Page 2 of His Ruthless Vow

Skye's perfectly manicured nails tap against the crystal. "I'm just saying, that man hasn't taken his eyes off you all night. And don't pretend you haven't noticed."

I glance over my shoulder. Enzo hasn't moved, still watching us with that calculated intensity that somehow makes me feel both exposed and protected at the same time.

"He's probably just sizing up potential threats," I say, smoothing down my dress. "That's what these guys do at social gatherings, right? Threat assessment?"

Skye laughs, the sound light and musical. "Keep telling yourself that, honey." She leans closer, her sleek black hair brushing against my arm. "You know what I think? I think you're just what the Mantione family needs—another strong woman to keep these men in line."

I snort. "Right. Because what I want most in life is to join your little mafia wives club."

"You could do worse." She smirks, looking pointedly at Griffin who's chatting with Mikayla at the bar. "And you know I just want someone else in the family. It gets lonely being the only one married to?—"

"A psychopath?" I offer helpfully.

"I was going to say 'a complicated man,'" she counters, but her smile doesn't falter. "Besides, wouldn't it be fun to have someone to share my secrets with?"

Before I can respond, Luca appears behind his wife, sliding an arm possessively around her waist. Even at what should be a casual social event, he maintains that unnervingly calm demeanor, ice-blue eyes giving nothing away.

"I need to steal my wife," he says, his voice smooth and controlled. It's not a request.

Skye pouts playfully, but leans back against his chest. "We were having girl talk."

"I'm sure Kendra won't mind," Luca says, his eyes briefly meeting mine with something that might be amusement. I'm still not sure when it comes to him. He's literal ice. Except with his wife.

Skye sighs dramatically but gives me a wink as Luca pulls her away. "This conversation isn't over," she calls over her shoulder.

I've barely caught my breath when a dark presence materializes beside me, the air around us suddenly charged with electricity. I don't need to turn to know who it is—my body has already registered Enzo's proximity, responding with a rush of heat that has nothing to do with the summer night.

"Running from me, Washington?" His voice is low and rough, like whiskey over gravel.

I turn slowly, determined not to show how his sudden appearance affects me. Up close, Enzo Rossi is even more devastating—sharp cheekbones, strong jaw dusted with precisely maintained stubble, and those steel-gray eyes that seem to strip away every defense I've carefully constructed.

"Considering I didn't know you were following me, that would be difficult." I take a deliberate sip of my champagne, using the glass as a barrier between us. "Shouldn't you be lurking in some corner, plotting whatever it is capos plot at weddings?"

His mouth curves into something too dangerous to be called a smile. "Maybe you're what I'm plotting."

"Original," I say dryly, but my heart kicks against my ribs. "Do women usually fall at your feet when you use lines like that?"

He steps closer, and the space between us shrinks to almost nothing. I can smell his cologne now—something expensive and woodsy that makes me want to lean in despite myself.

"I don't waste lines on women who fall easily." His eyes track over my face, lingering on my lips. "You're far more interesting than that."

"You don't know anything about me." I hold my ground even as every instinct screams to create distance.

"I know enough." He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "I know you've been watching me since you arrived. I know you’re far too witty for the guy you brought with you. I know that dress was chosen to command attention, not hide from it."

His observation unsettles me. I hate that he's been paying such close attention—hate even more that he's right.

"I also wore comfortable shoes," I counter, lifting my foot slightly to show my strappy but sensible heel. "Because I'm practical above all else. And getting involved with a Mantione capo would be the opposite of practical."

His laugh is unexpected—deep and genuine. "At least you recognize the danger. Most women don't."

"I'm not most women."

"No," he agrees, eyes darkening as he studies me. "You're definitely not."

Before I can respond, Griffin appears, slightly breathless and holding two waters.

"Sorry that took so long," he says, glancing between Enzo and me with obvious curiosity. "Bar was packed."

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