Page 64 of Bound in Promise

“Come now,” he sighs, as if disappointed that I’ve slighted his honor. “You work for me and you’ll see her again.”

“And the man you sold her to? What will he think?”

Angelo lifts his shoulders again and looks past me. “I doubt he’d make a spectacle by seeking to reclaim a woman he bought at a secret auction. Especially considering his political career.”

I hum thoughtfully. It depends. Men do crazy shit for what’s theirs.

Besides, who’s to say he won’t throw Angelo under the bus and alert the authorities? If he has power, he’s used to flexing it. It’d be easy enough for the bastard to spin things around and make himself out as the wronged party who stumbled upon a human-trafficking situation.

And I don’t see Angelo risking his business for any woman, not even Victoria, so long as he has his money.

“She’s a spicy one, that wife of yours,” Angelo muses, and his smug tone is like an ice pick to my skull. “I can see why you’re so determined to keep her.”

His dark eyes descend to mine and a million and one scenarios race through my brain in a split-second.

He’s fucking with me.

But knowing it doesn’t stop the rage pumping through my veins. I’m going to kill this motherfucker the first chance I get. He has no idea what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

“I just love how she screams.”

My body jolts upward—big mistake—and my legs buckle, sending me crashing to the floor in a heap.

Along with the damn chair.

Angelo’s chuckle rings through the air as I flail around like a fish out of water, determined to break free from my restraints. Maybe it’d be more accurate to describe my efforts as those of a rabid dog fighting at the end of a chain.

I’m going to kill him.

I can’t wait to watch the life drain from his eyes as I hold his throat in my hands.

“You didn’t think I’d resist going back to try again to taste her for myself, did you? Didn’t your nephew date her and then risk his life to get her back? Now, I have a grown-ass man—the legendary Mors, no less—risking everything to keep her in his possession. There had to have been something special about her.”

“Your days are numbered,” I promise, still attempting to wiggle life into my fingers. “You think this is some fucked up game, Lombardi? I’ll show you?—”

“Get him up,” Angelo barks out, stepping away as two of his men immediately return me and the chair to an upright position. He leans over, eyes narrowed.

“How many times are we gonna do this?” he asks, his tone that of a disappointed father. “I’m only human, Dante.”

“If I find out you touched her?—”

“You won’t do shit,” he snarls back, lips curled haughtily. “I’m in charge. I make the rules. You’re nothing and no one. Just some old has-been without purpose. You couldn’t even keep one girl safe.”

Touché, motherfucker.

I’ve already beaten myself up plenty for allowing any of this to happen. But I won’t just sit here and continue my self-flagellation for this asshole’s pleasure.

“That may be true,” I agree, “but at least I’m not a rapist who forces women who want nothing to do with me.”

“True,” he admits with a smirk. “But, my God, was she tight.”

I bite my tongue as bile rises in my throat. I can’t stomach the thought of her being pinned down, held at this bastard’s mercy. I’d rather die right the fuck now than allow Angelo to torture me with the details.

“She fought, though,” Angelo says, almost as an aside. His voice drips with ill-concealed glee as he sees how much this is killing me to hear. “Hit me with a lamp. You should be proud.”

A lamp.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up to the word, to understand its meaning. For me to focus on images of her fighting back, fighting for herself, rather than of her being made a victim.