Chapter 2: Veiled Vows: Chapter 2

Eleven years later

“Jasmine! Wake up! Your breakfast will be cold if you don’t hurry up!”

The frantic knocking of my maid’s knuckles against my door drags me, unwillingly, from my favorite dream—a dream about the stunning, gorgeous, mysterious man who saved my life eleven years ago. A man who appeared once and then completely vanished from the face of the earth. A man who’s left an ache in my chest for the past eleven years and a dream that one day we will be reunited. Then I can thank him for being the only person in my life to make me feel safe.

To make me feel like I have real worth.

“Go away,” I mumble into my pillow, tightening my arms around the cotton to revive some of the fluff it lost last night. “I’m sleeping.”

“Chef made pancakes,” my maid teases.

I lift my head and glare groggily at the door. Do I want pancakes?

I always want pancakes. What a rotten trick.

“Fine,” I groan loudly. “I’m up. I’m up.”

I’m not a morning person in the slightest. Definitely not when I’ve just spent the night dreaming of that gorgeous man wrapping his arms around me so tightly that I can’t breathe. Time and time again, I fantasize about reaching up and pulling down his balaclava so I can see what he really looks like.

Given how attractively built he was, I can pretend that he looks utterly dashing with a chiseled jaw, thick lips, and perfect white teeth, but in the end, nothing feels right. Nothing will ever feel right. I’ve thought about him every single day since my rescue, and the passing years haven’t dampened my desire or my determination to find him.

My parents were completely useless, of course. They spent a lot of time refusing to talk about my kidnapping and sending me to countless therapists who wanted me to evaluate my trauma and disconnect from my savior. I refused. He was like a knight in black armor, and I wanted to find him so I could thank him. They told me that I wouldn’t be able to heal if I didn’t move on, but they didn’t understand that thinking of him was the only thing that got me through the panic attacks and night terrors.

The older I got, the ways in which I thanked him in my dreams would change, and soon I was fantasizing about what was under his clothes, not just his mask. Much to my mother’s alarm when I tried to confide in her about how I felt when seeking answers. She told me he was nothing more than a nobody, a mercenary for hire and that was all.

A man like that isn’t a nobody.

But the years have ticked by, and I remain with zero answers. Only a memory.

Dragging myself from my bed takes more effort than I care to admit, but after a quick shower and a splash of makeup, I reach the dining table in time for a fresh batch of strawberry and white chocolate pancakes whipped up by our chef.

“You have to stop sleeping in so late, dear,” my mother, Bianca, says as I take my seat next to her. “Too much sleep is as bad as too little you know.” She touches my chin with her knuckle and turns my face left, then right, and sighs softly. “You look peaky. Are you taking your vitamins?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Hm. I’ll speak to our doctor and have him change your dosage.”

“There’s really no need.” My mother usually has the best intentions, she just doesn’t always think things through. Ever since childhood, she’s reminded me of a cloud that simply goes with the flow and often leaves part of herself behind. My grandmother used to scoff and say she was constantly away with the fairies, and as a child, it was rather endearing to have a mother who shared the same whimsical outlook on life as I did. As an adult though, it’s more challenging. Her floaty kindness can come off as rude, and she doesn’t always have a clear head when it comes to important decisions. She forgot me at school when I was really little more than once, until my father organized bodyguards.

Not that they were much use when I was fifteen.

“She’s fine, Bianca.” My father rustles the paper in his hand. “Leave her alone.”

“Your daughter looks peaky and you think she’s fine?”

“I think it’s nine in the morning and she’s in the process of waking up,” he replies, not looking up. “Not everyone wears a cake of makeup like you do.”

“Nonsense,” Bianca replies. “It’s the middle of June. Jasmine should be glowing, not looking like we’ve just stepped out of winter.”

I let their petty argument wash over me and focus on the stacked plate of pancakes in front of me, devouring the first in four bites. Chef has a knack for making sure the white chocolate chips are firm enough to satisfy but somehow gooey in the middle. I asked her about it once, and she chased me out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon.

“Plans for today, dear?” Bianca leans over me and fills my glass with fresh orange juice.

“None currently, why?”

“Well.” She sets the jug down and places her hand over mine, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she looks at me. “You know the Mancinis are hosting their annual summer party in just a few days, and they finally sent out invitations! I swear they make us wait so long because that woman gets a rush at seeing us all scramble for the best dresses in such a short time.”

My heart sinks slightly. The Mancini family is one of the biggest and most powerful Italian families in the country. If they are sharks in the ocean, we’re nothing but crabs at the bottom. Our family is powerful; there’s no denying that. But there’s always someone bigger.

“If I had my way, we wouldn’t be attending,” my father Enzo mutters while still being engrossed in his papers.

“Don’t be silly dear,” Bianca smiles, their earlier disagreement forgotten. “Everyone has to show face at these things, you know this.”

Ah, yes. One of the invisible rules of the Mafia that is never spoken aloud, but God forbid you break it and snub the biggest family.

“I have more important things to be dealing with,” Enzo replies.

Oh? I glance past my mother to my father as he grumbles into a hearty gulp of coffee. “More problems?”

My father’s work and this family’s foundation have always interested me from a young age. Learning where our money comes from and how our name can carry so much weight because of certain decisions fascinates me. My mother begs me to focus on more ladylike things rather than how the family is run, and each time I tell her that I can do both. Besides, this family is my inheritance, and I want to lead it to greatness one day. I want it to be our parties that people are mandated to attend and my approval that people seek with just a glance.

Such a prospect is so exciting.

“There’s always more problems,” Enzo replies.

“Is it the Gattis again?”

Saying their name aloud turns my father’s face to thunder. “Fuck those cunts.”

“Enzo!” Bianca clutches at her napkin. “There’s no need for such talk at the table!”

“I don’t care,” he replies sharply. “We know what they are. Snakes. Fucking poisonous snakes.”

In this ever-churning world of organized crime, we have one major competitor. The Gatti family. They weren’t much of a threat when I was growing up, and there was a point when our two families could be considered friends. The Gattis were so loyal, in fact, that they were the ones who rescued me when I was fifteen.

My father parted with a large chunk of his weapons business as a thank you.

Something we regretted immensely when it came out five years later that it was actually Santino Gatti, the head of the Gatti family, who kidnapped me in the first place. He simply used the Yakuza as a pawn for a drug deal.

As a result, my father is waging a war against the Yakuza as revenge for their hand in my kidnapping and a way against the Gattis. He seeks to wipe both families out, and we would be winning if we weren’t fighting on two fronts. Time and time again, I approach my father with solutions to end the conflict with the Yakuza so we can focus on the Gattis, but he refuses. Too much bad blood.

But I need peace with the Yakuza. Without it, I can’t get what I want.

“What’s happened?” I ask around a mouthful of pancakes.

Enzo finally puts his papers down and looks up at me. “We lost several trucks last night. Burned to a fucking crisp. It’s not even the guns I’m pissed off about. Ten of those trucks carried the new ammo I promised the Russians. Millions up in smoke because of that fucker. I swear to fuck, when I get my hands on him it won’t just be my weapons routes I’ll be taking back. I’ll drain him dry of every fucking firearm.”

“Enzo!” Bianca slams her palm down on the table. “You know I don’t like it when you talk like that.”

Enzo’s glare holds no warmth as he looks at my mother, then he sighs deeply and returns to his coffee.

“Anyway.” She turns to me with a bright smile. “You don’t need to focus on any of that. Neither of you should because we’ll see the Gattis at the party, and I don’t need either of you ruining this for me. These parties are the highlight of my year!”

“Mom,” I say with a smile. “Aren’t you even a little bit angry at them?”

“Anger gives you wrinkles, dear.” She pats the back of my hand. “And you’re already getting too many of those.”

“I’m only twenty-six!”

“Exactly. You’re not getting any younger.”

“Oh, speaking of.” Enzo looks up once more and passes an envelope to Bianca. “You forgot to give her this.”

“Oh yes!” Mother’s cheeks flush red with excitement as she presses the envelope into my hand. “This is yours.”

“What is it?” Something about her excitement immediately sets me on edge as I slide the flap open.

“It’s what you’ve been waiting for, dear,” she grins. “It’s a marriage proposal!”