Page 43 of Stolen Vows

My uncle might have been undecided at first with an expectation to rat, but he turned completely after learning that Stella had simply walked out of our lives. Though forced to work under me after my father’s death, the man’s been waiting for an opportunity to correct what he views as treason, but not by Stella—byme.

Because I let her go.

“Whydidyou let her go?” Frankie asks.

I freeze, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “Excuse me?”

He stares up at the vaulted ceiling. “You didn’t think I bought the story about her justwalking outof one of the most guarded towers in Boston, did you? Give me a little credit.”

“I…wanted her to have more.” My jaw shifts, clenching tight. “A real life.”

“In exchange for your own?” He cocks a brow. “I mean, I’m sure you predicted they’d go after her.”

I had, but there was never a version of that image that ended with them actually getting her.

I’ll do whatever necessary, manufacture whatever meeting or rendezvous, to make sure of it.

A knock sounds at the door, and Frankie gets up to answer, one hand on the gun he smuggled in at his waist. Because of the auction’s strictno-violencepolicy, we had to get a little creative in retrieving our weapons, enlisting the assistance of one of the royals in attendance.

I slide my gloves onto my hands, stretching my fingers.

Genevieve’s smiling face appears in the doorway, and Frankie lets out an irritated noise, stepping back to let her in. She sweeps right past him in a bold, shimmering black evening gown, her toned biceps and deep cleavage on display in the strapless piece.

Without greeting me, she makes a beeline for the minibar in the far corner of the room, then immediately uncaps a small bottle of water. She tosses Frankie a Diet Coke, which he catches and pops open before taking a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed.

Genevieve struts over before draping herself on my shoulder. She’s several inches taller than Stella, even without heels, so our eyes are almost level in the reflection.

An image of her yesterday with my wife flashes through my mind, and I shake her off. She chuckles, the sound dark and sensual, and every fiber of my being regrets roping her into this convoluted plan.

“Ready to get your bid on?” she quips, unbothered by the change in atmosphere in the room.

“I’m ready for you to be out of my life.”

Genevieve pouts, leaning forward to adjust her bloodred lipstick. “Ugh, are you still mad about yesterday? I wasplaying, Leopoldo. Just like you asked me to.”

I cut her a measured look. “I didn’t ask you to seduce my wife.”

“You didn’t even tell me she was your wife! And she didn’t mention anything either. How was I supposed to know?”

Frankie clicks his tongue. “She makes a good point. You can’t respect boundaries you don’t know about.”

“Ah, but shedidknow when she kissed her.” Shrugging into my suit jacket, I smooth down the collar and button it in the middle. “If not for the fact I already paid for your services, I’d have killed you for touching her.”

“You know,” she says, “most men woulddiefor the chance to watch me entertain their partners. My own husband’s begged me to bring others into our bedroom.”

“Probably so he doesn’t have to touch you himself,” Frankie mutters against his can.

There’s a story there, only I don’t care enough to ask about it.

I glare at her. “Unfortunately, I have no interest in seeing you in any state of undress. Ever.”

She smiles, turning away from the mirror. “Not even if I were riding your wife’s face? Or making her come with my mouth on her pretty pussy?”

“Not even if you sucked the cum from her cunt after I finished with her.” Heading for the door, I glance over my shoulder, ignoring the mischievous glint in her dark eyes. “Touch Stella again, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

I leave the room without another word, slamming the door shut behind me. The sound echoes down the hall, and a couple coming out of a different room across from mine pauses to stare inquisitively. I nod at them, tugging at my lapels, and make my way to the ballroom.

Like the rest of the mansion, the ballroom is ostentatious with its almost-reflective polished floor and furniture plated with twenty-two-karat gold finishings. Luckily, the obnoxious wealth is hushed by the dim lighting, kept low to promote anonymity in the crowd.

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