting with the Yakuza. I want in.”

“How do you know about that?”

“What, you think my father doesn’t educate his heir on the goings on within the family?”

“Well … you’re a woman, so honestly, no.”

“Really?” My initial impassive thoughts on Alto are rapidly veering toward the negative. “What century are you living in?”

“Don’t act like I’m in the wrong here,” Alto snorts. “You’re being married for business so get off your offended high horse. You know as well as I do how things work.”

“How have we been unable to wipe you lot out if this is the kind of backward thinking behind all of your plans?” My words lilt with humorless laughter, and I stop near a particularly large blooming flower with a sweet, nutty scent that almost makes my mouth water.

“Hard to believe,” Alto remarks. “Fine, you want to see how we’ve been staying one step ahead of you? Come to the meeting. You’ll see how gently we’ve been playing with your lot all these years.”

Alto reels off a time and a place for the meeting, then hangs up just as a pulse of irritation spreads like tingles across my shoulders. Infuriatingly, he’s not wrong. Being married off to keep one family from killing the other is normal in this world, but it’s also so very strange in the wider view.

But it’ll be worth it. Alto can say whatever the fuck he wants. I’ve got my meeting with the Yakuza.

“You brought guards?” Alto’s narrow gaze darts back and forth between the men walking a few steps behind me as I approach him from the far end of the parking lot.

“Having a representative of my family here is important, but that doesn’t mean I’m careless enough to turn up here without protection. I don’t trust you and I certainly don’t trust the Yakuza.”

“And old Enzo himself couldn’t make it?”

Reaching Alto, it’s my turn to sound as smug as he did on the phone yesterday. “Your father doesn’t keep you up to date on what’s happening with the family?” I pout softly, faking sympathy. “Poor baby. Surely you know that our respective fathers are dealing with some of the more serious logistical challenges this alliance brings.”

Alto’s face remains blank, but he subtly shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Course I knew. Just didn’t think you would.”

“Mm-hmm. So.” The parking lot is completely empty save for three cars belonging to Alto and his men, and three belong to me and mine. Being the third floor of a grand parking complex, I expected there to be way more civilian activity, but the place is completely dead.

Intentional? It has to be.

“So,” Alto repeats as he leans back against the hood of his car, crossing one ankle over the other and folding his arms. “Excited to be married to good old Roman?”

“Excited isn’t the word I’d choose,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “But we all have to do what’s best for the family. And what follows the will of our fathers.”

“Ah. Yes.” Alto sucks on his top teeth then pops his lips. “Because this was absolutely our leaders’ idea and not one of Roman’s stupid schemes.”

“Surely if it was a stupid scheme, your father would be hesitant to take credit?” My brow lifts. “Unless he’s also one to make stupid schemes.”

“Hey.” Alto rises abruptly, and all five of our respective guards tense at the anger in his tone. “Watch how you talk about my father.”

I narrow my eyes and smirk. “Oh poor baby. Did I touch a nerve?”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, settling back down. “If it had been anyone else’s idea, they would have been smart enough to pick me. I’m the real heir. The true heir. Only a foolish fucker would think marrying Roman carries any kind of weight.”

My dislike of this man increases. He talks like someone who thinks the world should know his name by birthright, the kind of man who skates by on the hard work of others and lets his money do the talking. The kind who needs to buy respect and friends because no one can stand to be near him without something to compensate for their time.

“Really?” I delicately touch my lower lip as if adjusting my lipstick. “Then why is Roman getting the important marriage and you’re here, in a garage, dealing with the Yakuza?”

Alto’s eyes darken like a storm has rolled over his face. “You know, if you want a really good time, I can show you how a real Gatti man treats a woman.”

“No thanks,” I reply smoothly. “I’d rather keep my lunch inside.”

“You—” He surges up once more, but the click of weaponry from my three guards forces him to remain where he is. He’s outnumbered—likely didn’t think I’d be smart enough to bring backup—so he settles on words instead. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry the one responsible for so much of my family’s blood being spilled.”

This feels like bait so I remain silent, watching Alto as he kicks one heel against the ground like a petulant child.

“You know it was him, don’t you? The dog my father sends to kill all your father’s men. If they’ve been tortured and mutilated, that was Roman. It’s his hands that have burned down your buildings, blown up your trucks, stolen your guns and ammo. His plans that ripped apart your brothels and wiped out every family that showed up to that funeral six months ago. His bombs in those caskets. And to think you’ll be marrying him.”

Despite the fire in Alto’s words, I don’t care. I’m not naive enough to think that Roman’s hands are clean. We’ve been at war for years. People die. Blood is spilled. And for every bomb that’s taken the lives of our people, for every vehicle that’s kidnapped someone, every bullet that’s reduced the Falzone numbers, we’ve done the same in return.

“Sounds like Roman is the brains behind a lot of what you do,” I reply smoothly. “So tell me, how are you the better catch? Roman does the work, Roman’s getting the war-ending alliance marriage, and you … well.” I click my tongue softly. “You get to share a parking lot with the woman who came up with the idea that poisoned the water supply to your warehouses and fucked with your drug production.”

Alto’s brow lifts in surprise.

“Yeah, that was me,” I smirk. “And it was also me that had the banquet poisoned for your father’s birthday last year, and it was me that hijacked seven of your pornography websites and siphoned all the funds to us. So actually, Roman and I might be a perfect match. It’s not a marriage of love but one of necessity; however, you paint quite the alluring picture.”

Alto’s mouth snaps open, but words don’t come because as he takes a breath, the rumble of car engines hums to life beneath us. Half a second later, several sleek black cars pull up the ramp and pour into the parking lot like a spillage of shining armor beetles. Six cars swerve and park adjacent to where we stand, and several motorcycles carrying two people each fill the gaps between each car.

We are severely outnumbered.

I should focus on the discussions when a tall Asian man steps out of one vehicle dressed in the most exquisite pinstripe suit I’ve ever seen, but as soon as his guards start piling out of the cars and off the bikes, I’m distracted.

Alto leads, laying out his demands as if he’s the one with the numbers here, and the lead Yakuza does seem open to negotiation. It seems like the union between the Falzones and the Gattis is finally enough for the Yakuza to realize that they may actually be outnumbered in the grand scheme of things.

I should focus. I should say my piece.

But I’m not looking at him or Alto.

I scan the body of every single Yakuza member who steps close enough for me to get a good look, and every single member who remains either on their bike or lingering in their cars. There’s a sea of inked skin to scan, and I study them all.

Every single one.

Every arm.

Every shoulder.

Even several backs when the men move around.

I’m looking for snakes and dragons and deer.

And I find zero. One man does have a dragon that’s similar to the tattoo burned into my memory, but he doesn’t have any of the other ink that my rescuer had. Unless it is him and he’s in the process of getting his tattoos removed, but I’m pretty certain the man is too short. In my mind, my rescuer is incredibly tall, but I was so small back then.

Is it him?

Wishful thinking makes my chest ache. Sensibility keeps me right. It’s not him.

My rescuer isn’t here. It was a huge stretch to hope that he would be, and while the disappointment is crushing, maybe he will be here next time. My focus shifts back to the meeting just as Alto and the Yakuza general shake hands.

We’ve come to a shaky agreement. While the Yakuza are unwilling to step away from the drug trade, the impending wedding has them willing to make a deal. They present some brief terms in regard to product distribution and cutting us in on the profits, and then they leave as swiftly as they came, providing details of the next meeting where we must bring them an answer.

“You didn’t say a single word,” Alto remarks once the hum of Yakuza bikes fades to nothing.

“I was observing.”

“Is that really how you make your deals?”

Narrowing my eyes, I slowly look him up and down, then sigh. “You wouldn’t understand. Take the proposal back to your father and then call me with his answer.”

“You can’t command me,” Alto snaps.

“I can,” I snap back sharply, pouring all my disappointment into my tone. “Because in case you forgot, I’m the one getting married. Me. And Roman. Not you. You’re basically nothing right now because you don’t hold the power. So run back to Daddy and call me with his answer.”

Alto surges forward briefly but my guards quickly close ranks around me, blocking him and his two men from reaching me.

“You think you know everything, like you have any kind of power,” Alto growls. “But you don’t know Roman like you think you do. You don’t know who he really is.”

“Which is?”

Alto straightens up and smirks coldly. “Remember, I offered you a chance to be on the right side.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Alto turns his back and walks toward his car. “You’ll see.”