Page 25 of His Ruthless Vow

I clench my jaw, feeling a muscle tick in my cheek. "She had better things to do," I lie, slipping my phone into my pocket as if her silence means nothing, as if I haven't been checking it all day.

Skye hums, clearly unconvinced. "Mm-hmm. That's why you look pissed, right?"

I scoff at Skye's knowing look. "I'm not pissed. I don't get pissed over women."

"Right," Skye draws out the word. "That's why you're here, asking about her location like some brooding hero from one of those romance novels Kendra pretends she doesn't read."

Maria laughs, and I shoot her a glare that would make most men flinch. She just smiles wider.

"I came to check on the security system Luca had installed," I say smoothly. The lie rolls off my tongue effortlessly. "Making sure everything's functioning properly."

"Of course you did." Skye's voice drips with sarcasm. "The cameras are working fine, by the way. Caught you looking for her the second you walked in."

I bite back a retort, choosing instead to redirect. "How's Luca?"

"Busy. You'd know that if you answered his calls instead of hunting down my friend."

I spend another ten minutes with them, enduring their thinly veiled amusement at my expense. They catch me up on trivial matters—Maria's new apartment, Skye's upcoming fashion show—while I nod and respond with appropriate interest, all while calculating my next move.

As soon as I leave the boutique, I make a call. The phone barely rings once before it's answered.

"I need a location," I say without preamble, sliding into my car. "Kendra Washington. Last known whereabouts, current location if possible."

"Consider it done." The voice on the other end is efficient, professional. "Timeframe?"

"Within the hour." I start the engine. "And make it discreet. I don't want her knowing she's being tracked."

I hang up and pull into traffic, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. This isn't how I operate. I don't chase women. I never have to. They come to me—drawn by power, by danger, by the promise of something they can't get from ordinary men. But Kendra isn't just some woman—she's mine. The contract between us made that clear, even if she's pretending otherwise.

The thought of her deliberately avoiding me sends a current of irritation through my veins. She made a deal. My time, my terms.

And if she thinks she can just disappear on me? She's about to learn otherwise.

My phone buzzes twenty minutes later as I'm reviewing territory reports. The message is brief, precise: she went straight home after work, hasn't left her apartment since 6:15 PM.

Something sharp and possessive settles in my chest. She's testing me. Seeing how far she can push before I push back.

Fine.

I close my laptop and stand, stretching muscles tight from too many hours at a desk. I feed the dogs, scratch behind Penny's ears when she nudges against my leg, anxious as always. Paige nearly knocks me over in her enthusiasm.

"Easy," I murmur, steadying myself. "I'll be back later."

I let the evening stretch a little longer, savoring the anticipation. I shower, change into a fresh shirt—dark gray, expensive—and select a watch from the collection on my dresser. The ritual of preparation calms me, focuses my thoughts.

By the time I get in my car and drive to her apartment, night has fully settled over the city. I park directly in front of her building—a newer complex with decent security but nothing that would keep me out if I didn't want to be kept out.

I step out of the car, adjusting my cuffs, and look up at her window. Light spills from behind her curtains, confirming she's home, alone, deliberately ignoring my calls.

Perfect.

15

KENDRA

Asharp knock at my door makes my breath catch. The weight of it, the deliberate force, seems to rattle through my otherwise silent apartment. My stomach twists—I know exactly who it is. For a fleeting second, I consider ignoring it, curling deeper into the corner of my couch with my whiskey, pretending I'm not home.

But something in my gut tells me Enzo wouldn’t just leave.

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