Page 15 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

But as I stare at the black screen, I catch my reflection. And something about the look in my own eyes makes my stomach twist. I’m enjoying this too much. Maybe I should be concerned about what Vukan has planned.

Maybe, but I shrug it off. I’m sure he thinks I’ll fall at his feet with a dinner date.

Joanne notices the concern in my eyes. Of course she does.

“What?” she asks, chin tilting. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend you’re five steps ahead but you’re already halfway down the rabbit hole.”

I set my phone down and took a last sip of the drink. Then say it—softly, like I’m admitting to a crime.

“I don’t need to ruin him with lingerie.”

Joanne blinks. “Excuse me?”

“He’s already into me,” I say, the words tasting too sharp for comfort. “I see it. I feel it. Every time I look at him, it’s in his eyes and the way his mouth curves. But, I could be wrong. ”

Joanne slams her hands on the table. “Shut the fuck up,” she grins. “ You’re holding out on me. ”

“I’m not—” I lie. However, it’s only when I look at Vukan that I see his eye soften with desire. I’ve learned over the years that honesty lies in what I don’t see, the type of things that can’t be faked.

It’s in how I feel him lusting for me, the way the air stills, and how the silence speaks louder than words. It’s when I walk and feel his eyes checking out my ass.

“How do you know?” she asks, filled with curiosity.

I glance around, lean in, and lower my voice. “Because I landed a punch to his ribs during the boxing date… and the man smiled. Like it turned him on.”

Joanne covers her mouth. “Stop it.”

“He called me Princess with a bruised rib and a hard-on, Jo.”

She’s practically vibrating in her chair. “You’re telling me he’s getting off on the idea of you trying to destroy him?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. He’s a man of mystery.” I don’t tell her that his eyes have layers of emotion that I’ve never seen anyone wear.“Tell me that’s not the most Borrelli-core romance ever,” I joke.

Joanne raises her eyebrows and gives me a knowing look. “You’ve met your match.”

“No. I’ve met my obsession.” I pause. “Which is exactly why I have to win.”

“You sure about that?” she asks, suddenly serious. “Because winning doesn’t always mean walking away.”

I don’t answer.

Because somewhere deep down, I already know?—

If Vukan keeps looking at me like I’m the only storm he’d walk into willingly…

I might not want to walk away at all.

I can’t tell Joanne that his kiss knocked my socks off. It was sexy, virile, hot, and so him. I definitely can’t tell her I was wet just sitting next to him in the car.

And that was before the boxing match.

Damn that man.

I never should have let him pick me up for that first date.

Now, the precedent has been set—and it’s dangerous, very dangerous, because the heat that lingers between us isn’t my imagination. Just the thought of him makes me wet.

I’m sleepy this morning. I can’t remember my dreams, but I woke up horny, and it doesn’t take a PhD. to know why.

Vukan.

The bane of my existence—handsome in a way that leaves me breathless.

No art can rival his sculpted body, his hard ass, broad shoulders.

Nor can I forget his chiseled, inked body, or eight-pack abs.

And his eyes that are so gray, I feel like I’m in a rainstorm. Eyes that don’t lie, not to me anyway.

I’m about to head to my kickboxing instructor for a private session. I fit a dagger into the thigh strap under my shirt when my phone buzzes. As if thinking about the man has conjured him.

What’s your body count today, Princess?

I smirk. I slide the phone into my palm and lean against the kitchen counter.

Just one.

The espresso machine tried to give me decaf.

Savage. I’m hard already .

I roll my eyes and slip the replacement espresso into the machine.

Do you text all your women for their stats this early in the day? Or am I special?

You’re the only one I can’t stop thinking about.

Three dots appear. I wait, anxious to see what else he’ll say. Then I curse myself for being interested. I can’t explain why my heart races. I stare intently at the phone, waiting breathlessly for his next retort.

And the only one I’d let hit me.

I did hit you.

I chuckle. I’m sure he’s keeping score.

And I’ve never been more turned on while icing a bruise.

I laugh—he’s charming. He’s good at this. Too good.

Still, there’s something off. The timing is slow, and there’s an edge under his words like he’s trying too hard to sound unaffected. But it’s not about me. Not this time.

I glance back at the screen. He’s typing, then stopping. Then he’s typing again.

You wearing green today?

Wouldn’t you like to know?

I would. And I’d imagine peeling it off, slowly, while making you tell me everything you’re trying not to say .

I press my thighs together. Damn him. I hate that he knows what that line does to me. My pussy contracts.

I type back slower this time, thinking of how to phrase my concern. I can’t be too obvious, it would send the message that I care. And I don’t—not really. But, I’m me. It would be rude to ignore his state of mind. I’d do it for anyone.

You good?

No answer.

I stare at the blinking dots.

Then nothing.

I’m worried about him, but I’m being ridiculous.

This is Vukan, and I’m sure he can handle himself in any situation.

Hell, he can throw punches and fire weapons in rapid succession.

He’s more hardcore than Jason Stratham in an action movie for fuck’s sake.

Besides, I can’t seriously be concerned for a man I barely know.

Can I?

But I know men like Vukan. Men who hold power like a loaded gun—tight, quiet, and cold-hearted. I also know what it looks like when they’re about to pull the trigger because I’ve seen him pull it many times. And he’s an excellent shooter.

My phone beeps, and it’s a photo.

A blurry shot of his hand holding a coffee cup, knuckles bruised, the faintest smear of blood near his wrist.

No context. No words.

Just the image.

Rough morning?

Just clearing the house.

Everything okay?

It will be. Once you’re mine .

I swallow. Hard. A lump of desire swells in my chest.

Because I’m not sure if he’s flirting…

Or warning me. Does he have to be so cryptic?

I type back.

Be careful, Vukan.

Always. But if something ever happens to me…Burn the suit I’m buried in. You’re the only thing I want touching my skin in the afterlife.

I stare at the screen for a full minute before tossing the phone onto the bed.

“Dramatic bastard.”

But my heart is racing. He speaks like an infatuated man.

Because that didn’t sound like a joke.

And he’s so fucking hot. I know he helped us take out Stefano in exchange for us killing his brother, Milo?. His brother was going to burn down the city for what? A woman who held the winning hand?

Amara is ours. We protect our own. And we defend what’s ours, at any cost. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.

I hope Vukan has things under control since his brother’s sudden death. Knocking off the top man creates a power vacuum. These are dangerous times for him.

Instinctively, I know he’s in for another battle, but the next one will be from within.

And I know they are the deadliest.

And I’m not making his life easy.

No, never that.

I smile.

Let the game continue. I’m curious what he’ll pick for our next date.

It’s late in the afternoon when I head to the fundraiser.

The center is already buzzing with activity by the time I arrive. The long tables are draped in white, and shelter dogs in bandanas walk around on leashes and are in a makeshift pen in the courtyard.

I nod to the volunteers, who wear branded T-shirts and heart-shaped sunglasses. The theme was my idea: hearts. Quite simply, it’s chaos. Kids are running around on a mission to find their next best friend. Pop music adds another layer of noise.

I’m happily surprised that more donors gave than I expected. I nod to board members and say hello to familiar faces.

Someone hands me a clipboard. I slide into action.

I focus on the dogs to keep my mind off the man who has disrupted my life.

Their wagging tails.

The way a little girl beamed when I handed her a leash.

And for a while… I forgot to be angry. I forgot to be on guard.

I just exist. And it feels good. It feels real.

The scent of kettle corn wafts in the center—the refreshing scent of a medicated dog shampoo clings to the air. I haven’t sat down in four hours. I’m so immersed, I didn’t realize it’s getting late.

I’ve taken exactly three sips of lukewarm lemonade, stepped in something suspiciously sticky near the puppy kissing booth, and I’m starting to get glitter in places I didn’t know could sparkle.

And then I feel it—that shift in the air. I brush it off. It’s my imagination. He wouldn’t be here. This is a place for smiles, cotton candy, and sticky fingers.

The hair on the nape of my neck spikes.

It’s as if gravity has decided to lean left, and now the Earth’s axis is in question. I turn—because, of course, I do .

And there he is.

Vukan Petrovi?. Dressed in black like the reaper himself. Like a seasoned veteran who just decided to show up at a PTA bake sale. Only it’s an Adopt a Dog event.

And it just so happens to be a cause that’s close to my heart. The fact that he is here must mean hell has frozen over.

This is an event that he wouldn’t know I would be at.

Or did he?

I take him in. Dark jeans. Black boots. A charcoal-gray button-up rolled to the elbows. His sleeves strain over inked, meaty forearms. His body. A body that has no business looking that good in daylight. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but I don’t need to see them to know they’re locked on me.

Of all places.

This fundraiser. These families. This mess is controlled chaos filled with noisy kids and barking dogs! This is not where a man like Vukan goes willingly.