Page 46 of Bound in Promise
He’s clearly unable to read a room.
“So, I thought I’d surprise you with something else since dinner was not to your liking.”
I stare at Angelo, looking for some hint of humanity. His expression is calm and patient. But there’s a tightness at the corners of his mouth that hints at the fury beneath the mask. And his dark eyes are as cold and predatory as a shark’s. I’m sure he’s not used to being told no. I’d bet anything that his every whim is catered to with impressive efficiency.
Neither Dante nor I are one of his people.
We’re just two individuals with shitty luck who stumbled into this game and have been met with nothing but headaches and worry since.
“I trust you took care of the boy.” Angelo tilts his head ever so slightly towards Dante. My husband nods in response, choosing not to elaborate. “Good.” The mob boss’s focus shifts to me. “You look lovely, bella. I hope you enjoy your time in my home.”
I tense each time he looks at me.
He makes my skin crawl and I loathe his effect on me with every fiber of my being. Three months ago, I had no idea this man existed, and now he’s the villain standing between me and everything I want.
“Depends on what we’re eating,” I reply, trying to fake a casualness I don’t feel while my heart races and goosebumps prickle up and down my arms.
Angelo smiles, wicked and full of menace. He gestures toward the closed door. “Come. I’ve arranged a memorable night for the both of you.”
Dante doesn’t move, and I follow his example. It’s obvious he shares my suspicion that something is off. It’s not as much of a relief as you’d think, knowing I’m not being paranoid.
Angelo frowns when we stay where we are. “Well?”
“What are we here for?” Dante grits out. “I told you my wife hasn’t been feeling?—”
“She looks fine, beautiful as ever?—”
“Stop complimenting my wife. Say what you need to say. If this is about negotiations, we can speak in private. After I see my wife home.”
Angelo’s eyes narrow and he looks like a snake poised to strike.
“If your wife would like to rest upstairs, she’s more than welcome,” Angelo offers cooly, playing the role of the perfect host. “However, I would appreciate it if you both took the time to see what I’ve arranged.”
Is this man a child? Or just an unfeeling sociopath? I want to demand answers, but I bite my tongue and wait for Dante to make a move.
Instead, he lets the silence fill the hall for several tense seconds before squeezing my hand roughly. I know he’s trying to tell me something, but I’m not sure I understand the message.
He’s probably reminding me to stay vigilant and be strong.
To follow his instructions for this exact scenario—for if things went south—and get the hell out of the house.
Dante steps forward and Angelo smirks, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. The room is cast in shadow and even after Angelo shifts to the side, I can’t see what’s waiting on the other side of the open doorway.
My husband follows but comes to a sudden halt after clearing the threshold. I just barely catch myself before I walk into his back.
Almost before I can register that Dante’s stopped moving, he’s ripped from my grasp and disappears somewhere to my left.
I’m shoved forward, almost faceplanting onto the dark hardwood floors. A cacophony of harsh male laughter fills the room and I jerk to attention, trying to process what I’m seeing.
We’re in a massive, oversized dining room with a long table running down the middle. Men in suits occupy every seat but one—the one directly opposite the door, at the head of the table.
Every one of those men is staring at me.
“Get rid of him,” I hear Angelo bark. I quickly turn to see Dante in the middle of throwing a punch into some brute’s face while another sinks a fist into his stomach.
I’m already on the move, eager to help, and I claw at the back of one of the men. I manage to twist my fingers in his blond hair, ripping it from the root and making him howl in pain. The distraction is enough, and Dante gains the upper hand, throwing a punch that knocks my victim out cold.
As he turns to deal with the rest of his assailants, pain radiates through my skull. It’s too soon after what Liam did to me, and I feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes as thick fingers grip my tender scalp and force my head to turn.
