Page 1 of Deceptive Vows (Bound by Vows #3)

Chapter One

THEA

Well, well, well…

When Dead Shift’s door opened, I didn't expect a man dressed like a Monaco banker stepping off a private jet. Italian leather, linen slacks, and burnished designer loafers that cost more than a month's rent. He didn't belong in a place that smelled of stale beer and fresh desperation.

And yet, he looked so at ease.

Moretti territory didn’t see his kind, not unless they were up to something or here for someone. I filed him under probable threat.

This place reeked of rotgut, testosterone, and lost hope.

The low thump of bass from the jukebox was barely audible over the sounds of chatter.

The Morettis didn’t own this bar, but their stink clung to the walls.

Girls—half of them barely legal—worked the booths for Johns too cheap for a hotel.

And predators circled the room, waiting for someone too strung out to scream.

I wasn’t here for pleasure. I was chasing a lead. Typically, this bar was mostly filled with Moretti’s disposable muscle, but word was Marco’s guy was sniffing around—his actual second. If that rumor was true, tonight might finally get me a breadcrumb leading to the Don of the Moretti crime family.

After a quick sweep of his gaze, the newcomer slipped onto a barstool near the entrance, like neither the grime nor the watchers lurking in the shadows were worth noticing.

Taylor, the bartender, paused to serve the newcomer. Vodka. Beluga. Top-shelf.

Definitely not Moretti. His guys drank brown paint stripper. Beluga meant Russian. And Russians didn’t just pop into bars like this for a nightcap. Not unless there were strings attached.

Taylor finished with him, ambled to my end, and pushed a shot in front of me. “ Water,” he murmured.

I nodded, slipping my fingers through the ends of my newly dyed mahogany hair. “Thanks.”

Most would think it was liquor, but after watching my mother’s addiction kill her light, I didn’t touch the stuff. But let them think I was drinking, just another part of the scenery. It made them careless. That made them stupid. Stupid was useful.

I traced the rim of my glass and glanced at the mirror behind the bar. The smudged glass gave me a better view of Mr. Gumdrop. He was gorgeous. Objectively.

Posture—loose, like he had nowhere to be. Stillness—absolute, like a predator waiting for a reason to pounce. Eyes—sharp. Calculating. He clocked the exits, the regulars, the threats. And me.

Especially me.

A smile tugged one corner of his lips up as our eyes met in the mirror.

Interesting.

Most men in here didn’t notice anything that wasn’t wearing a push-up bra and a cry for help. But him? He watched like he’d been trained to. Like he was waiting for something to go wrong .

Or perhaps he was the thing about to go wrong.

Could he be one of Marco’s contacts? If so, his presence might mean the Don was close. Finally. I’d chased enough ghosts through this city, enough rumors that ended in dead ends. But tonight felt different. It had to lead to Marco. Because if it didn’t, I was out of breadcrumbs… and patience.

I clocked Berto Rizzoli in the corner, a Moretti bottom-feeder with a mean streak and zero self-control.

The brunette next to him was Rina. Chipped front tooth and a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

She didn’t belong here. But survival was ugly sometimes.

She reminded me of my mother. Broken, abused, and used.

Another woman who would never find her way out.

My gaze slid back to the stranger. He lifted his glass in a silent toast, lips curving in a knowing smirk. I matched him and knocked back the water. His appreciation was subtle, practiced. But I wasn’t here to flirt. I was here to find Marco.

If he was connected, that mattered. If he wasn’t, he was a wild card.

That mattered more.

Movement pulled my attention. Rina’s drink was still full, sweating down the side of the glass. Berto leaned in, whispering something she didn’t laugh at. His hand slid up her thigh while his other hovered near her drink.

I rolled my eyes at the cheesy, classic move.

A little powder. A little pressure. And another woman disappears.

Not tonight.

I glanced back toward Berto’s corner. He was already moving, Rina’s limp body draped over his shoulder, heading for the side exit.

I shifted, ready to follow. As I did, a stir near the main exit caught my eye—a man with slicked-back hair who, for a moment, I thought might be Marco’s second. But when the neon light caught his face, I saw it was just a pockmarked nobody. Not my target tonight.

My breath hissed out. Sloppy. I’d lost focus on what mattered.

Turning my attention back to Berto, I saw Rina was slipping now, arms dangling. He adjusted his grip, lifting her higher onto his shoulder with a grunt, trying to play it cool as he continued toward the exit.

I was already weaving through tables, my heels silent on the sticky floor. Weight forward. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Mr. Gumdrop was following me. If he got in my way, I’d deal with him after Berto.

I shoved open the back door. The alley was sharp with November air and the stink of vomit. Berto was halfway down with Rina still hanging limp over his shoulder.

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” I said.

He turned, his snarl half-feral. “Mind your business. I’m just taking my old lady home.”

“She’s not your anything. You dosed her.”

“One more step, and you’ll regret it,” he growled, his hand drifting toward his waistband.

I took that step.

“You know who I am,” I said. “And I know who you are. If you put her down now, you’ll limp out of here. If I make you drop her, you won’t leave at all.”

This guy had witnesses. Even if the bar was filled with Morettis, didn’t mean there weren’t loose lips. If I didn’t kill Berto, Marco would. Stupidity was a death sentence in this world.

He twitched.

One heartbeat. Two.

By the third, I was already moving. Knife drawn. Blade familiar, eager. I’d been throwing since I was nine.

The metal caught a flash of light before it buried itself with a wet thunk. Berto gurgled and collapsed. Rina slid down with him.

I knelt, pressed two fingers to her neck. Still breathing. Good.

I didn’t look toward the bar door, but I felt the weight of his gaze still on me.

Mr. Gumdrop was still watching. Not running. Not yelling. Just calm. Comfortable in the aftermath.

Most men would’ve run or called the police. That he didn’t run meant he was either very brave or very familiar with this kind of work. Given the suit and the vodka, I was betting on the latter.

“Hey.” I shook her. “Hey.”

The woman moaned, her eyelids fluttering briefly before falling shut again.

Reaching into my pocket, I fished out my phone, touched the screen, and raised it to my ear. “Can you take care of a body?”

I could practically see Dimi taking a long drag of his cigarette as the familiar sound of a soft inhale followed by an exhale preceded his voice across the line. “I can… ”

“Dead Shift—alleyway.”

“Thea…” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t you find a happier, less bloody hobby? One that doesn’t require so much clean-up?”

I shifted slightly in the direction of the exit door and smiled. I was still being watched. “Oh, Dimi, I can’t help that trouble finds me.”

“Right.” He gave another exasperated sigh. “Moretti guy?”

“Maybe. Definitely a bottom-rung loser who drugged a woman. Either way, they won’t miss him. He was too careless. I did them a favor.”

“Is she okay?”

I heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I think she’ll be fine.”

“All right, give ’em five.”

“Okay, I’m calling 911.”

I ended the call just as the bar door clicked shut. No surprise there. If he were into anything like me and my family, he didn’t want or need anyone getting curious about him, especially the cops.

He was almost intriguing enough to follow back into the bar. Almost. Most predators around here wore their violence on the surface—loud, deliberate, meant to scare. But not him. His kind of violence was quiet. Controlled. The kind you never saw coming, until it was too late.

Like me.

I brushed the thought away as quickly as it came. Most men thought they could claim more than I was willing to give. At least Remy understood. That tryst had been fun and fleeting. No complications. No expectations. The kind I most enjoyed.

By the time the ambulance arrived, I was long gone.

I followed up later. Rina would be okay. It’d be a lie to say I had hope she’d wake up after this and do something to make a change, but I’d watched too many women continue down the same path to think she’d be any different.

My baby brother, Lex, texted that he’d handle the cleanup personally. I found him not far from Dead Shift, looking more tired than usual.

“Did you have any trouble?” I fell into step beside him. Normally, I’d do a follow-up with Dimi, but Lex had seemed…moody lately. The usual spark in his eyes had dimmed.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Nah.”

We walked in silence a couple of blocks. I didn’t mind the walk. I loved walking in the city, especially when the sun was just breaking over the skyline. Slipping my arm through his, I glanced at him, and it hit me. The slumped shoulders, the tight jaw.

“When did she break up with you?”

He jerked his attention to me. “What? She—” His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “The night we took care of Benoit.”

How had I missed that? I didn’t miss things. “I’ll kill her.”

Lex exhaled through his nose. "Don’t. I don’t want that.”

"She wasn’t good enough for you anyway.” I kicked at a stray bottle cap, and it skittered into the gutter. “Benoit was a stain on this city. We bleached him. She should’ve been cheering.”

“Should she?” he muttered. “Franklin deserved it. I don’t regret it. But she wanted a normal life. A normal guy. Not this.”

“This” was unspoken but understood.

Death. Murder. Power plays and secrets.