Oath of sacrifice a dark.., p.1
Oath of Sacrifice : A Dark Mafia Romance (Deviant Doms), page 1
OATH OF SACRIFICE: A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE
DEVIANT DOMS
JANE HENRY
Copyright © 2022 by Jane Henry
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover art by Popkitty Designs
CONTENTS
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Meet Jane
SYNOPSIS
She may be promised to a stranger...
But we know the truth.
Rosa Rossi is mine.
Mine to have and to hold,
No matter the cost.
If we're discovered,
My life is forfeit,
And she'll be exiled forever.
But I know...
I see through every glance sent my way
I feel every pulse of her heart.
And my heart beats with hers.
Now she's under my protection
No matter the cost,
Even if that means making the ultimate sacrifice.
CHAPTER ONE
Santo
A bead of sweat rolls down my back. I scowl at the landscape that most would find beautiful—rolling green hills that overlook the Rossi family vineyard, almost ethereal with the setting sun. The air’s pregnant with the sweet scent of ripe grapes.
Fuck that.
I wasn’t bred to harvest fucking grapes.
I yank at my T-shirt and pull it off, wipe it across my brow and ball it in my fist. A cool wind skates across my sweat-slicked naked chest. I’ve grown a beard, gotten more ink, lifted more in Tuscany.
What the hell else am I gonna do?
September’s usually the time of year they tell tourists to come to Tuscany, instead of during the hellish, stifling August heat, because the weather’s begun to cool. But not this year. This year, September’s started off almost as hot as August.
Others might see this as a gorgeous landscape, a little slice of heaven, really.
Not for me.
This vineyard’s my fucking prison.
Bare-chested, glaring at the ripe vines that sprawl before me, I want to pound my chest and scream like motherfuckin’ Tarzan. I want to claw at the rose tats on my arms, the stark, vivid reminders of who I am.
Who I try to be.
A reminder of the oaths I took.
All of them.
The ones they know about.
And the one… they don’t.
I turn my back to the vineyard and stare at the sprawling estate before me, only one of a number of places the Rossi family owns in Tuscany. I once had a place here in Italy, a place of my own, but I sold it when Romeo banished me to the vineyard. It only mocked me with its vacancy and opulence.
Now I have an apartment here at the vineyard, where I oversee operations.
Motherfucking vineyard operations.
A part of me wonders if I’m here because Romeo wants me as far away from his family in America as possible.
Romeo, who’s like a brother to me. My Don.
He knows I don’t like to sit still and never have. He knows I like to get my hands dirty, whether that’s changing the oil in one of my cars or breaking legs as punishment for a crime committed against the family. Romeo knows that the best way to really punish a guy like me is to take him away from anyone who matters and to make him do fucking menial labor.
As I head inside, a car pulls up the long drive. It’s hard to see with the setting sun, but I cover my eyes to block the sun’s rays and try to see. Ah. One of Tavi’s, then. He’s come to pay a visit. I wait, but he’s busy on his phone so I give him space.
Tuscan homes are rustic and sturdy, many built centuries ago. The home set at the vineyard’s no exception. Stone columns and benches line the walk to the main house, the most modern part all the recessed lighting and spotlights in the garden. Here, the smell of ripe grapes fades a little.
Laughter comes from inside the kitchen. Maurice, an older guy who’s cooked for the Rossi family for decades, makes magic in the kitchen, unless Tavi’s wife Elise is here. Elise can cook her ass off. But Elise is pregnant, and hates flying on a good day, so Tavi’s got her home with The Family.
I wonder why he’s here.
Another burst of laughter floats through the warm evening air. I clench my fists. It’s been way too fucking long since I’ve had a chance to talk with brothers of my own, to feel like I have a tribe that actually welcomes me. I know what’ll happen if I go to the kitchen.
I’ll find Maurice regaling staff with tales of his many exploits from when he was a young guy in the Italian Army. It’s how he met Narciso, the late Don of the Rossi family , and how he got the job here. Kitchen help in the Army.
They’ll be sitting around the large, rustic kitchen table with their pints of ale or glasses of wine, probably with a heavy antipasto plate in the center of the table. Maurice is famous for his antipasto boards—handmade cheeses, meats, olives cured from the Rossi’s private collection, with jams and dried fruits. They’ll drink and eat and talk in perfect amiability.
Until I walk in.
Tavi’s still sitting in his car, probably catching up on emails.
I decide to test my theory.
I amble toward the kitchen. Sure enough, the whole crew’s sitting around with their drinks and food, and Maurice is speaking animatedly in Italian, waving his hands for dramatic effect. He winks at me and continues his tale. Maurice has known me since I was ten years old, and he isn’t afraid of me.
That makes one.
I stand against the doorframe, leaning my hip against it to listen to him.
“And the girl, she says, buddy, you want more than one tonight? I’m a triplet.” Snickers and chuckles. Maurice waggles his eyebrows. “And I say to her, I’m glad you told me. Thought I was seeing triple. Still, I only got one dick, sweetheart.”
The guys laugh out loud, slapping their knees.
“Ah, Maurice,” I say from the back. “Don’t sell yourself short, brother. You’ve got two hands and a tongue, too.”
The laughter dies as the guys look back at me, their eyes wide with fear.
And then it begins. First one stands and feigns a yawn and heads off in the other direction toward staff headquarters. Then another, then another, until it’s only me and Maurice left. Like I’m a goddamn leper.
Fuck it, maybe I am. Some diseases are invisible.
“Santo,” he says warmly. “That hot, you take your shirt off?”
“Yeah, sweatin’ like a pig out there.” In here, it’s much cooler. I head to the laundry room off the kitchen where the house cleaner does our laundry and grab a clean tee. I pull it on, wondering what’s taking Tavi so long. I won’t invade his privacy, so I’ll wait until he comes in.
“They scatter like ants when you come,” Maurice says with a laugh. “They don’t know the Santo I do. I remember when you were just a boy, ten years old, the first one who ate everything. So thin I could see your bones.”
I turn my back to him and close my eyes. I remember, too. The sleepless nights when hunger clawed at my belly until I cried. The way the boys at school made fun of me for my skinny legs and thin, emaciated body.
I remember how I eventually beat the shit out of every one of them in high school, too, and how no one made fun of me then, not after Tavi showed me how to lift and Orlando showed me how to fight.
“Yeah, you could say I’ve filled out,” I say with a laugh. I pat my belly. “Maybe even need to lose a few pounds, eh?” I’ve put on weight in Tuscany, but still work out, so I’ve bulked up.
“You don’t need to lose weight, Santo,” Maurice says. “Extra weight looks good on you.”
It’s extra muscle that looks good on me, I think to myself.
“Santo,” he says softly. I turn to look at him. He’s laying a hand towel across a ceramic bowl, probably covering the dough so it rises overnight. “Does it make you sad that they leave when you come?”
“Sad?” I laugh. “I don’t give a fuck if they like me. I want them to do what they’re told.”
Maurice waves a wooden spoon at me. “And that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. You still have the same trashy mouth you did when you were ten.”
I laugh. “Only now you don’t smack me with that spoon like you did back then.”
He rolls his eyes heavenward. “Didn’t do any good anyway, did it?”
He’d whack me good for my foul language, and Romeo tried to clean up my mouth a time or two, but it didn’t work. The men of my brotherhood swore like sailors, and I always wanted to be just like them.
Always.
It never quite worked.
He takes the spoon, lifts the heavy lid on a pot on the back of the stove, and stirs. “They leave because they’re scared of you, Santo.”
I know. I know they do.
“Yeah.”
“You should try… well, to be a little gentler with them.”
“Maurice,” I say dryly, turning away from him when I hear the side door swing open. “I don’t fucking care.”
And I don’t. I’d rather they fear me.
I leave the kitchen to greet Tavi in the living room.
“Hey, brother,” he says with a grim smile.
Shit.
Something’s wrong.
“Hey. You okay?”
Tavi brushes a hand through his short brown hair and heaves a sigh. He’s got the Rossi family blue-gray eyes and strong, muscled physique. “Campanelle’s calling foul, man.”
Shit.
The Campanelles, one of the many rival families that give us shit, have been crying wolf for years. We never listened to them. Romeo assured us that he’d settled outstanding accounts and they had no claim on us anymore, but right after Tavi’s wedding and my subsequent exile, the Campanelles provided evidence that the Rossi family owed them several million dollars, thanks to a deal their father made back in the day.
I sit down on one of the heavy sofas and cross one leg over the other. Tavi walks over to the sideboard and pours himself a glass of house Chianti, the very same that’s won awards throughout Tuscany.
“What happened?”
He takes a sip of wine and exhales in contentment. “Fuckin’ missed this. Haven’t touched it at home because Elise can’t have it.”
Tavi’s wife Elise is pregnant and can’t have wine for a while.
“How much longer you got? Like six months?”
“Nah, man,” he says with a grin. “She’s already in the third trimester. Got like a month left.”
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself. I’m missing goddamn everything being exiled over here. It’s been longer than I thought.
I miss Boston. I miss The Family. Romeo knew for a guy like me, no punishment’s greater than isolation.
“So what’d Romeo propose?” I ask. We don’t want the Campanelles coming after us. We fought them before and won, but not without significant losses to both sides. We don’t want to have to fight them again.
Tavi sits heavily beside me, his lips turning downward in a scowl. Before this conversation, I’d have told him that marriage was good for him. Eased his tight-ass ways a little, made him actually fucking smile every once in a while. But now… he looks older. As Underboss, he shoulders heavy responsibilities with Romeo.
He looks up to me with haunted eyes and shakes his head. “He’s promised Rosa, Santo.”
I don’t process the words at first, like he’s spoken a foreign language that I don’t comprehend.
Promised… Rosa?
I blink. A cold chill skates down my spine.
No.
No.
“Rosa?” I ask, my voice choked. I try to hold my emotions back, so I don’t betray feelings I have no business even having.
I knew this could happen. I knew that Rosa, after the death of her husband, was considered eligible to be married. And in our world, the Rossi women are commodities.
They’re treated with respect and protected at all costs, but all of us have known from the very beginning that they were never meant to stay here, that they weren’t going to stay with us forever. We knew it was only a matter of time before they were given away in marriage to someone else.
I stand and somehow make it to the sideboard. I pour myself a glass of wine, but my hand trembles.
None of them know how I feel about her. If they did, I’d be a dead man walking.
I try to hide the way the wine sloshes on the table, and pour more than I need in my glass. I grab a bar towel and swipe at the dark red liquid. I watch the wine stain the white towel. I’ve cleaned blood the same way, watching it seep into the terry cloth.
I swallow hard.
Tavi’s phone rings, an obnoxious girly ringtone.
I give him a quizzical look. The wine’s already dimmed my initial rage at the news, but my knuckles on the stem are still white.
“What the fuck is that?”
He rolls his eyes. “Elise gave me all these damn ringtones,” he says and shakes his head. He snorts. “Wait until you hear yours.” He hits a button. “Hello?”
Ah, it’s not a phone call. FaceTime from Elise.
Her face takes up the whole screen. “Oh, hi, honey!” she croons as she blows him a kiss. “Is that Santo back there?”
She squints, and I wave, then lean back on the arm of the couch and take another sip of wine.
Rosa.
Rosa.
My mind can’t help but spin this around, to try to decipher meaning in the black hole of this intel.
I’m not paying attention to the FaceTime call until I hear my name again.
“Santo?”
I look to see Elise isn’t home like I assumed, but in her store in Copley, the same one I helped her prepare for retail.
I hate retail. I only helped with the store because Rosa likes pretty things, and I knew because she’s friends with Elise she’d end up there as well.
And Rosa is safer in America.
“What’s up? How’re you feeling?”
All the Rossi women are like sisters to me.
That’s a lie. All but one.
“I’m good,” she says, and she does look like she’s glowing. She holds the phone back so I can see her hugely swollen belly. That makes me smile.
“You sure there’s only one bambino in there? You can’t trust a guy like Tavi…”
Tavi play-punches me, but it still hurts. I duck and laugh, rubbing my arm, when I suddenly freeze.
Elise isn’t alone.
I swallow.
Rosa’s bent over a display of leather handbags, arranging them artfully. She turns and looks over her shoulder at the phone when she hears my voice.
“Oh, hey, Santo,” she says casually. Not a hint of anything more than familial friendship.
I’ve been a member of this family since I was ten years old, and she greets me like I’m the guy that pumps her fucking gas.
“Hey,” I say, an icy tone in my own voice. “How’s business?”
Elise speaks up, answering my question.
“Oh, Santo, it’s booming. Thank you. I think the marketing guy you found has really helped our exposure. You know how competitive it is in Boston, but he’s put us on the map!” She beams. “And Rosa’s got the Midas touch, you know.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah?” My voice is a little husky. I hope I mask it. I can feel Tavi’s razor-sharp gaze on me. “How so?”
“Someone comes in for one little handbag, and the next thing you know, they talk to Rosa, and they walk out with the entire collection.”
I smile. “Well done, Rosa. How do you do that?”
Fuck, but I like the feel of her name on my lips. It feels like velvet and chocolate, soft and seductive. I think of her when I see the rose tats on my arms.
She shrugs modestly and looks away from the camera. “I tell them they’re worth it. I tell them they work hard, and that it’s okay for a woman to indulge herself once in a while.” She smiles. “And if it’s a guy, I tell him his woman will be very, very thankful and be sure to show her appreciation.”
Tavi laughs. “Well done, sis. Looks like you have a calling, eh?”
A calling to be the wife of one of our enemies. Yeah, she’s got a fucking calling.
“Guess so,” Rosa says. She walks back to her work, and Elise and Tavi chat it up again. She had a visit to the doctor today and fills him in on everything about the size of the baby, how healthy things are, and all the little details that matter. He eats it up like she’s feeding him manna from heaven.
Jealousy’s a hard pill to swallow.
I turn my back to them and finish my wine, until he hangs up the call.
