Page 39 of His Ruthless Vow

"Whatever arrangement you have with my uncle." His eyes narrow. "You think you know what you're getting into? You have no idea who he really is."

I think of Enzo's face when his dogs tackled him to the ground. The careful way he handled my deal. The control in every movement.

"And you're what? Rescuing me?" I can't keep the edge of mockery from my voice.

I exhale slowly, purposely controlling my expression. I know exactly what this is. This isn't about warning me or saving me. This is about power. About territory.

Ercole leans forward, his voice dropping to something that's probably supposed to sound concerned. "You don't understand what he's capable of. The things he's done."

He thinks he's some tragic hero, riding in on a white horse to rescue me from the monster. How many women has he tried this with before? How many fell for this act? He's painting his uncle as a sinking ship that will drag me to the underworld with him, like I'm some innocent caught in Enzo's web.

What he doesn't realize is that I don't need saving. I made my deal with eyes wide open.

"But you don't have to let him own you." He's still pushing. "My father and I can make this all go away. The debt, the deal... just say the word." I quirk a brow and he leans in even closer. "He betrayed our family once. He'll betray you too."

I exhale, setting down my coffee and leaning forward slightly. I drop my voice to something smooth and sharp—the tone I use in boardrooms when someone has severely underestimated me.

"And what makes you think I want out?"

The question lands like a slap. Ercole falters—because he didn't expect that. His cocky expression flickers, uncertainty replacing arrogance for a split second. He expected fear or gratitude, not this calm challenge. His hand tightens on the edge of the table.

"You think you?—"

Before he can recover, a shadow looms over our table, and the air shifts. The café noise seems to dampen, like someone turned down the volume. I don't even have to turn around. I know exactly who it is.

Ercole's face tells me everything. The color drains from his cheeks, his eyes widening just enough to betray his fear.

The dangerous stillness radiating off Enzo is palpable, like the charged air before a lightning strike. He doesn't speak. Doesn't move. Just stands there, his presence alone transforming our little corner of the café into something electric with tension.

I take a slow sip of my coffee, watching Ercole over the rim of my cup. Watching him realize his miscalculation. He came here thinking he could manipulate me, could steal what he sees as his uncle's possession. Now he's learning what happens when you try to take something that belongs to Enzo Rossi.

"Uncle." The word comes out steady, but I catch the slight tremble in Ercole's hands.

Enzo places one hand on the back of my chair, barely brushing my shoulder. The touch is light, casual even, but the message is clear. Mine.

"Ercole." Enzo's voice is deceptively soft, but I hear the steel beneath. "I don't recall inviting you to join Kendra for lunch."

I lean back in my chair, letting the warmth of Enzo's presence wash over me as I watch his nephew squirm. This isn't a rescue. This is a predator discovering someone hunting in his territory.

And heat pools in my stomach at the thought of watching what he'll do next.

24

ENZO

Isee the empty table before I spot her, and for a moment, I think she's stood me up. It wouldn't surprise me—Kendra Washington isn't the type to be dragged anywhere against her will, deal or no deal.

Then I catch sight of her across the café, and everything in me goes still.

Ercole. Sitting across from her. Leaning in close with that predatory smile I've seen him use before he breaks someone's fingers.

Something cold and violent settles in my chest as I watch my nephew—if I can even call him that anymore—invading the space of the woman who, by the terms of our arrangement, belongs to me. His massive frame dwarfs her, though she doesn't seem intimidated. I can only see her profile, but her spine is straight, her chin lifted. She looks bored, but I know better.

I move through the afternoon crowd, weaving between tables with silent precision. No rushed steps. No raised voice. I don't need to announce myself to be seen—a lesson Ercole clearly never learned.

"...don't have to let him own you," I hear him saying as I approach, the words carrying across the noise of the café. "My father and I can make this all go away. The debt, the deal... just say the word."

I'm close enough now to see Kendra's expression—the slight quirk of her eyebrow that suggests she's measuring bullshit by the pound.

---