Page 1 of Vow

ONE

The cold grip of a late February wind clutched at Andino Marcello’s throat even as he tried to flip the collar of his jacket higher to keep it out. Nothing worked—nothing ever worked to keep out that kind of cold in this fucking city.

They still had another month of this shit to go, too. Winter wasn’t going to let up until it had ravaged New York with one cold blast after another, even if it was the last day of February.

Usually, he didn’t mind the weather as much as he did this winter. He could ignore the cold, and get lost in work, or something else. This year was not shaking out to be quite the same. So was his fucking life lately.

A giant dumpster fire.

A lot like his mood, too.

Andino grunted at the enforcer who held open the restaurant door for him to slip inside. On another day, he might have given the man a nod or thanks. Not to-fucking-day. All he wanted to do was get this goddamn meeting over with, and go home.

He wasn’t even planning to work.

Andino was acutely aware of the eyes that fell on him as he entered the business. Men from his family, and men from another neighboring New York Cosa Nostra. Although, where the Marcello family hated the Calabrese organization, they tolerated the Donati crime family.

It probably helped that Dante had finally accepted the fact his daughter was going to be with Cross Donati whether her father liked it or not. Andino gave it less than six months before his cousin married the cocky Donati fucker—everybody got to have their happily ever after.

Except him, apparently.

He was still alone.

Haven still wasn’t his.

And all for what?

Andino glanced around the restaurant, and the men waiting on him to come in and take a seat, so they could begin this meeting. Apparently, he gave her up for this.

This life.

His family.

The legacy.

Duty.

He didn’t want to be bitter about it, but that was difficult. Harder than he expected it to be, frankly. The problem was—nobody gave a damn, and he couldn’t find it in himself to let them know how he felt.

Not yet, anyway.

No man in this life wanted the people around him to know he was struggling emotionally, or with something silly like love. Or the loss of it, for that matter. It was a simple weakness for someone to pick at, or hone in on. Andino wasn’t in the business of showcasing his weaknesses like badges of honor for someone else to use as fucking target practice. He was still intended to be the boss.

The boss couldn’t be emotional.

Or so he was told.

Besides, they had bigger problems to deal with at the moment than his feelings. Too many issues to name. Every single one started and ended with the fucking Calabrese family, and the fact John had killed their boss.

Surprise, surprise.

It was a mess waiting to happen.

Why was anyone shocked?

“The roads are terrible,” Andino grumbled under his breath as he took a seat beside his quiet uncle. Dante hadn’t asked, but the quirking of the man’s eyebrow was enough for him to silently ask, Where the fuck were you? “The storm picked up.”

“Should make for a fun drive home,” his father said across the table.