Page 40 of His Ruthless Vow

Ercole hasn't noticed me yet, too busy trying to impress. He leans even closer. "He betrayed our family once. He'll betray you too."

I ignore the way my heart rate has picked up as Kendra shifts. "And what makes you think I want out?"

"You think you?—"

At this range, I can see the moment Ercole finally senses me. His shoulders tense, his confidence wavering as he turns. The swagger drains from his face when our eyes lock. Despite his size—that brutish Rossi build that skipped my generation and landed squarely on him—he still shrinks under my gaze.

"Uncle." He tries to keep his bravado but I see through it.

I grip Kendra's chair, not looking at her. But I feel the pull toward her the same as I know she does with me.

"Ercole." I've never felt such anger swirl toward me. "I don't recall inviting you to join Kendra for lunch."

I don't acknowledge her. Not yet. My focus is entirely on Ercole—the idiot who thought he could take something that wasn't his.

"Uncle, I?—"

"Leave. Now," I tell him, my voice quiet but deadly. I don't raise it. I don't need to. But it takes everything in me not to launch myself forward and grip his throat, to squeeze and remind him that he is no match for me.

Ercole hesitates, his jaw tightening. For a second, I think he might be stupid enough to challenge me. His hands curl into fists beneath the table, and I can see the wheels turning in his thick skull, weighing the humiliation of retreating against the consequences of defiance.

But something in my stillness gives him pause. The careful control I maintain over the fury simmering beneath my calm exterior makes him rethink his options. Even animals recognize when they're outmatched.

He stands, towering over the table with his ridiculous height. The chair screeches against the floor as he pushes it back—a final, petty display of dominance that fools no one.

He throws one last glance at Kendra, and I catch the flash of possessiveness in his eyes—like he's already marked her as territory in his mind.

"You can't say you weren't warned," he mutters, directed at her but meant for me to hear.

I don't move until Ercole is out the door, watching him retreat like the coward he is beneath all that muscle. Only when he disappears from view do I shift my focus to Kendra—and she's watching me, her expression unreadable. Those deep brown eyes reveal nothing, studying me with the same calculating intensity I use on rivals.

A test. Always a test with her.

I exhale sharply, my control hanging by a thread. I grab her wrist, pulling her up from the chair in one fluid motion. Her skin is warm under my fingers, her pulse jumping beneath my thumb.

"We're leaving." Not a question. Not a suggestion.

She doesn't resist, but I feel the tension in her body—not submission, but a choice to follow. There's power in that distinction, and it only makes the rage inside me burn hotter.

The drive to my penthouse is silent, tension coiled so tight it's suffocating. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten, aware of every breath she takes, every slight shift of her body in the passenger seat. The scent of her perfume—something expensive but subtle—fills the confined space, making it impossible to think straight.

I catch her glancing at my profile, studying the hard set of my jaw, the muscles flexing in my forearm as I shift gears. She doesn't look away when I catch her staring. Instead, her chin lifts slightly, that perpetual challenge in her eyes that makes me want to break something—preferably the wall between us.

When we arrive, I lead her through the lobby with my hand at the small of her back. Not touching, but close enough that she can feel the heat of my palm through her dress. The elevator ride is twenty-three floors of controlled breathing and calculated distance.

But the second the door shuts behind us in my penthouse, the restraint snaps.

My dogs don't even come running to greet us—they must feel the tension rolling off me in waves, choosing to remain wherever they've hidden themselves away.

I push her against the wall, hands gripping her waist, voice rough with barely contained fury. "What the fuck was that?" Her body is soft against mine, a maddening contrast to the hardness in her eyes. "Did you arrange to meet him?"

"He found me," she answers, her breath catching when my fingers dig deeper into her curves.

But my mind is racing with what he said. He offered her an out. And all I can think over and over is…does she want one?

I lean closer, one hand sliding up to press against the wall beside her head, caging her in. "Tell me you don't want this," I demand, breath hot against her throat. I need to hear it—need to know she's not playing both sides. "Tell me you want out of our arrangement."

Kendra's fingers dig into my arms, shaking—but not with fear. Her nails press crescent moons into my skin through my shirt, and the sting feeds something primal in me. Those full lips part, and for a moment, I think she might actually reject me.

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