Veiled Vows: An age gap, marriage of convenience, secret pregnancy, mafia romance (Mafia Lords of Sin)
Veiled Vows: Chapter 1

“Name?”

Smelly Brute, as I’ve decided to name him, sinks his fat fingers into my jaw and pulls me forward, forcing strain on my arms as the twine binding my wrists to the pipe above my head tightens. His eerily bright blue eyes dart back and forth across my face as if something about my features can grant him the answer he’s looking for, because I certainly can’t say it.

I’m too scared. Fear grips me like the unwelcome bite of frost on a cold winter’s morning, locking my joints into place and making my tongue feel so fat and swollen that all attempts to speak have become nothing but whimpers.

Growing up, my mother warned me about these kinds of situations. “Your father is a dangerous man, Jasmine. And dangerous men attract dangerous people.”

Everything she ever taught me fled from my mind the moment I was snatched from the school grounds by men posing as maintenance workers. Oddly, my first thought when the bag went over my head, and strong arms wrestled me to the ground was that the school principal was going to be in so much shit for not thoroughly checking who was allowed on school property. Once I thought about it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even now, dangling from a pipe with twine slicing into my wrists and my toes barely touching the ground, all I can think about is the principal.

Did she not run a background check? Did she not take one look at this rotund man with his pencil-thin mustache, fat arms, and eyes so blue that they almost look white, and think it was maybe not a great idea to have him around a bunch of teenagers? Could she not sense the threatening aura pouring from this man? Is she really so blind?

I would make a better principal than her. I’d make sure that anyone who walked onto the grounds of my school didn’t make it past the gate without me knowing every detail of their last ten years walking this⁠—

“Hey, bitch!” A sharp, swift slap to my cheek knocks me out of my spiraling mental distraction, and I’m dragged right back to the cold, damp room that’s become my prison cell. “I asked your fucking name, and you better tell me or I’m going to pry open that pretty mouth of yours and rip out your teeth one by one, then make you spell out your fucking name with them, understand?!”

He tightens his grasp on my jaw, shoving my cheeks against my teeth until the pain is too great and my mouth opens with a wet gasp. Before I can snap it shut, he shoves the barrel of his handgun between my teeth. It slides so deep into my mouth that I gag and my whole body recoils with such force that my toes briefly lift from the ground.

It tastes disgusting. Metal and copper, like how I imagine an exhaust pipe would taste.

“Leave her alone!” The girl to my left, bound in a similar position to me, yells out suddenly, and she twists back and forth as if there’s anything she can do to help us. Why would she call out to try and help me? Her uniform is different from mine, so we don’t even attend the same school, yet she draws attention to herself as if there’s anything good that can come of it.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Smelly Brute snarls, thrusting the gun an inch deeper into my mouth. The metal sight scrapes against the roof of my mouth and tears flood my eyes, leaking down my cheeks with every flutter of my eyes as I fight the urge to gag again. Any more and I’m certain I’ll throw up.

One of the other girls did and they took her away. She never came back.

His bright eyes lock back onto me as one of the other guards, a man I’ve dubbed Skinny, punches the girl next to me so hard in her stomach that her eyes almost bulge right out of her head. Once he starts punching her, he doesn’t stop. I’m forced to watch in horror as he beats her like she’s nothing more than a punching bag, until tears are streaming down her cheeks and she gasps for air that doesn’t seem to make it into her lungs. The last punch sends her swinging backward, her legs fall limp, and her head flops down against her chest.

Is she dead?! Did he kill her?!

Am I next?

“Eyes over here, beautiful.” Smelly Brute snaps his tongue against his teeth and forces me to look at him. “That will be you in a second if you don’t answer my fucking question, alright? Or I’ll shove this gun so far up your cunt you’ll be spitting bullets for a week.”

He removes the gun and I cough violently, scarcely able to drag in enough air to calm my racing heart. It beats so fast that it’s a blur, and I’m scared it’s not beating at all. Maybe I died. Maybe this is hell.

“Name,” he barks, wiping his saliva-covered gun against my neck.

“J-J-Jasmine,” I croak out weakly while my jaw trembles uncontrollably.

“Jasmine what?”

“F-F-F⁠—”

“Fuh, fuh, fuh,” he mocks with a cold laugh. “Speak up!”

“F-Falzone!” My surname bursts out of me, and I curl my hands so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. This new pain is a brief distraction from the agony throbbing in my wrists from the twine that cuts into my skin from supporting the majority of my body weight. “M-My name is Jasmine Falzone.”

“Age?”

“F-Fifteen.”

“Mother’s name?”

“Uh … B-Bianca?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

Once I look him in the eye, it’s impossible to look away. “Telling.”

A third guy with a scar over his eyes melts from the shadows and leans close to Smelly’s ear, speaking in a low voice. Whatever he says makes Smelly’s face light up and he finally steps away from me.

All three of them leave not long after. A deathly silence lingers in their wake. The girl next to me remains as unconscious as the two other girls on the floor, also in uniforms from different schools. I haven’t seen any signs of life from them in the entire time I’ve been here, time of which I’ve lost complete track. Everything here is dark and cold with only frozen pipes for company.

I was supposed to be going home for Christmas. My parents and I were due to fly to Italy to spend time with very distant extended family and wait out the bitter December cold in a much more relaxing country. Instead I’m here, snatched from school like a pebble in a sea of gravel.

In the dark and the silence, more tears come. I cry myself to exhaustion, trembling from fear and the icy conditions. It’s impossible to tell. My mother talked me through what to do if I was ever taken, but I can’t remember a single thing now. All I want to do is make sure I survive this.

My mother was clear about the specific reasons I would be targeted.

My father. What he does and the people he works with all make life very difficult for different groups of people. All it takes is for one to get tired of being treated like shit and try to work out a better deal using something my father can’t bargain with.

My life.

I hate it. I hate him. I want to be at home curled up on the couch drowning in TV shows like any other regular teenager.

I hate this.

I hate him.

What feels like hours pass before the men return. They untie the unconscious girl and carry her out of the room, slamming the door closed behind them and leaving me to a terrifying solitude. It wasn’t as bad when I knew someone was in here with me, but now I’m alone? There’s no one to call out for me. Nothing between me and them.

Exhaustion eventually pulls me into an uneasy sleep filled with pain and heat that I can’t escape no matter how fast I run. The dreams last until an overwhelming surge of agony throbs through my shoulders. My eyes open as a scream of pain tears from my raw throat, but as soon as I make a noise, I’m swiftly slapped across the face, which only disorients me further. My shoulders scream like my joints are being ground against broken glass, and countless tears pour down my cheeks as I’m dragged by my hair and the back of my shirt along a dark corridor.

My shoulder pain must be from being hung by my wrists for so long only to abruptly be let down.

Darkness gives way to a room so blindingly bright that my eyes slam shut to protect themselves, yet the light seems to pierce through my eyelids. Covering my eyes with my hands does little to change that, but it helps.

“Stand up,” barks Smelly’s voice once I’m thrown onto a cold, hard stone floor. “I said get the fuck up!”

His boot collides with my gut with such force that I fly upward an inch or two. The impact forces my eyes open as all air is forced from my lungs, and a tight cramp flexes across my abdomen. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe, but somehow I manage to climb to my feet.

This room is much larger than where I was being held. A large white sheet acts as a backdrop behind me. Several cameras and glaring bright lights form a wall in front of me, as well as several large white diffusion umbrellas. Skinny drapes his long limbs over one of the cameras and picks at his teeth, narrowing his almond-shaped eyes when our gazes meet.

I look away quickly, hastily wiping away my tears so I can get a clearer look at everything around me. Scarface stands near the door with his hands cradling a submachine gun while he rocks back and forth on his heels.

Smelly approached with a cold smirk. “So, Jasmine. I thought it’s about time you slipped into something more comfortable.”

My stomach drops like a rock, and I stare up at him with wide eyes. “W-What?”

Cruel snickers rise up around the room.

“You’re not in school anymore so why are you still in uniform?” His bright eyes dip down to my body hidden underneath a very stained white shirt, then down to the pleated skirt clinging to my legs. “The only thing better than a schoolgirl fantasy is seeing what’s under the schoolgirl uniform.”

Violent disgust rolls through my body, like a hand reaching up to my throat from inside my body. I gag and slam a hand over my mouth, forcing down the rising bile along with the terrifying, cold realization of what’s about to happen.

“So come on …” Smelly walks forward, waving his handgun around like it’s some kind of prompt, then he presses the barrel to my collarbone and slides it down until the weapon strains against the buttons keeping my shirt closed. “Take it off. Or I’ll take it off for you. And trust me …” He leans in close so I get a faceful of his stinking, ashy breath. “I won’t be gentle.”

I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of obeying, but the alternative sounds even more horrific.

A lump forms in my throat and, with violently trembling fingers, I reach for the buttons on my shirt.

Oh God. I’m going to die here. I’m actually going to die here.

I can scarcely feel the buttons with how cold my fingers are. Smelly’s eyes narrow with glee as the first button of my shirt pops free. He steps back, crossing his thick arms across his chest and dragging his fat, slimy tongue across his lower lip. Every single inch of me recoils in disgust, but I move on to the second button.

Suddenly, a rapid explosion of muffled pops fills the air. It sounds like popcorn exploding in the microwave a few rooms away. Smelly spins around and exchanges a look with Skinny, who lazily shrugs one shoulder. The pops get louder, but it’s difficult to decipher exactly what they are. Each one makes me flinch the louder they get and then, in a flash, the room is full of commotion.

Scarface is sprinting toward me at top speed, Smelly is yelling in a language I don’t understand, and Skinny is fighting to get the handgun out of his ankle holster. Several other men melt from the shadows, and words fly around me that I scarcely understand while my pounding heart feels like it’s about to break right out of my chest.

I pick up on a few words—Yakuza, Jasmine, and something about a traitor, but everything else is a blur.

Then the door I was dragged in a few minutes earlier explodes off its hinges and sails halfway into the room. As it lands with an almighty crash, a large muscular man charges into the room and flies over one of my captors. He lands gracefully, without much noise, and shoots the guard twice in the chest with a silver handgun.

Then he’s on his feet again, sprinting right toward Skinny who’s taking terrible shots at him. The newcomer closes the gap incredibly quickly and moves like water flowing around rocks. One minute he’s sliding on the ground, shooting straight to take out Skinny’s knee, the next he’s in the air putting two bullets in his skull and landing softly as Skinny crumples to the ground, dead.

I blink and the newcomer is gone, diving behind a couch and shooting out several of the lights. In the explosion of glass and sparks, he’s gone again and this time, he reappears behind Scarface, who paused his approach of me as soon as Skinny died. He shoots him twice in the back, and Scarface’s dying screams end abruptly when the newcomer removes a knife from his hip and drives it into Scarface’s throat.

“You motherfucker!” Smelly roars, firing multiple shots toward the newcomer. The gunfight is explosive with bullets flying around me in every direction.

I should move, but fear keeps me rooted to the spot like a statue. I can barely breathe, can barely think or move. I keep my hands clutched in my shirt to keep it closed while sobs tear from my throat, and I wait for the sweet relief of a bullet hitting me and ending this nightmare.

I close my eyes, silently apologizing to my mother and father for not being strong enough, for not taking them seriously about how much danger I could end up in, for not being a better daughter.

Then, a shadow falls over me and I open my eyes expecting to see Smelly.

It’s not him.

It’s the newcomer.

He stands a full head and shoulders taller than me, with thick muscles bulging under sweaty, honey-olive skin. They strain for freedom under a black tank top that looks a size too small for his build. Thick, black hair sweeps back from his forehead, leaving a few stray strands to kiss his brows when he tilts his head down and looks me right in the eye.

His almond-shaped eyes are like warm, dark butterscotch, and the only feature I can see as the rest of his face is hidden behind a simple black balaclava.

I blink and tears leak down my cheeks.

The stranger leans alarmingly close, and as I breathe in a mix of sweat, copper, and something smoky, he winds one large arm around my body and sweeps me right off the ground. Just in time, several bullets from Smelly land where I was just standing. The stranger lifts me like I weigh nothing, and my stomach lurches at the sudden change in state. Rapid bangs from the newcomer’s guns are much louder now, so I slam my hands over my ears, but just as I’m about to close my eyes, I find a better distraction.

The newcomer’s arms are covered in black ink. At a glance, it looks just like black swirls and stripes line his arm from shoulder to wrist, but as I stare at them, more becomes clear. Each swirl isn’t just a black line

One is a dragon winding around his bicep breathing fire, another is a phoenix. One is a snake, one is a deer leaping over a line of forest trees. One swirl is actually hundreds of butterflies leading all the way up to his shoulder.

Both arms are the same, though in this insane situation, I can’t tell if they share the same tattoos. The stranger spins me around and my stomach lurches once more, and then suddenly, the shooting stops. Peering past the stranger’s thick bicep, I spot the cause.

Smelly is on the ground, choking and gurgling on blood pouring out of his mouth and a perfect, circular hole in his throat.

“Don’t look.” The stranger speaks in a low, velvety smooth voice as he raises his weapon to Smelly’s head.

Despite his instruction, I do look.

I want to see him die. I want to see the moment life leaves his disgusting body.

The stranger’s finger hovers on the trigger for a few long moments, watching Smelly drown in his own blood. When he pulls the trigger, he shoots him in the chest several times rather than the head, which makes his death a bit slower.

Exactly like he deserves.

The silence is almost as deafening as the gunfire, and I’m convinced this man must be able to hear how loudly my heart is beating; at the very least he must be able to feel it.

But who is he?

He holsters his weapon with a soft snap of leather, and then he looks at me once more with his dark brows pinched in concern. Fear returns to my thoughts as the implications of who this man could be become so overwhelming. Just because he killed the others doesn’t mean he’s going to help me.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, as if hearing my own thoughts. “I’m here to take you home.”

Home.

Such a thing feels alarmingly unfamiliar after this entire ordeal. The stranger scoops me into his arms fully this time, bridal style, and carries me through the compound with strict instruction not to look. An instruction I disobey by sneaking glances over his shoulder.

There are bodies everywhere. Not a single soul has been left alive, and while the sight should disgust me, I feel relief. Whoever these people were, they can’t hurt anyone ever again.

“Careful,” the man says as we approach a fire exit door covered in peeling red paint. “It’s cold outside.”

“What … What about the others?” I croak, sneaking a glance up at his gorgeous eyes. Eyes that beautiful must mean his face is utterly to die for, if only I could see it.

“I’m not here for the others,” he says firmly. “Someone else will take care of them.”

He came for me, and only me? Who the hell is he?

The door shoves open on creaky, rusty hinges, and as the first bitter gust of winter air washes over my body, the stranger tightens his arms around me. Such incredible warmth radiates from his body that the bitter cold air is just an afterthought, although I marvel at how he can wear so little in the depths of winter.

I want to keep staring at him, but as he trudges over the snow-covered ground, the weight of what happened begins to settle into my chest like a growing ball of pressure. Instead, I tuck my head under his chin and nuzzle into his throat where it’s the warmest.

I don’t know this man. I don’t know who he is or where he came from.

But I feel safe.

And that brings an entirely different wave of tears.

I’m sniffling and swallowing down sobs by the time we reach a sleek black car parked on the edge of the property, where a man in a black suit holds open the door. Warmth and soft classical music waft from inside the vehicle, but the thought of leaving the safety of this man’s arms for a car feels daunting. Without thinking, I tighten my grip on the stranger’s arm.

“Don’t worry,” he says, dropping slowly down to his haunches and placing me into the back seat. “You are safe now. This car will take you back to your family, okay?”

Had I more strength, I would have said more to him, but the only thing that bursts past my trembling lips is, “Who are you?”

He doesn’t reply. He stands, pauses, and then leans down to press a fleeting kiss to my hairline. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Oh my God.

In that moment, an overwhelming crush explodes to life in my heart as the skin where his clothed lips pressed tingles from the contact. My heart races faster and faster as he leans away, steps back, and gently closes the door.

There’s a woman inside the car who I recognize as one of my mother’s assistants, but I barely register her even as she covers me with a blanket and rapidly assures me that I will be back with my parents at the hospital within thirty minutes.

My focus remains on my rescuer. He stands like a black knight in the snow with the wind whipping his hair in all directions, and his eyes fixed firmly on the car as we drive away.

I don’t know who he is, but I know one thing.

I’m going to marry that man.