Page 34 of Dangerous Vows

She said she’s not with anyone, which means it must be someone close to her. If I’m going to chase her demons away, I need to know who they are.

All of them.

I drift in and out of sleep, taking her again and again as we surrender to raw desire. We lie tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat and cum, both breathless and spent.

We’re both insatiable—but somehow, somewhere between the hunger and the heat, we’ve bonded.

And that’s dangerous.

I wake at dawn.Amara is still asleep, curled into the sheets, her leg draped possessively over mine. Her face is nuzzled into my chest, soft and trusting. The tension from last night lingers in the air, even in sleep. I dress quietly, slipping on a fresh shirt and fastening my Patek Philippe. Then, I head downstairs to clear my head. I texted Matteo.

I need information on Amara. Don’t leave anything out.

You sure about that?

I need to know who hurt her.

I’mon it.

The hotel bar is empty at this hour. Just the way I like it. I sit with my espresso, watching the city come to life through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a walkway to the park. The weight of last night is still with me, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts like a dog with a beef bone.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but the sun is up, so it must be seven. I made a few espressos, lost in thought. Amara is safely tucked in my bed, and for that, I’m grateful.

Matteo finds me first, sliding into the seat across from me, his expression sharp.

“You left early last night," he says. "Everything good?”

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I’m the head of the family, and your text concerned me.”

I take a sip of caffeine, letting the heat settle before answering. “Amara was off. Something happened, but she won't say what.”

Matteo leans back in the booth, drumming his fingers on the table. "You think someone is using her to get to you?” His eyebrows furrowed with concern.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

Before Matteo can respond, Bianca appears, wearing an outfit that accentuates her figure—and, knowing her, it costs thousands of dollars. She folds her arms, giving me a look that says she already knows more than I do. I don’t know what that school did to her, but she’s become bold and fierce. I suppose it has to do with the fact that our father is no longer berating her every five minutes.

Her confident expression precedes her as she slides into the booth beside me.

“What are you doing up this early?”

“I was with Matteo when he got your text. And I’m here to add some insight. If you want answers, you're asking the wrong questions,” she says. “Women don’t always say what's wrong. Sometimes, you have to read between the lines.”

I raise a brow. “And what do you think is between those lines?”

She tilts her head, considering. “Fear. Or maybe something worse.”

That sits heavy in my gut. I drain my drink, set the cup on the saucer with barely a sound, and push it aside. “Either way, I'll get to the bottom of it.”

Bianca smirks. “Of course you will. But try not to scare her in the process. You need to be sensitive, and you’re generally—not.”

I don't respond to that. Instead, I stand, already feeling the urge to move. If there's one thing I know, nothing stays buried forever. And if Amara won’t tell me what’s chasing her, I’ll find out myself.

AMARA

THE SHIRT I STOLE

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