Page 17 of His Ruthless Vow

The elevator ride is excruciating. Five floors of standing too close, his broad frame making the spacious elevator feel suddenly claustrophobic. I focus on the numbers lighting up, one after another, rather than acknowledge how my body betrays me—pulse racing, skin heating wherever he stands closest.

When we reach my door, I fumble with my keys, suddenly clumsy under his watchful gaze. The hallway light flickers, casting dramatic shadows across the sharp planes of his face. I'm hyper-aware of how alone we are, how the silence between us feels charged with unspoken intentions.

"Thank you for dinner," I say, finally managing to unlock my door. I turn to face him, expecting a quick goodnight.

Instead, he steps closer, eliminating what little space remained between us. My back presses against the door frame as he looms over me, not threatening but overwhelming in his presence.

Enzo reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger against my jaw, and his voice is a low murmur. "You want this."

The touch sends electricity cascading down my spine, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how he affects me. Maybe this was the end game. He wants to see me want him, so he can use me and discard me, too.

That's not going to happen.

I tilt my chin up, meeting his steel-gray eyes with defiance. "Not even a little."

Time suspends as we stand frozen in this moment. His thumb traces the outline of my bottom lip, so lightly I could almost believe I imagined it. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I catch myself holding my breath, my body betraying my words as I unconsciously lean toward him.

Then, just when the tension becomes unbearable, when I'm certain he's going to close that final distance between us—he smirks and steps away, the sudden absence of his heat leaving me cold.

"Liar." The word is soft, almost tender in its accusation.

And then he's gone, retreating down the hallway with that confident, measured stride, not looking back once. I remain frozen, watching until he disappears into the elevator.

I slam my door shut, leaning against it, heart hammering in my chest. My skin feels too tight, too hot, my breathing uneven. I press my fingers to my lips where the ghost of his touch lingers.

Damn him. Damn him for walking away. Damn him for knowing exactly what I want before I'm willing to admit it to myself. And damn me for this wildfire burning through my veins, for the frustration building in my core.

He's playing a game, and somehow he's always one move ahead. I hate it. I hate him. I hate that he can read me so easily while remaining an impenetrable mystery himself.

10

ENZO

Islip my phone back into my pocket, seeing Kendra's read receipt glaring back at me with no response. The woman is a challenge—refusing to play by anyone's rules but her own. It's infuriating. Intriguing.

A small smile threatens my composure as I picture her deliberately ignoring my text, probably rolling her eyes at her phone screen. I've never met someone who fights her own attraction with such determination. The challenge only makes me want her more.

The streets are quiet tonight, just how I prefer them. The chill in the air keeps most people indoors, leaving me to my thoughts as I walk the three blocks from my car to the upscale restaurant where I'm meeting one of Luca's contacts. The solitude shatters when two figures step out from the alley to my left.

My body tenses instantly, hand moving instinctively inside my jacket before recognition hits. The movement is so subtle no one would notice unless they were looking for it.

"Zenon," I say, voice flat as I face my older brother. His lean frame is wrapped in an expensive coat that screams of trying too hard, hair slicked back with meticulous precision that speaks of a man desperate for control. Behind him looms his son, Ercole, all brute force with none of the finesse, the permanent bruising on his knuckles matching the perpetual sneer on his face.

I don't stop walking, forcing them to fall into step beside me. "What an unpleasant surprise."

"That how you greet family now?" Zenon's voice carries that familiar mocking edge, the one he's cultivated since we were boys. Always the puppetmaster, always thinking he's three steps ahead.

"You're not my family."

Ercole moves with surprising speed for his size, stepping in front of me to block my path. His massive frame casts a shadow across the sidewalk, his stormy eyes burning with the kind of violence that's always lived just beneath his skin. My nephew might be massive but there’s not much going for wonder boy besides making his father happy with his strength.

"Traitor," he spits, the word landing between us like a gauntlet. "Family doesn't do what you did."

I meet his gaze without flinching. "Which part bothers you more? That I betrayed the Cappallettis, or that I succeeded?"

"You turned on your own kind," Ercole growls, taking a step closer, invading my space with his bulk. "What kind of man does that make you?"

"A successful one." I don't back away. Never have, never will. "If loyalty meant anything to Giovanni, he wouldn't have let Alfonso throw me aside like garbage."

---