Page 62 of Lethal Vows

Without thinking, I grab the knife and press it to his throat.

“Princess?” he whispers with a charmed smile. His hand slackens around my throat as his thrusts slow.

“You better make me come before that fire reaches me,” I rasp as I nick at his throat, a small trail of blood left in its wake dribbles along his skin.

That primal growl escapes him again as he slams into me. I cry out in pain and pleasure as the fire spreads across the tablecloth. I’m out of my fucking mind, but I can’t think of anything else.

That sweet spot he keeps hitting inside me, ramps up the pleasure. I press the knife to his skin, edging it toward his jugular, and his groan only emphasizes how much he fucking loves it.

With one more forceful thrust, he arches into me, hunching over me as he takes my lips. I scream his name into his mouth, the thrumming of my core finally spilling over. He picks me up, holding me like I’m something precious, as the flames spread over the tablecloth.

Smoke detectors scream and then water begins to sprinkle from the ceiling. The cold, hard realization has me shuddering as I follow the last wave of pure bliss.

Crue’s hair dampens as he looks down to where I still hold the blade to his throat. “My dangerous vixen,” he whispers with admiration.

CHAPTER34

Crue

With my men posted along the wall behind me, I sit and observe the patrons at the Ivanov Auctions. Unlike many here who wear a mask to cover their identity, I do not. Their attempt at anonymity is fruitless when it comes to me, as I know every single person in this room. Slimy Jim provided me with a list of the frequent patrons and their tastes, which is exactly the reason I came here tonight.

I sip on my whisky, my gaze locked on the woman who approaches my table.

“Mr. Monti, what a pleasure.” Francesca Torrisi’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Perhaps because I put a bullet in her oldest brother’s head a little over a year ago.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet with you, Francesca.”

She’s wearing a silver dress that shimmers with different colors as she moves. One of her men flanks her, offering a glass of champagne. She looks around the room, pinning onlookers with a glare.

“Sit with me,” I say.

“Is that an invitation or a command?” she asks.

I offer an impolite smile. “Both.”

She huffs and relieves her men. “It’s fine.”

She sits beside me, her hard, calculating gaze roaming the room.

“I have a proposition for you,” I say.

She huffs out a laugh.

“I’m not the head of the Torrisi family. I can’t offer you anything.”

I lean closer to her, disgusted by her overly fragrant perfume. But perhaps that’s because I’ve become accustomed to Rya’s subtle potency. “And what if I could change that for you?”

Her gaze cuts to mine. She looks side to side skeptically to see who might be listening in. The lights are dim, and the auction is about to start. To others, it looks like an unfriendly exchange. And it very well might be, depending on her response.

“What makes you think I want to betray my family? My only nephew and remaining brother?”

“Two doesn’t seem too many to cut down when you can become the heir, does it?”

I know what type of person Francesca is. She has specific tastes. A demand for power and recognition. Enough she’s willing to kill for it, especially if she doesn’t have to do the dirty work.

“What is this, some kind of trick?”

“Or an opportunity,” I counter.

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