Page 95 of Dangerous Vows

I sink into the warm water, and he gently wets and lathers my hair. His eyebrows are pulled tight, and his movements are precise. I’m miffed because he’s the same man who fucked me in his office and now, he won’t touch me like that. I long for the days when I used to push his buttons, and now, he won’t push back even when I purposely goad him.

After the bath, he wraps me in a towel and carries me back to my room. He takes the towel and makes sure I’m dried off before he helps me into bed. His hooded eyes tell no tales as he tucks the blankets around me like a child.

Then, as always, he leaves, and I’m crushed when the door clicks softly behind him.

I’m exasperated. I’m tired of working for him. I don’t know how to reach him, and I don’t know if I ever will.

I miss you,I want to whisper.I miss your sarcasm. Your hands. Your fire.

But maybe that part of us is gone.

Maybehedoesn’t want to go back.

And I don’t know how to move forward without him.

AMARA

I WON’T BE SILENT

My day is the same as all the others. It’s life in a gilded cage—safe, yes, but suffocating. I’ve memorized the sound of the wind through the windows and the way Pietro’s footsteps sound when he leaves the house without a word.

The house has felt cold, and the days are endless since Pietro stopped touching me. He’s a master of deception because his veiled looks give me hope, but he quickly dashes them with one-word responses. His chilled responses are growing old, and the tiled floors have made this house a luxurious mausoleum with Wi-Fi.

I can only do so much pacing before my body becomes stiff. The library is stately, but there are only so many books I can skim without reading a word. I even found books in Italian. Maybe I should learn a romance language since I have nothing but time.

Whether or not I’m with Pietro, I want to work, be productive, and move forward with my life.

I exit the office, and Arman is watching me. He’s now wearing an earpiece. I’m not sure if that’s necessary, so it might be best that I don’t know the details behind it.

I flick on the TV just for noise, but the moment the screen lights up, I freeze.

“Another shooting today in what authorities are calling a coordinated assault in Manhattan, possibly linked to organized crime.”

My throat tightens.

There’s footage of a street cordoned off with yellow tape. Flashing lights. A reporter was shouting over the chaos.

The war has made the news.

They’re calling it a turf war.

If only they knew. I hope the men are okay, and I can’t forget that Luca is on the front lines.

I shut the TV off and toss the remote aside as confusion bubbles in my chest. What am I to do in this situation? I know one thing for sure.

I’m done playing the fragile doll locked in her glass tower.

So, when Pietro walks through the front door, broody and distant, I can’t take it anymore.

“You’re home,” I say, biting off angry words before they manifest. I’m pissed he leaves me to my own devices and at that, it’s limited. Even in a house as magnificent as this, it does nothing to ease my loneliness.

He turns toward me, his expression is unreadable. “I’m doing what I can.”

“You always say that,” I argue. “You say you’ll take care of me, and then you leave—every night. Like, I don’t matter. Like we didn’t matter. That we didn’t exist, you’re erasing us and erasing me.”

His jaw clenches. “You don’t understand?—”

“No,youdon’t understand!” I take a step closer and ignore the twinge of pain in my side. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I needyou.The man who used to laugh with me, who made me feel like the world disappeared when he touched me. He lowers me into the tub, checking the temperature before cupping water in his hands and pouring it over my shoulders.

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