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

“I was fifteen.”

Jasmine’s delicate fingers press alongside the laceration on my side. Her other hand squeezes water out from a cotton ball, then she very slowly slides it over the wound to remove the dried blood. Had we tended to this last night, then it definitely wouldn’t hurt this much, but I can’t bring myself to care much. She threw herself into my arms, and my fear of losing her to those assassins turned me into a man so hungry for a taste of her life that nothing else mattered.

Not even my own life.

I probably shouldn’t have fallen asleep though. Not that it matters. She kneels on the bed next to me and continues her work while her soft words fall like music from her red lips.

“They snatched me from school like I was a piece of meat. My mother always told me it was a risk. Your father is a dangerous and important man, they’d say. And I’d listen, but it never felt real because they did a good job of keeping that kind of life away from me. It was all talk, y’know? It wasn’t real in my mind. Until that day. I remember fighting, but it was so useless. I’d never met people so strong before. They took me to this abandoned building, I don’t know what it was, and then they hung me from a pipe by my wrists and beat me.”noveldrama

My heart lurches painfully in my chest. “Jasmine⁠—”

She quickly shakes her head and lifts her beautiful eyes to meet mine. “It’s okay. It gets better, I promise.”

Pain lances through my side and I wince, staring back down at her gentle fingers while they thoroughly clean my wound.

“There were other girls there, and they were all wearing different clothes. Looking back, I realize now that they didn’t know exactly who I was. They were just snatching girls until they got lucky, and they finally did. There was one girl I’m sure was dead on the floor, and another who tried to help me, but they beat her like a punching bag. It was one of the most horrific things I ever saw.” Her hands lift from my skin and she tosses the stained cotton ball away, replacing it with another clean one. “I never found out what happened to them. My parents refused to talk about it so … I assume they died.”

I want to reach out to her and chase away the pain haunting her words, but she’s on a roll and it feels disrespectful to interrupt again.

“Anyway, when they worked out I was the real Jasmine Falzone, they dragged me to this room and were forcing me to take off my clothes. I was scared because they were huge and dangerous, and I was so convinced I was going to die. And then someone broke in. A man.”

I feel the weight of her gaze on me, and when I look up, she’s staring directly at me while peeling a packet of butterfly stitches. “Those won’t hold, y’know,” I say gently.

“They will until you get to a doctor,” she replies.

“So this man … it was me?” Despite the question, her story has notes of familiarity that pull at the dark recesses of my mind.

“Yes. I didn’t remember much about you. Only your gorgeous eyes, like warm butterscotch. They’re darker now.” Jasmine chuckles softly. “Or you just frown more. I’m not sure. But your face was covered, your arms weren’t. You swept in killing people and then you scooped me up like I weighed absolutely nothing. I think for a while, I thought I had died and you were some kind of angel coming to collect me. But then you were protecting me and shooting those men, and all I could do was stare at your tattoos.”

Both of us look down at one of my heavily inked arms. “I thought you were covered in stripes until I was in your arms, and then I could see everything. The snake. The deer. All those butterflies. The sunrise and the flowers. Everything was so detailed, and it was the perfect distraction to everything else going on. And after you killed everyone, you scooped me up and carried me out of there like some amazing guardian, and I just …” Her voice wavers slightly.

When our eyes meet, hers are shining and she dips her head.

“Sorry. Anyway, I never knew anything about you. You were just eyes and arms and tattoos, and you saved my life. My parents barely spoke about you, but I never stopped thinking about you. In all my life, you were the only person who ever asked me if I was okay and seemed to mean it. You swept in and rescued me, and you have been on my mind every day since then. All I had to go on was theories that you were a mercenary or a guard or ex-Yakuza or something. Fantasies to fill the gaps because you didn’t seem real.”

Jasmine looks at me again, and there’s such adoration shining in her eyes that telling her the truth risks destroying all her preconceived notions about me. Then again, maybe that’s for the best.

“Jasmine, I am ex-Yakuza.”

Her eyes widen and her hands, despite being delicate against my wound, pinch faintly. “What?”

“It’s not what you think. At least, I hope not. I’m sorry I don’t remember a lot about rescuing you, but back then I was doing a lot of shit that I can’t remember so it’s not personal. Your story is vaguely familiar though, and I am so fucking glad I saved you.”

Her smile warms. “Oh, me too. But I never … you were Yakuza like them?”

“Once.” Nodding, I take over applying the last few weak stitches to my side. “I remember overhearing my father talking about his plan to rescue some lost kid. Back then, I was constantly fighting against Alto. He got all the opportunities to gain glory in Santino’s eyes, so I was always on the lookout for ways to mess with him and get the glory instead. So when I heard that the Yakuza had kidnapped some kid, I knew I could help.”

Talking about life back then makes me agitated, so despite the warmth and comfort of Jasmine’s touch, I force myself up from the bed and pace around the small space between the bed and the door.

“I ran with the Yakuza for years when I was a teenager, so I knew how they worked. I knew I could talk my way inside and find the kid—you—before any real harm came to you, and it was easy. I had a bit of a reputation as a Yakuza, so it was almost too easy to get in there, get you, and get out. I earned a lot of praise from my father, and for a while I thought I had done something amazing until I learned my father was the one that had you kidnapped in the first place.” Our eyes meet and I briefly stop pacing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I already know. We found out some years later after my father tortured it out of a Yakuza general. We gave up a quarter of our business thanking Santino for saving me from something he created, and it’s had us at war with the Yakuza ever since. Even if my father backs down, I’m beginning to think they won’t.”

“They won’t. The Yakuza are proud and respect power. So far, Santino holds the most over them.”

“I can’t believe you were actually Yakuza.” Jasmine shifts around on the bed until her legs are crossed, then she gazes up at me with wide eyes. “Isn’t that unusual to switch? The Yakuza are in a league of their own compared to us. Why would you ever leave?”

That’s the million-dollar question, and the reason I’ve spent so many long years proving my loyalty is with Santino and not the Yakuza I left behind. Some days I wish it was as easy as simply returning to my own roots. I suspect I’d be treated with more humanity from the Yakuza than I’ve ever received from Santino.

Jasmine has shared her past with me, and the connection she feels she shares. With that comes trust, but can I really trust her with my secret? Can I really open myself up and let her into the one single thing that’s been driving me ever since I was a child?

Looking at her soft, beautiful face and her sharp, clever eyes tells me that yes, I can. But my heart remains wary. I have only one weakness, and exposing it to her leaves me open for Jasmine to wound me deeper than anyone else ever can.

“You can trust me,” Jasmine says softly. “I’ve spent eleven years thinking about everything I wanted to say and do when I met you. There’s nothing you can say that will make me want to harm you.”

“You don’t know that,” I reply. “Wait … when you told me our marriage would be loveless because your heart belonged to another, did you mean … ?”

Jasmine’s smile turns sly. “I’m keeping some of my secrets for now.”

“Okay.” Chuckling, I resume my pacing, and the words flow without much thought holding them back. “I was raised by my mother. She was a gentle, loving woman who only wanted the best for me. As mothers do. She was sick for as long as I can remember, but it never stopped her from putting food on the table or clothes on my back. When I was little, maybe nine or ten, I overheard her talking to a friend who was⁠—”

The words catch in my throat. Forcing a cough, I try to look at Jasmine, but I can’t bring myself to look in her eyes.

“They were asking her how she did it, how she could look at me and love me knowing what I was? Where I came from? I didn’t understand, and I was so young that when I overheard that I was a child of rape, I had no idea what that meant.”

“Oh my God,” Jasmine gasps. “Roman⁠—”

“I grew up and I learned, and for years I hated myself. Sometimes I don’t think that has ever gone away, but as my mom got sicker, I got angrier. My mom was the sweetest person on the planet, and someone had hurt her and dumped her like she was nothing. When I asked her about it, she didn’t ever want to talk about it. She just kept telling me she loved me and that was all that mattered. Until she died.”

The word tastes sour.

“He killed her. Not directly, but after he raped her, she was never the same. I tracked down old friends of hers and learned what I could about her life, and her sickness was just something that grew inside her after the rape and never healed. Being Japanese, when I learned that she used to run with gangs, I made the assumption that it was the Yakuza, so I joined them. And I was with them for quite a few years trying to dig around and track down the bastard that was my father.”

My pacing takes me further away from the bed, where I stop near the window and gaze out at the pouring rain turning the parking lot into a swimming pool.

“I was in my twenties when I learned that my mother had actually been involved with the Italian Mafia, not Yakuza. So I’m only half Japanese, not that anyone lets me forget it. I found a picture of my mother with a young Santino, and eventually found some old letters that she wrote to him cursing him out for what he did. She talked about getting rid of me, or having me out of spite …” My voice trembles. “I don’t know the reason for her choice, but I’m here. And I feel like she loved me. I hoped she did.”

My heart beats hard and slow in my chest while my gut churns like I’ve shoved my stomach into a blender. I’ve never said these words out loud to another person before. Never shared this secret, and it’s like peeling my own skin off.

“I tracked Santino down, and I was going to kill him, but I saw a better opportunity. My mother was tormented for years, so I wanted him to suffer. I joined his organization, worked my way up, and made myself invaluable until I was face-to-face with him. And then I told him he was my father.”

I turn and Jasmine stands behind me, her face warped with deep sympathy. She reaches for me, hesitant, and touches my forearm.

“He didn’t remember who she was. Who does that? What kind of man can rape someone, never mind rape them and forget they even exist? It turns my stomach to think what he must have done in order to forget her. How many women he—” I can’t even say it and clench my teeth as Jasmine’s touch wanders up my arm.

“So I made a promise. I would give myself to him and work my ass off until he trusted me. I would make myself the better son, the perfect son until it’s me he hands the crown to and not fucking Alto. And then I’m going to torture him and make him watch while I destroy everything he’s spent his life building. I’m going to ruin him and torment him like his memory tormented my mother. I’m going to turn the Gatti empire to fucking ashes, and he’ll be left burning at the stake in the middle of it!”

Venom laces my words, dripping hate at the very thought of finally getting my revenge on that bastard. By the time I spit out the last word, I’m panting harshly and every muscle is locked up so tight that both my shoulder wound and my side throb sharply.

“Roman, I’m so sorry.” Jasmine slowly slides both arms around my waist. “I had no idea.”

“How could you?” I scoff softly. “No one knows. So you see, when I heard the Mancinis talking about wiping us out, I knew I had to do everything I could to get them off our backs. I can’t have Santino dying so easily. I need him to suffer. I need him to crumble and break down because of me. Because how dare he forget her.”

“I understand.” Jasmine looks up at me with wide eyes. “Believe me, Roman. I understand. I can’t say I understand what you’ve gone through but your need for revenge? That I do understand. For me, all I could see was the Mancinis killing us before I got a chance to find out who my rescuer was. I’m glad my suspicions about you being Yakuza were correct, but it’s ironic that I never would have found you even if we did make peace with the Yakuza. Because you were here all along.”

Her warmth soaks into me like the spread of hot water pouring from a pressure shower, and her tight arms around my middle ground the racing speed of my heart.

“Call me Ren,” I croak softly. “That’s what my mother called me.”

“Ren,” Jasmine repeats sweetly. “I like it.”

Hearing my name, my real name, come from Jasmine hits like a punch to the chest and I wobble slightly in her arms. I haven’t heard someone call me by that name since my mother died over twenty years ago. Both my arms wrap around Jasmine, and I hold her as tightly as I dare.

“I like it too.”