Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

“You promised.” I can’t believe this. “You promised you’d let me finish my courses! Is that so much? Just a few more years to live my life as if it’s actually my own, before I need to surrender it to serve Cosa Nostra and be married off?”

Nuncio Veronese reaches for his whiskey glass and takes a seat on a big recliner in the middle of his study. “Things change, Nera. The situation was different then.”

I bite my tongue in an effort not to scream. “So, how long do I have left?”

He looks down at his tumbler, rotating it, the ice cubes cracking and clinking within the glass. Each fractured sound makes me feel as if I’m facing the countdown clock on death row, waiting for my sentence to be carried out. Waiting for the inevitable. Without hope.

I know that my father loves me. He would take a bullet for me without a second thought. He’d jump after me into rushing waters, even though he doesn’t know how to swim.

My father loves me.

But he loves the Family more.

“You can finish this year of schooling,” he says and takes a big gulp of his drink. “We can announce the betrothal in August, and aim for a fall wedding.”

“Dad . . .”

“You are the only person I can count on. Massimo is in prison. Elmo is gone. Zara is . . . well, you know. There’s only you. And I . . . I’ve made some bad choices, Nera.” He’s looking down at his glass as he says it. “Some really bad choices. And if the Family finds out, everything I’ve worked for would crumble into dust.”

I stare at him. My father would never work against the Family’s prosperity. Cosa Nostra is his life. “What bad choices?”

“I allowed Camorra to invest in our casino business.”

A shocked gasp leaves my lips. The Cosa Nostra business can only be owned by the members of the Family. Allowing someone from the outside, especially another criminal organization, is blasphemy.

“We had losses,” he continues. “I have been forging the revenue reports for the last few months. Some of the loans had to be paid back. We needed the money—fast, and I said yes. Batista and I planned on repaying Camorra before the annual Family meeting in December.”

“The underboss knew? Why the fuck didn’t he caution you against this?”

“It was his idea, actually. We had no other choice, and it should have been temporary. But Alvino changed his mind. He said he wouldn’t accept the payoff unless we offered something in exchange. He wants you.”

The room starts spinning. I’m not marrying a guy who landed his girlfriend in an ER, and who also cuts off people’s genitals. And what about my demon? Just the thought of not seeing him ever again sends me into a full-blown panic.

The horror must be written all over my face because my father stands up and grabs my shoulders.

“He won’t hurt you,” he says. “I had a serious conversation with him, and I made certain he’s aware of what will happen if he dares to lay a hand on my little girl.”

“Please, Dad . . . I can’t . . .”

“The Family needs you, Nera. I need you.”

I stare at my father’s face while the scenes pass through my mind like a movie on fast-forward. Me, in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle toward the man I don’t know. Me, sitting with him at the head table, eating in complete silence because we have nothing to talk about. Me, in a room full of elegantly dressed people, with a big fake smile on my face and in jewelry that equals half my bodyweight. Accepting their empty compliments while trying to hide the tears and despair at being turned into a trophy. Me, lying naked in bed, letting my husband fuck me because it’s his right.

Is that all I can expect now from my life?

A year ago, if my father had given me this news, I would have cried but would have felt resigned to my fate. Marrying for the sake of the Family is not only expected, it is common. Being tied to a man who won’t give a fuck about me seemed normal. Not anymore. Not when I know what it feels like to have someone who actually cares about who I am, as a person. Who looks at me as if he really sees me. Not as the don’s daughter. Not as a strategic move. Just . . . me.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I whisper. “I . . . can’t.”

“You can’t?” He leans toward me, glaring with eyes that seem so cold. His face is set in a grimace, a strange mixture of fury and desperation. I don’t recall seeing my father angry more than a handful of times before.

I make myself keep steady and meet his furious gaze. “I won’t.”

“I am your don. You’re going to do what I order you to do, no questions asked.” His voice has a dangerous edge, somewhere between a warning and a threat.

“You are my father, first and foremost.” My voice is trembling. “Shouldn’t your child’s happiness come before work? Dad?”

“It’s not work. It’s legacy, Nera.”