Page 34 of His Ruthless Vow

I'm not just attracted to Enzo Rossi anymore. I'm curious about him. I want to know more. And that terrifies me more than any threat he could make, any power he could wield.

Because wanting to know Enzo Rossi means admitting he's more than just a monster in an expensive suit. It means acknowledging the complexity beneath the danger—and that's a complication I never saw coming.

20

ENZO

Ifollow Luca through the back corridors of Callisto, his exclusive nightclub in the heart of the city. The main floor throbs with bass and bodies, but back here, everything is hushed opulence—thick carpet absorbing our footsteps, dim lighting that feels intentional rather than secretive.

There's only one guard posted at the door to Luca's private lounge—a calculated choice. Too many men draw attention; Luca Mantione prefers to appear unprotected though I know he's anything but. The guard nods at his boss, his eyes flicking to me with the briefest assessment before he steps aside.

"Your tech guy's already here," the guard murmurs, and Luca gives a barely perceptible nod.

The lounge feels like old money wrapped in modern taste—leather furniture in rich browns, a fully stocked bar gleaming with crystal decanters, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city, protected by one-way glass. The kind of place where serious decisions happen without anyone beyond these walls ever knowing.

Elliott Romano sits on one of the couches, his laptop balanced on his knees, fingers flying across the keyboard. He doesn't look up when we enter, which is either arrogance or focus. With Elliott, it's probably both.

"I hope that's worth the money I'm about to pay you," Luca says, voice smooth as the whiskey he pours himself at the bar.

Elliott finally looks up, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "Depends what you consider valuable. Blackmail? Leverage? Evidence of corruption? Because I've got all of the above." His voice carries that particular cadence of someone who knows their worth to the minute detail.

I pour myself a drink and settle into an armchair, watching the exchange. Elliott might look like some harmless tech nerd with his unruly dark curls and lean frame, but there's something in his eyes that tells a different story. I've heard the rumors—he operates in the shadows between all the families, selling information to the highest bidder without ever truly belonging to anyone. Dangerous game. Impressive that he's still breathing.

"Show him," I say, impatient with the posturing.

Elliott's eyes shift to me, calculating and cool. "Enzo. Heard you've had an interesting few weeks." The corner of his mouth twitches up. "Family reunions can be a bitch."

I keep my expression flat. "The files."

He shrugs, turns his laptop around and focuses on Luca. "I've organized it by potential usefulness. Alfonso's been skimming from the Cappalletti treasury for years—probably to fund his side businesses that Giovanni doesn't know about. He's got three judges and a police captain on regular payroll."

Luca takes the laptop, scrolling with deliberate attention. It’s what I’ve already seen, with a little more thrown in, and I know it will be enough. The ice in his whiskey clinks as he takes a sip, his face betraying nothing. Those ice-blue eyes scan the information with mechanical efficiency.

"And here's where it gets interesting," Elliott continues, leaning forward. "Two of Giovanni's most trusted capos are in deep shit. One's got a cocaine habit that would impress a cartel boss, and the other likes to gamble away money that isn't his. Both are hiding it from the Don."

"This is everything?" Luca asks, his voice giving away nothing.

"And more. Bank accounts, dates, amounts. Even some recorded conversations—turns out these guys aren't exactly careful with their phones." Elliott's pride is evident, but not misplaced. This kind of intel takes skill.

Luca scrolls for another minute before nodding, seemingly satisfied. He passes the laptop back and reaches inside his perfectly tailored jacket, pulling out a thick envelope. The movement is casual, as if he's retrieving a business card instead of what I know is enough cash to buy a decent car.

"This should be what you and Enzo agreed on, plus a little extra," Luca says, placing the envelope on the coffee table between them. "For the expedited timeline."

Elliott grins, all sharp edges and satisfaction, as he tucks away both his laptop and the money. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mantione." He stands, slinging his messenger bag across his body. "Call me when you need something else impossible."

I watch Elliott stand, his posture relaxed yet somehow alert, like a predator who knows he's the most dangerous thing in any room. The way he moves tells me he knows exactly how valuable he is—to Luca, to me, to anyone who needs information in this city.

"No favor this time?" I raise a brow, leaning back in my chair with deliberate casualness. "That's new. Usually you're collecting debts like trading cards."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luca watching our exchange, his ice-blue gaze calculating. Nothing escapes that man—not even the subtle shift in dynamics between me and Romano.

Elliott's mouth curves into that infuriating grin of his, the one that says he knows something you don't. "You owe enough people already, Rossi." He adjusts his glasses with one finger. "Let's just say I'm investing in future goodwill."

I don't like the implications of that statement, but I keep my face neutral. Elliott Romano doesn't do anything without a reason, and his reasons usually cost something eventually.

"Smart investment," I reply, taking a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn coat my throat.

Elliott gives a two-finger salute as he heads for the door. "Always." The door closes behind him with a soft click that feels too final for my liking.

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