Page 2 of Ruthless Vow

Which was perfect for my aunt’s plan. She needed me to stay on the inside indefinitely, an informant, a spy. And just in case I ever developed a conscience or qualms, she’d found a way to guarantee my loyalty.

Sofia.

She and my father had used my sister as leverage all her life.

I close my fingers on the antique silver locket I always wear. The locket was my mother’s, and her mother’s before that. Inside there is a picture of my mother on the left and a picture of Sofia on the right. I open it now and look at my sister’s face, letting myself think of her as she was the last time I saw her, eyes alight with laughter. It’s been just over two years. Does she still look the same? Does she still love Skittles and stars and everything pink? Probably not. She’d been seventeen the last time I was allowed to see her. And I’ve only been allowed to speak with her three times since then.

I close the locket and force myself back to the moment. I take my manicure scissors from my purse then pull the sim card from the phone. I cut the card into tiny pieces, open the car door and step out onto the shoulder. I toss the bits in a wide arc. After wiping down the burner phone, I throw it onto the highway and watch as a truck drives over it, leaving it in pieces.

Focusing on the small task helps keep me from obsessing about the bigger tasks or the weekend to come.

I get back in the car and tighten my hands on the wheel, closing my eyes and pulling in a slow breath to help steady my nerves.

I need to act normal, act like I always do. I need to get Leo to sign the contracts that weren’t ready when he left the office earlier today, discuss the invitation to the governor’s charity gala, and confirm the menu for this weekend on the yacht. Act like I would on any other Thursday.

I drive the rest of the way to Leo’s house. More of an estate, really. The contemporary house is set on acres of land against the backdrop of the mountains, surrounded by an electrified fence and metal gates, patrolled by security. Which is why my aunt’s people prefer to hit Leo on the yacht.

I pass the security and the gates. I’ve been here often, dealing with whatever Leo needs me to deal with, dealing with his father before that. I’m known and familiar. Accepted. Trusted.

After I park, I head to the front door, walking along the concrete rectangles that float on a bed of water and river rock.

A muscled, good-looking guy guards the door. Luca. Six five. Built like a tank. Dark hair. Hazel eyes. His expression holds menace for an instant, then he recognizes me and smiles. With a flourish, he opens the front door and motions me inside.

How easy it’s been to fool them all. To gain their trust.

They see only the plain mouse of a woman who is forever in the shadows, meek, insecure, insignificant.

They don’t see the snake in their midst. And they won’t. Not until it’s too late.

The thought ought to bring me only joy.

“You’re late, gorgeous,” Luca says. “Leo expected you an hour ago.”

Luca’s called me that since the first time we met. For a while, I thought he was being sarcastic and fucking with me, since gorgeous is the last thing I am. But then I realized he calls every woman gorgeous.

It’s part of his charm. Part of the role he plays to get along in this world, I’d realized. When you look like Luca—tall, muscular, attractive, but in a rough way, like someone who usually talks with his fists rather than his mouth—a friendly demeanor helps people let their guard down. All the easier to sucker punch them when the occasion calls for it.

“The contracts were late,” I say as I pass him, my gaze locked on the ground.

“He’s in his office,” Luca says. “He has company.”

“I just need a few minutes of his time.” I head toward the back of the house, to Leo’s office. Company usually means a woman. Rarely ever the same woman. Leo doesn’tdo relationships. They’re probably having drinks. Maybe hors d’oeuvres.

I hear his voice, talking to someone. I can’t make out the words but he sounds angry. No… not angry… Firm. Unrelenting. I head in the direction of the voice. The door to his office is open.

A breath catches in my throat, and I freeze in place at what I see.

It’s Leo. And he is definitely with a woman.

She’s naked except for her stiletto heels, bent at the waist, face-down across his desk, her long legs spread wide. Leo stands behind her, his expression intent. One hand is between her legs. The other comes down on her buttock with a sharp smack.

The woman gasps and moans but makes no effort to get away.

I take a step back. I should make a sound, let him know I’m here. I should back away, turn away.

But I don’t do either of those things.

Instead, I stand and look my fill of Leo Russo. He’s shirtless, his shoulders broad, his waist trim, his chest and belly ridged with muscle. The smooth, tanned skin of his arms and torso is decorated with beautifully artistic black ink. Roses. A sword. Skulls. A thorny vine curls over his hip and along his lower belly, following the V of muscle that descends into his waistband.

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