Page 29 of His Ruthless Vow

I incline my head slightly. "Fair enough. We should leave the girls out of it."

Elliott nods once, agreement reached.

As I step into the elevator, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Kendra's name flashes across the screen, and I feel the corner of my mouth curl up. Perfect timing.

I swipe open the message.

Do you need me tonight or can I have ONE evening to myself? Some of us have actual jobs with actual hours.

Warmth spreads through my chest at her fire, her refusal to be cowed by what I am or what I represent. Even in a text, her defiance burns bright, and I find myself inching closer, wanting more.

I'm not sure with her I'll ever stop wanting it all.

17

KENDRA

I'm running late, and it pisses me off. Not because I care about Enzo's schedule, but because it feels like a concession—another inch of control I'm surrendering to him. The evening traffic crawls through downtown Chicago as my GPS directs me toward his penthouse, a place I'm growing far too accustomed to.

"Take a left in five hundred feet," my phone chirps, and I grip the steering wheel tighter, remembering how I got into this mess. Griffin's gambling debts. My misplaced loyalty. A deal with the devil in an expensive suit.

I park in front of Enzo's building, take a deep breath, and stare at myself in the rearview mirror. My curls are behaving today, bouncing just past my shoulders, and my makeup is still intact despite the ten-hour workday I just powered through.

"You're Kendra fucking Washington," I tell my reflection. "You don't take shit from anyone, especially not beautiful, dangerous men who think they own the world."

The elevator ride up to his penthouse feels like ascending to some modern Olympus. When the doors slide open, I'm hit with the scent of something delicious cooking and the faint notes of jazz playing from hidden speakers. I hate that his taste is impeccable.

Enzo opens the door before I can knock, leaning against the frame with casual dominance that makes something in my stomach flip. Steel-gray eyes assess me from head to toe, his face a masterpiece of sharp angles and perfect symmetry. He's wearing dark jeans and a charcoal henley pushed up to his elbows, revealing the intricate tattoos that map his forearms.

"You're late," he says, voice low and smooth.

I brush past him, my shoulder intentionally bumping his. "I had actual work today. You know, the kind that doesn't involve threatening people or whatever it is you do."

The space is exactly as I remember—modern luxury with unexpected warmth. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Chicago skyline, the city lights twinkling against the darkening sky. I find myself looking around, and he chuckles behind me.

"What?" I drop my purse on his obscenely expensive-looking couch. My heels click against the hardwood as I turn to face him, arms crossed.

"I took them for a long walk. They're both asleep in my room."

I try to ignore how my heart sinks a little, not even realizing I was looking forward to seeing the dogs. His features soften a little as he takes me in, clearly touched by how much I've come to adore his dogs.

I straighten up, shrugging. "I don't see why you need me here."

Enzo barely acknowledges my words as he hands me a glass of red wine, lounging comfortably against his kitchen counter. The casual way he moves through his space, like a predator completely at ease in his territory, is infuriating.

"Didn't ask for your opinion, just your presence." He takes a sip from his own glass, eyes never leaving mine.

The tension between us is suffocating, thick with unspoken things. I take the wine and move to the windows, needing distance. The liquid coats my throat, rich and velvety. Of course he'd serve perfect wine.

"So what exactly am I doing here? Supporting your fragile ego? Being your arm candy for some mob thing?" I pace along the window, the energy building under my skin too much to contain.

"Why do you insist on fighting me at every turn?" His voice remains level, which only irritates me more.

"Because I have self-respect? Because normal people don't just summon others like you're a king and I'm your subject?" I gesture with my free hand. "Some of us need more than cryptic texts saying 'Be at my place at 8.'"

"And yet here you are." The corner of his mouth lifts in that infuriating half-smile. "Right on cue."

I take another sip of wine to stop myself from throwing the glass at his perfect face. "Because we have a deal. But the deal was to help you, not be your pet."

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