Page 47 of His Ruthless Vow

She laughs, fingers absently stroking Penny's fur. "Would you believe I wanted to be a teacher? Until I realized I had better things to do than manage other people's bratty kids."

"I can see it," I muse, studying the elegant lines of her face. "You'd be terrifying with a red pen."

This pulls another laugh from her, freer than before. "I still am, just with marketing proposals instead of essays."

We talk—really talk—for what feels like hours. She tells me about growing up with Jazz, about her parents who worked themselves to exhaustion to give her opportunities, about the first campaign she landed that put her on the map. I find myself sharing pieces of myself I rarely acknowledge—memories of my mother, growing up in a made family, what it was like to compete with Zenon my whole life.

With each exchange, I can feel something shifting between us. The careful distance we maintain, the walls we've built—they're not gone, but they're lower now. Permeable.

Penny has fully relaxed, curled up against Kendra's side, while Paige snores softly at my feet. The sight of them, comfortable and trusting, stirs something I'm not ready to name.

Kendra glances over, studying me with those perceptive eyes. A small smirk plays at her lips, though it lacks the usual edge.

"You know," she murmurs, "for a man who likes to act like he's untouchable, you collect a lot of strays."

I exhale, shaking my head slightly. "That's Luca's line."

Her smirk blooms into a genuine smile. "That's because it's true."

And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel the need to argue. I don't feel the need to defend or deflect or maintain careful distance. Instead, I just let myself be seen—by her, by the dogs, by myself.

28

KENDRA

Istare at the spreadsheet on my monitor, numbers and data points that should command my focus, but I might as well be looking at hieroglyphics. My brain refuses to concentrate, wandering repeatedly to last night like a tongue prodding a sore tooth.

Enzo's voice in the darkness. Our long talk the day before. The way his defenses slipped, just for a moment, showing me something raw. Something real.

I click randomly between cells, pretending to work while my mind replays every second with him over the last week—his hand at the small of my back, the heat of him, the way my body responded before my brain could intervene. I've had sex before. Good sex, even. But with Enzo...

"Fuck," I mutter, dragging my hands down my face, smudging my carefully applied eyeliner. This is exactly what I swore wouldn't happen. I don't catch feelings—especially not for dangerous men with tattoos and power and eyes that see too much.

It meant nothing to him. A transaction. A debt.

So why did he let me see beneath that perfect control? Why show me anything genuine at all?

My phone buzzes against the desk, screen lighting up with a name that sends an involuntary flush of warmth through my chest. I stare at it for three long seconds, hating myself for the little jump my heart makes, the anticipation tingling in my fingertips.

Enzo.

I swipe to answer, leaning back in my chair and keeping my voice deliberately neutral. "You need me for something?"

The sound of his breathing fills the line for a heartbeat before he speaks.

"Come over for dinner," he says. His voice carries that smooth, commanding tone I've come to expect, but underneath it lurks something different. Something almost... gentle.

I raise an eyebrow reflexively, though he can't see it. The air conditioning hums in the background as I cross my legs, trying to ignore the warmth curling through my stomach.

"Is this another part of the deal?" I ask, my words carrying a defensive edge I hadn't quite intended. A challenge, because challenging him feels safer than admitting I want to see him again.

He exhales, a soft sound that somehow feels more intimate than it should.

"Just come over, Kendra."

My name in his mouth—it shouldn't affect me like this. Two syllables that feel like fingers trailing down my spine. I press my lips together, fighting the smile that threatens to form, grateful he can't see me now. The smart move would be to decline, to establish boundaries before I'm in too deep.

But when it comes to Enzo Rossi, I stopped making smart moves the moment I took his deal.

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