Page 23 of Broken Vows (Empire City Syndicate #2)

"What are you?"

"Mastroni blood. A survivor. Someone who understands that sometimes you have to fight dirty to protect what matters." Her eyes burn with amber fire. "Your brother made this personal when he threatened my baby. Our baby."

The possessive way she says “our” does something to my chest, something warm and dangerous that I've been fighting for months.

"Melinda—"

"I'm not some civilian who stumbled into this mess, Vincent.

I was born into it. I know the rules, I know the stakes, and I know that hiding makes you weak.

" She steps even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"So either we handle this together, or I handle it alone. "

The threat in her voice is real. She'll walk out that door and straight into danger if I try to cage her. And part of me—the part that's been captivated by her strength since that night in my penthouse—respects the hell out of her for it.

"Together," I hear myself say.

Her surprise flickers across her face before she covers it with that professional mask. "What changed your mind?"

"You did." I reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're right. You're not some helpless civilian. You're Melinda fucking Mastroni, and I'd be an idiot to try to keep you locked away."

"Finally, some sense."

"But," I continue, "you go nowhere without security. You follow protocols. And if things get hot, you listen to me without argument."

"And if you try to control me?—"

"I'll deal with the consequences." I cup her face, thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "Just like I'm dealing with them now."

Something shifts in her expression, the anger giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. "Vincent..."

"I know this is fucked up. I know you never wanted this. But we're in it now, together, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you or our child."

"Our child." She repeats the words like she's testing their weight. "God, when did my life become so complicated?"

"The night you let a stranger fuck you against his window."

Her laugh is surprised, genuine, transforming her face completely. "You arrogant bastard."

"You love it."

"I hate that I love it."

She says it like she didn’t mean to, but it lands like a fucking bomb.

Now I can’t stop staring at her mouth.

"Come here," I say, voice rough.

She gives me that look—like she knows exactly what’s about to happen—and steps right into me.

I grab her hips and pull her flush against me, letting her feel just how hard I am for her.

Her body fits mine like she was fucking built for it.

"Vincent," she breathes against my mouth.

"I want you naked," I murmur, hands already moving to the hem of her sweater. "Now."

She pulls back slightly, studying my face. "Here?"

"Yes." I lift the sweater over her head, revealing smooth skin and black lace. "Take it all off."

She takes her sweet time getting naked—testing me, and she knows it.

When she’s bare, I grab her waist and pull her in hard.

I spin her around, drag my mouth up her neck, stopping just below her ear.

"Good girl."

"Look at yourself." I turn her toward the mirror and press in behind her.

"Open your legs," I command softly.

She meets my eyes in the mirror, then slowly spreads her thighs. I slide one hand between them, finding her already wet, ready for me.

"Watch," I tell her, fingers beginning to move in slow circles. "I want you to see what I’m doing to you."

Her breath hitches as I tease her closer to the edge with my fingers, my other hand cupping her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple until it peaks.

"You see this? You’re mine now. Every inch of you."

"Vincent—"

"That’s it. Let me hear you."

I turn her around and lift her onto the nearest surface, mouth closing over her breast.

She arches into me, breathless.

"You’re mine," I growl against her skin. "Every fucking inch."

She’s trembling now, desperate for more. “Yes. I’m yours.” Her eyes flash at me for a brief second. “And you’re mine.”

I drag her off the surface and spin her toward the mirror.

"Hands on the mirror," I order.

She grips the edges as I position myself behind her.

"Look at yourself. Look how fucking gorgeous you are spread open for me. No one will ever see you like this. No one will ever touch you."

Then I slide inside her in one hard thrust, both of us groaning at the sensation—hot, tight, perfect.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," I growl, setting a brutal rhythm that has her gasping.

“I need it, Vincent. Fuck me hard.”

She’s posed for me like a goddess. It’s intoxicating to see. "You’re taking me so well. Every inch. You were made for this cock, baby. You know it."

"Don’t stop," she begs. "Please don’t stop."

I don't. I can't. This woman, this fierce, complicated, magnificent woman carrying my child—she's under my skin, in my blood, more essential than breathing.

Afterward, we collapse together on the couch, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.

"Vincent," she says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"You really think you’re this deep in just for the baby?"

I think about that ultrasound photo. About Marco threatening what's mine. About how fucking right she feels in my arms.

"If you don’t know the answer to that…you haven’t been paying attention."

My phone buzzes with a message from Davide.

Marco. Financial transfers. Meetings with the Perezzis.

I’m about to bury my own brother.

It’s time to end this.