Page 3 of Dark Promise

I hold her gaze, letting her words linger. She doesn’t owe me gratitude, but the fact that she’s offering it feels like a small victory. I’ve seen her fire, her defiance. I wonder what it would take to make her surrender—to see her kneel for me—not out of fear but out of choice.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, my tone steady, betraying none of my thoughts.

This isn’t why I’m here tonight. I know that. But my target tonight is no longer a priority for me. Sabina Russo has my full attention.

As we talk, she tells me about her childhood, the weight of family expectations, the way she’s tried to carve out pieces of herself in a world that demands everything. Oh, she doesn’t offer specifics, doesn’t reveal that the family expectations are solidly grounded in a criminal empire parallel to my own.

Still, she doesn’t realize how much she’s giving me, how much of herself she’s revealing. Every word, every glance, everyvulnerable smile—it’s a map and I’m tracing the lines, learning the routes that will lead me to her unravelling.

“Do you ever wish you could be someone else?” she asks suddenly, her gaze distant.

“No,” I say, my answer immediate.

Her lips part, her brow creasing. “Really?”

“Really.” I lean closer, the distance between us shrinking until her scent—jasmine and something uniquely her—fills my senses. “What about you?”

Sabina hesitates, her lashes lowering as if to shield her thoughts. Then she exhales softly. “Sometimes. I try not to dwell on it, but… sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in a life that isn’t really mine. Like I’m playing a role someone else wrote for me. ”

Her words strike a chord I didn’t expect. I’ve spent my life trapped in a role I never wanted—Mikhail Ivanov’s son, the heir to a kingdom of blood and fear. My father is brutal, soulless, the kind of man who takes and takes until there is nothing left. My uncle, Vlasta, was the only person who showed me that true strength is tempered by compassion, that loyalty cannot be bought or forced, that honor matters.

And then my father killed him to steal his power.

“You’re honest,” I say, echoing her earlier words.

She looks up, her expression unreadable. “Sometimes.”

I reach out, my fingers brushing her cheek. She doesn’t pull away. The tension between us tightens, the air charged and electric.

“Goddess,” I murmur, a quiet command.

Her lips part, her breathing shallow.

And then, slowly, deliberately, I lean in and kiss her.

The world fades. Her lips are soft, warm, yielding for a brief moment before she responds, her hands gripping my arms as if to anchor herself. She tastes like champagne and something sweeter, something forbidden.

My arms cage her as I lean over her on the cushioned bench.

The kiss turns fierce, fire and ice, a clash of need and hesitation, control and surrender. Her hands grip my biceps, her fingers curling into me like she can’t stop herself. And maybe she can’t. God knows I can’t.

Everything about her—the way she leans into me, the soft, breathless sounds she makes—are fanning a flame I can’t put out.

This isn’t just a kiss. It’s wildfire, consuming and undeniable.

I want to pick her up and carry her out of here, take her to my bed, fuck her until she screams, make her come again and again.

“Wait,” she manages, her breath warm against my mouth. Then she pulls back, her eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed. “I…I have a fiancé.”

Her words reveal nothing I don’t already know. As if I don’t want to slit his throat and bury him deep in the ground for daring to touch her.

My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice calm, even. “Then why did you kiss me back?”

Sabina doesn’t answer, but her silence says everything. She doesn’t love the worthless boy she is engaged to. She is marrying him for any number of wrong reasons.

My gaze holds hers for a moment longer, then I rise and step back.

“Goodnight, goddess,” I say, my voice low, intimate.

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