Page 22 of Broken Vows

"Can't, or you won't let me?"

"Both." I don't bother softening it. "That child is mine. My blood, my responsibility. I won't let you disappear with my heir."

"There it is." She sits back in her chair, expression hardening. "The real Vincent Russo. The one who takes what he wants and destroys anyone who tries to stop him."

"I protect what's mine."

"I'm not yours."

"You're carrying my child. That makes you mine whether you like it or not."

I can see her pulse jumping in her throat, can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. She's angry, but she's also thinking. Good. Anger I can work with. Emotion leads to mistakes, and mistakes give me openings.

"What would you expect from me as a wife?" she asks without looking at me.

"Loyalty. Discretion. The appearance of unity in public."

"And in private?"

"Whatever arrangement works for both of us."

"How generous." The sarcasm is back, but underneath it, I hear something else. Disappointment? "No demands for domestic bliss? No expectations of playing house?"

"I'm not naive, Melinda. You didn't choose this any more than I did. I won't pretend otherwise."

"At least you're honest about it being a prison sentence."

I set down my wine glass harder than necessary. "It doesn't have to be a prison. It could be a partnership."

"Between equals?"

"Between people who understand the rules of the game we're playing."

She turns back to me, and for a second, I see past the anger to something else. Fear, maybe. Or grief for the life she's losing, the choices being taken away. I feel an unexpected urge to comfort her, to promise her things I have no right to promise.

"I need time to think," she says quietly.

"How much time?"

"As much as I need."

I want to push, to demand an answer, to use whatever leverage I can find to make her see reason. The longer this drags out, the more dangerous it becomes for all of us. But something in her voice warns me off. This isn't a woman who responds well to pressure.

"Fair enough," I say. "But don't take too long. The longer this stays secret, the more dangerous it becomes for all of us."

I watch her go, pulse ticking faster than it should. She's walking away now. But I see it—the way her fingers tremble slightly on the strap of her purse.

I lean back, voice quiet but deliberate. "You can take some time, Melinda. We both know the path you have to choose. And when you come back, you’ll be mine. Completely."

Tony steps in as soon as she's gone, scanning the room automatically. "Boss? How'd it go?"

"She needs time to consider my offer."

"You really did it?"

"Marriage offer? Yes, of course."

His eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "You proposed to a Mastroni." He whistles low and long.