Page 11 of Venomous Vows

Those cool green eyes haven’t changed. They’re just as lucid and bright as ever, but the frown he always wore around me isn’t as deep as it normally was.

He’s out of practice.

“And you’re still creepy as fuck,” I clip back, placing my palm over my rapidly beating heart. “I’m disappointed that you’re stillsneaking up on people, Adrian. I know you’re fully capable of forming words.”

“Only when they suit me,” he deadpans, standing as still as a statue with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress slacks.

“What do you want?” I grumble, trying to focus on my breathing and failing miserably at it. Though I’m athishouse andI’mthe one asking for help.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he counters, his voice a delicious, dark, and dangerous tone that exhibits how much he’s grown over the last decade. “However, Zane tells me you’ve run into a predicament.”

“It’s more than a predicament. My sister has been kidnapped.”

“Why haven’t you gone to the cops?”

My brows furrow because…I thought he was part of the mob. Isn’t that, like, a no-no? “Do you think I’d be here if I could run to the police and tell them everything that happened? I was told under specific instructions not?—”

“Why are you here, Elena?” he presses, wiping out some of the space between us and setting off a wave of goose bumps to blanket my skin. “My brother and I haven’t heard from you in over ten years and you randomly show up to, what…rattle up my sanity?”

“I think you’re back to thinking too highly of yourself again,” I retort easily. “And why would I reach out to you?”

“Because you missed me?”

I tsk. “I hardly missed you. Since you moved, I’ve had nothing but peace in my life.”

“Sounds awfully boring.”

“It wasn’t,” I ground back. “And I send your brother a Christmas card every year?—”

“I know.” He glares, showing the first sign of being agitated by my presence. “He tells me every fuckin’ year.”

I simmer in a way that takes complete satisfaction that I’ve been able to annoy him without needing to be present in his life. “I didn’t think that was your style.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why are you getting so upset about it?”

“Do I look upset,piccola diavola?”

Little devil.

Always loved that nickname.

Always wanted to strangle him with it, too, if words could make someone choke a little bit.

I lift my chin because enough is enough. “I’ve been off this merry-go-round ride for a lot of years, Adrian. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go serve?—”

“We’re gonna talk,” he orders sharply, setting the hairs on my arms on end. “I can’t have you in the house without knowing how serious you are about what you’ve come to do and what you’ve asked for. Of what lengths you’re willing to go to save your sister.”

I promptly frown. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You can’t stand there and tell me,piccola diavola…that you thought I’ve grown up to be a rich man without the so-called crime affiliations that you know fell etched and deep within my family’s name. I’m sure my brother told you what you were dealing with.”

He did.

Even though I already knew it.

I had wondered what the price was going to be because cooking and serving were just way too good to be true.

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