Page 92 of Dangerous Vows

There are no smiles or banter, and I’ve hidden my love for her. I’ve buried my lover deeper than a bottomless well. It’s the only way I can be close to her and not touch her.

Idoomedher.

That’s the part that makes me sick.

She could’ve died.

If that had happened, I’d paint the town red, that’s for sure.

She should hate me.

Maybe she does.

However, I still need to do something for her. Something decent. Something human.

So I pick up my phone and call Alena.

“Can you come see Amara?” I ask, my voice raw.

There’s a beat of silence. Then her voice, soft and unsurprised. “Of course. Is she okay?”

“She’s... surviving. But I can’t…” I pause. My chest tightens. “She doesn’t needmehovering. She needs someone who can make her smile.”

Alena understands. She always does. “I’ll be by this week.”

Afterwards, I sit, staring at the phone like it might punish me for dialing it.

I’ll send others to comfort her. That’s the least I can do.

Because I’m not allowed to feel love.

Not when love in my world comes with blood and bullets.

And Amara deserves a hell of a lot more than that.

I heara beep and grab my phone from the nightstand. I check my messages.

One of our warehouses is burning, and some men were injured.

Fuck!

We’re spinning our wheels. There’s been no progress in two weeks, during which we’ve increased manpower to protect what’s ours.

I quickly leave the house. Joseph drives me to the Borrelli mansion. I enter, walk to his office, and find Matteo pacing in the courtyard attached to his office.

I notice the cigar is burning low between his fingers, which tells me he’s been here for some time. He only smokes when things are fucked—and tonight, the air reeks of it.

I approach, slow and steady, my boots crunching over the gravel. He hears me but doesn’t turn until I’m right beside him.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice flat.

He doesn’t sugarcoat it.

“Luca was taken to the hospital an hour ago,” he says, his tone clipped. His jaw is tight, and he is worried. “Beaten half to hell.”

My fists clench. “Alive?”

“Barely. Concussed. Ribs shattered. They wanted him to live…so he could deliver the message.” He flicks the cigar into the stone fire pit with a quick snap as his last breath of smoke slowly unfurls. I already know I’m not going to like what comes next.

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