Page 4 of Sacred Vow

It was a stretch, but I played the only hand I had left and held my breath, waiting for his response.

When he turned around, his eyes were cold with fury. “My medication? You think I am an old man who needs nursing, eh?”

“No, Papa,” I mumbled, bowing my head.

His gaze softened and he came to lay a hand on my arm, wrinkled but scarred and still strong. “I will be fine, Colombina. And you will obey me in this and do your duty to this family. I have allowed you to cast your other suitors aside, but not this one. There will be no escaping your fate this time.”

He turned and closed the door behind him.

The breath I’d been holding escaped in a strangled gasp.

Colombina. Little dove.

He only used the childhood nickname when delivering bad news or making it clear that what he was saying was non-negotiable. Which meant that if I didn’t come up with a plan quickly, I’d be married in just a few hours.

I swore I’d never be forced into a marriage of convenience, and I wasn’t about to let it happen after successfully avoiding it not once, but three times.

My maid stood with her head down, wringing her hands in front of her. Her body language expressed my sentiments… that today felt more like a funeral than a celebration. With her busy organizing brought to an abrupt halt, she appeared at a loss for what to do. Poor Lise, she wasn’t much older than I, and her time serving me had been a dramatic one, but never had she looked so upset.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Calogerà.”

“Don’t be sorry, just help me.” I moved to my walk-in and rummaged around. “First, I need a disguise, Lise.”

No response.

“Lise?” I poked my head out. “A little help here.”

Unshed tears glistened in her eyes.

“I can’t. Your husband-to-be sent a small army of men to ensure you are escorted from the premises, and the staff have been told by your father that anyone who helps you will be fired on the spot. I just can’t, I’m so sorry.” Lise turned and fled the room, leaving me to pick my jaw up off the floor.

A small army? Who the hell was I marrying? For the first time, a thread of panic wound itself through the fury and outrage tying knots in my heart. I had no illusions. I knew from a very young age what it meant to be part of the Calogerà family, let alone the only child of an aging Don. No, not a ‘child’. A daughter. Not a son, who could take on the responsibilities and authority of the family, but only a daughter.

It was no secret that my role in the family was to someday further my father’s prospects through marriage. Many offers had been made, and three had even come to a formal engagement before I’d managed to run them off for good. In a higher-ranking mafia family, my behavior would never have been tolerated, but despite his reputation for cruelty, my father was never strict with me. Indeed, in the last ten years, he’d scarcely been home long enough to notice my indiscretions, let alone punish me for them. I’d always been able to navigate around his half-hearted efforts at controlling me to live almost freely. If it hurt my reputation, so much the better. Fewer suitors to contend with. I was not completely blind to the harm I might have done to my father’s reputation as well, but he ruled his small piece of the underworld well, and as long as he did that, my place seemed assured.

But in our world, nothing was ever truly secure. Winds change. Alliances shift. Fathers start wars that daughters must end with marriage vows. I knew this, even if I never believed it would happen to me. But even in the highest ranking families, I was sure the daughter being married off like cattle knew to whom she was being married. So far, I hadn’t been told. Didn't I at least have the right to know his name? If I could get Papa to tell me that much, maybe he'd listen to a few more of my thoughts about this last-minute marriage... perhaps even a way out of it.

I opened my bedroom door and made to step out when two large men in suits sporting holsters on their hips blocked me.

“Excuse me. I need to speak with my father.”

“Sorry, Ms. Calogerà, but our orders don’t allow for you to leave your room until it’s time to leave.”

I would kill my fiancé with my bare hands when I saw him. But right now, anger wouldn’t help me get out of this room. I needed to think. “Was I also barred from having visitors?”

The men exchanged a look. Ha! I had them.

“Just as I thought. Please send for my maid to help with my hair.” And before they could respond, slammed the door in their faces. I couldn’t help the smirk. Finding a way to get one over on those apes in suits was just the ego boost I needed. When Lise arrived, I’d soon convince her to help me, but as the minutes ticked by and no Lise was in sight, my smirk soon turned to a frown.

I worried my lip. Now what? Think… think… you know what you have to do, Vittoria, just do it! Nabbing my purse off the dresser I grabbed two credit cards and a bank card from my wallet and whatever cash I had. Pinning up my long wavy hair allowed me to hide the cards and cash in the bird’s nest on the top of my head.

I giggled, admiring the mess in the mirror. Let my fiancé behold his vision of loveliness. Oh, good idea, V. I patted myself on the shoulder. Digging through my closet at the very back under the last shoe rack was a pair of unflattering grey sweatpants and a faded ACDC t-shirt. I added mismatched socks and a pair of sneakers that had somehow escaped the garbage.

I wrapped a scarf around my hair and then tackled my make-up. Adding black and brown under my eyes not only made for some serious bags, but also made me look older and a little unhealthy. If all else failed, maybe my fiancé would call off the wedding himself once he got a good look at me. If he had so many men at his disposal, he must be rich, and rich men expected polished, obedient wives. They were about to be deeply disappointed.

I was running out of time, only fifteen minutes before the goons would collect me. With guards at every door, sneaking out the back of the house was out of the question. But, if I could get down the trellis outside my window in one piece, I could pass myself off as one of the gardeners working in the shrubs below.

I opened the window and peered down. It seemed a lot higher than I remembered, and the trellis was shorter. Previously, the lattice reached within a few feet of the ground, but my father had it cut halfway up in his attempts to stop me from sneaking out.