Page 5 of His Ruthless Vow

Ibalance the bottle of prosecco between my arm and hip as I knock on Griffin's door. The hallway of his apartment building smells like someone's cooking curry—not unpleasant, just unexpected in this upscale neighborhood. I check my watch. Eight o'clock on the dot. Right on time, as usual.

Griffin had texted me earlier about hanging out tonight. Said he needed some company, which isn't like him. Griffin's never been the needy type. Usually, he's the life of the party—always surrounded by people, always on. That's what made his text strange. Something felt off.

I knock again, harder this time. "Griffin? It's Kendra."

A thud sounds from inside, followed by what might be a muffled curse. My instincts kick in—something's not right with this picture.

The door swings open, but it's not Griffin standing there.

The man who answers is tall with broad shoulders that fill the doorframe. Dark hair slicked back, expensive watch glinting on his wrist, suit tailored to perfection. But it's his eyes that catch my attention—cold, calculating, like he's constantly running numbers behind them.

"Well hello there," he says, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Griffin didn't mention he was expecting such lovely company."

I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze directly. "And Griffin didn't mention he already had company."

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Just finishing up some business."

Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. I glance past him into the apartment, catching sight of Griffin standing stiffly in the living room. His brown hair is disheveled, his blue eyes wide with what looks suspiciously like fear.

I take a step forward, but the man doesn't budge.

"Armando," Griffin calls out, voice strained. "We were just finishing up, right?"

Armando. The name registers somewhere in the back of my mind. I've heard Jazz mention that name before—something about the Mantione family.

I duck back, pretending I've forgotten something, and step away from the door. "I'll just wait out here."

Instead of leaving, I press my back against the wall beside the doorway, listening. Thankfully, neither of them say a word to me. But Armando also doesn't shut the door.

"Like I said," Armando's voice drops to a menacing whisper, "your deadline's coming up. I don’t appreciate waiting for what's owed to me."

"I'll get it," Griffin says. "I just need?—"

A dull thud interrupts him, followed by a groan of pain.

"That's a reminder," Armando says casually. "Next time it won't be just your ribs."

My heart hammers against my chest. Without thinking, I step back into the doorway.

Griffin is doubled over, one arm wrapped around his midsection, face contorted in pain. Armando stands over him, adjusting his cufflinks like he just checked the time instead of assaulting my friend.

"What the hell is going on?" I demand, stepping into the apartment, prosecco still clutched in my arm.

Griffin's head snaps up. "Kendra, don't?—"

Armando turns to me, that cold smile returning. "Nothing that concerns you, sweetheart. Your friend and I are just settling a business matter."

"Business doesn't usually involve punching," I say, moving toward Griffin.

"Kendra, please," Griffin pleads. "Just go."

"Not until someone tells me what's happening." I plant my feet, crossing my arms.

Armando chuckles, the sound chilling. "You've got a brave friend here, Griffin." He looks me up and down appreciatively. "She doesn't know what kind of trouble you're in, does she?"

"It's nothing," Griffin insists, straightening with obvious effort. "Just a misunderstanding."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me," I challenge, glaring at Armando.

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