Page 13 of His Ruthless Vow

I stare at the postcard until the palm tree blurs into a green smudge. My deal with Enzo plays on repeat in my mind—his cool gray eyes watching me like I was a chess piece he'd been waiting to move.

How am I going to face him now?

He'll see right through me, through this façade of control I've carefully constructed. Worse, he'll enjoy watching me squirm, savoring my humiliation like fine wine. I can already imagine his expression—that barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his calculating gaze stripping away my defenses layer by layer.

He never guaranteed Griffin's loyalty—only his life. That's what he'll say, with that infuriating calm of his. The debt is cleared now. Griffin is safe, probably lying on some Miami beach sipping cocktails while I'm here, still bound to a man who practically radiates danger.

I'm still his. The thought sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

Instead of going home where my thoughts might suffocate me, I grab my keys and head for the door. I need noise, distraction, something to drown out the voice in my head telling me I've made a colossal mistake.

Twenty minutes later, I'm sliding onto a barstool at Thorn, a sleek lounge downtown where the lighting is dim enough to hide in and the music is just loud enough to make thinking difficult. Perfect.

"Whiskey, neat," I tell the bartender, a tattooed woman with a silver septum ring who nods without judgment.

The first sip burns all the way down, exactly what I need. I'm halfway through my second drink when I catch my reflection in the mirrored backsplash behind the bar. I still look put together—my curls still falling just right, my lipstick only slightly faded. No one looking at me would guess I'm unraveling inside.

I take another sip, letting the whiskey warm me from the inside, but even alcohol can't blur the memory of Enzo's eyes when I agreed to his deal. Steel gray, sharp as blades, with that glint of satisfaction. Like he knew exactly how this would play out. Like he was ten steps ahead while I was stumbling in the dark.

Had he known Griffin would run? Had he counted on it?

The thought makes me drain my glass, signaling for another. Three whiskeys in and I'm still too sober, too aware of how completely I've backed myself into a corner.

"This seat taken?"

I glance up to find a man gesturing to the stool beside me. Tall, well-dressed, with the kind of practiced smile that usually works on women in bars.

"Yes," I lie, not in the mood for conversation.

He raises an eyebrow, looking around at the very empty space beside me. "I don't see anyone."

"That doesn't make it available to you." My tone is ice, my expression deliberately blank. I've perfected this look over years of corporate meetings—a clear "don't waste my time" warning.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, muttering something under his breath as he moves away. Any other night, I might have handled that differently. Tonight, I just want to be left alone with my regrets and my whiskey.

I pull out my phone, staring at Griffin's contact. My thumb hovers over the call button, but what would I even say? 'Thanks for leaving me to clean up your mess'? 'Hope your tan is coming along nicely while I'm indentured to the mob'?

Instead, I turn off my phone and try to numb away the reality of what I've been tricked into.

8

ENZO

Iwait exactly twenty-four hours after Kendra discovers Griffin's betrayal before I make the call. I knew that he was gone that night after I offered her the deal, knew he had already been on a plane when she agreed to it. But a deal is a deal.

So, I gave her a little time. Not because I'm kind—I'm not—but because timing is everything in my world. Let her anger ferment. Let it settle in her bones. I want her raw when I claim what's mine.

Skye's voice had been ice when she gave me the number. "Don't fuck with her head, Enzo. She's not one of your projects."

I'd smiled at that—the protective fury in Skye's eyes. I can't help but have a little soft spot for her. "Noted."

Now, I sit in my living room, the city lights scattered across the dark horizon beyond my windows like fallen stars. Penny is curled into my side and Paige is sprawled across my leather couch. They're already asleep, but I have to leave soon.

Which means I need to make a call.

I smile to myself as I pull my phone out, tapping her number. On the third ring, she answers. "What?" A single syllable, sharp as a blade.

I let the silence stretch, just long enough that most people would start to fidget. I know she won't. I've studied Kendra Washington long enough to understand her edges.

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