Page 45 of Bound in Promise
I don’t know how I’m going to walk away from her when it’s time. I’m not sure that I’ll have the strength.
The demon on my shoulder insists on keeping her. He whispers that we own her. That she’s ours and we’re never letting her go. No other man will claim her, will do any of the filthy things she described. Imagining my name crossing her lips even while another man’s dick fills her pussy has me tipping past the point of no return.
Victoria knows exactly what to say, what buttons to push to make me lose all sense of reason. I’m right on the edge, more than ready to throw this shit away. She’s poisoned me and there’s no fucking cure.
No antidote.
She’s become part of me, flooding my veins and taking over what’s left of my soul.
“How precious,” a male voice coos, and I jolt back, breaking our kiss as I yank Victoria behind me.
I’m ready to pummel whatever intruder dared enter our backyard, and my eyes quickly land on Angelo.
The motherfucker is standing next to the house in a pristine gray suit and crisp blue tie. My jaw ticks when I realize the color is the exact shade of Victoria’s eyes. I doubt it’s a coincidence.
His eyes are dark, the lids heavy, as his lips curve in an amused smirk. I’m beyond pissed that he’s managed to sneak up on us, that I allowed myself to become distracted enough that he could. I’m supposed to be protecting Victoria. He must have walked around the house, since I know Victoria has been diligent about locking the front door since his first disastrous visit.
“I’ve come to collect you for dinner,” Angelo states matter-of-factly. “I figured you had car trouble and needed a ride.”
15
VICTORIA
Dante didn’t fight Angelo when he dropped in on us, nor did he put up a fight when we were led to a blacked-out town car. I guess my husband decided it would be safer to cooperate rather than argue.
It’s a trap.
I can feel it in my bones. Something devastating looms on the horizon and we’re speeding towards the unknown.
Dante was right, again. When will I ever listen to my husband? This is a world he’s all too familiar with while I’m merely a visitor, a liability. I really am too naïve for this world. I’m out of my depth, too soft.
Angelo is sitting in the front passenger seat, puffing faithfully on a thick cigar while his driver silently navigates through the streets. Dante has his fingers laced with mine, but after a few minutes he releases his grip and sets my palm on his upper thigh before setting his own hand just above my knee. It takes a moment, but I start to recognize the strokes of his finger on my leg as letters.
Remember.
I can’t risk looking at him since I’m not sure how much Angelo can see of us in the mirrors, but I remember Dante’s order clear as day.
Run.
Honestly, when he first gave me the order, I thought it was absurd. Dante would never leave me, so why he would think I’d do the opposite is beyond me. No, I’m not as strong as he is, nor do I have years of experience dealing with any sort of criminal organization, but I would never abandon him.
Dante squeezes my thigh, clearly seeking some sort of acknowledgement from me, but I can’t. If I agree, it would be a lie. If I tell the truth, I’ll just piss him off. This is definitely not the moment to upset him. He needs to be on his game.
I have to lie.
The first one I’ve ever offered him.
Yes.
I trace my finger over the back of his hand in answer, needing to touch him. Craving his warmth and strength. I’m about to walk into a lion’s den, unarmed and defenseless except for his presence.
We arrive at a large brick mansion, painted white, with imposing columns flanking the front door. Angelo leads the way inside while two other men follow us at a close distance.
I’m too scared to make note of the decor, but Dante expects me to remember the path we take through this house. I focus on the number of steps, on each and every turn through the halls, as he holds my hand.
“I have to say,” Angelo finally says, breaking through the tense silence. He stops in front of a closed brown door, slowly turning around to look at both of us. “I was disappointed when you declined my dinner invitation. I looked forward to throwing a party in celebration of your wedding.”
Nothing that Angelo says is making sense. Nothing about dragging us from our home in a couldn’t-be-more-obvious mob car screams congratulatory event. Especially after we RSVP-ed “no”.
