Page 60 of His Ruthless Vow

Ercole. My nephew. Dead beside his father.

I feel nothing but the pressure of Kendra's fingers intertwined with mine. She doesn't speak during the drive, just keeps her gaze fixed on the city lights blurring past. Every few minutes, her grip tightens, then relaxes, as if reassuring herself I'm still here. As if I'm the one who almost slipped away.

When we pull up to my home, the building looms dark and silent. This place has never felt more like sanctuary.

"You're safe now," I tell her. It's not what I want to say, but it's all I can manage with my throat closing around words that feel too dangerous to release.

The moment we step through the door, the silence shatters. Nails click frantically against hardwood as Paige and Penny tear around the corner, a blur of yellow and tricolor fur. Their whines pierce the air—high-pitched, distressed sounds of animals who've sensed disaster.

Paige reaches us first, her entire body wiggling so violently she nearly topples over. Penny circles more cautiously, ears back, eyes darting between us.

"Hey girls," Kendra whispers, her voice cracking. She sinks to her knees, and something in my chest constricts at how natural she looks in my home, on my floor, with my dogs swarming her. Like she belongs here. Has always belonged here.

Paige immediately plasters herself against Kendra, licking every inch of exposed skin she can reach. Penny presses close, trembling slightly as Kendra buries her fingers in her fur, stroking the spot behind her ears that usually takes weeks for Penny to allow anyone to touch.

"They know something happened," she murmurs, face half-hidden against Paige's golden coat as the lab attempts to climb into her lap despite being far too large. "They can smell it on us."

When she looks up at me, the dim light from the hallway catches the shadows beneath her eyes, the smudges of mascara, the slight swelling where Ercole's grip left marks. Her expression is unreadable, stripped of the sharp edges and defenses she usually wears like armor.

My jaw works as I stare at the marks, knowing thatIdid this to her when I made that damn deal. And she must be able to see it on my face.

"Are you going to tell me you don't want me caught up in your world?" she asks. The question hangs in the air between us, weighted with everything we've survived. “That I need to leave before you get me hurt again?”

I exhale slowly, rubbing my jaw, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. The smart answer is yes. The right answer is to push her away, to cut whatever this is before it drags her deeper into blood and violence she never asked for.

"I should," I admit, voice rough.

Kendra gently disengages from the dogs, rising to her feet with a grace that shouldn't be possible after everything. She steps toward me, her movements deliberate, closing the distance between us until I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes.

"But?" she prompts softly.

I meet her gaze, something tight coiling in my chest. For a man who calculates every move, who plans three steps ahead, who never speaks without measuring the consequence of each word, I find myself suddenly stripped of all strategy.

"But I love you."

The words escape before I can trap them, raw and unguarded in a way I haven't been since I was too young to know better. I've never said them before—not to anyone. Never meant them before. Never wanted to.

“I love you, and I am a selfish bastard who isn’t willing to let you go.”

Kendra's lips part, her breath catching. For a heartbeat, I see it—vulnerability, fear, the weight of what those words mean in my world. But then she smiles. Slow. Certain. Dangerous. A smile that tells me she knows exactly what she's choosing.

"I love you, Enzo." She steps closer, pressing a hand to my chest, right over the thundering of my heart. "And I choose you. Even if you try to push me away, I won’t go anywhere."

I don't even know how to respond. The words hang between us, heavier than any threat I've ever made, any deal I've ever struck. Love is a vulnerability I've never allowed myself. Yet here I am, bleeding it out for her to see.

But Kendra doesn't seem to need my response. Her eyes—those deep brown eyes that saw through my bullshit from the first day—soften in a way I've never witnessed. She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat from her body, smell the faint traces of her perfume mixed with sweat and fear and determination.

When she kisses me, it's different.

It's not a battle, not a negotiation, not the careful dance of power we've been circling since the beginning. This kiss feels like coming home to something I never knew I needed. Her lips are soft against mine, yielding but not weak. Never weak. My Kendra wouldn't know how to be weak if she tried.

I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her against me while my other hand cradles the back of her neck. The dogs shuffle away, sensing the shift in energy. Paige bumps into the coffee table in her retreat, sending a book clattering to the floor.

I lift Kendra, feeling her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her to the couch. Her weight is perfect in my arms, substantial and real. When I lay her down, I take my time, my hands mapping every curve, every edge of her body like I'm memorizing territory I can't afford to lose. I need to feel her, to know she’s okay.

"Enzo," she breathes against my neck, my name becoming a prayer on her lips.

I slide her blouse up, exposing the smooth expanse of her stomach. A bruise is forming where Ercole grabbed her—dark against her brown skin—and something primal roars in me at the sight. I press my lips there gently, a silent promise that no one will ever mark her like this again.

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