Page 31 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

PLANS, PANTIES AND PANIC

I toss my phone onto the bed like it bit me. The nerve of him.

Three. Whole. Days.

I said yes.

I said yes.

What the hell is wrong with me?

To a Serbian mafia king with a God complex and a stare that should come with a warning label.

“You’re an idiot,” I mutter to myself, flinging open my closet like the right dress will suddenly solve all my problems.

I tell myself that overpacking is not submission. It’s survival.

I texted Joanne.

Emergency lunch? I need wasabi and a place to scream.

Sushi and emotional support? Are you picking me up, or do I meet you in the fallout zone?

Meet me there. I’m already halfway into a meltdown and halfway into my worst nightmare and perhaps lingerie.

OH??? That bad?

Worse than bad.

A few minutes pass as I pull clothes out and place them on my huge bed, when my phone buzzes again.

I take it you haven’t told him off yet?

I snort and type back.

Worse. I agreed to a weekend away with him. Three days. Off-grid. Likely a murder cottage.

W H A T? Are you brain-damaged or just horny?

...yes?

Girl.

He said I’d regret missing it.

So you’re bringing that green Ravella dress, right?

Funny, she says that because I’m staring at it. It’s silk, backless, and barely decent.

Obviously.

Joanne sends a string of skull emojis followed by a GIF of a girl sprinting into battle in heels and four suitcases.

I roll my eyes, but my fingers are already moving—green silk, black lace, matching lingerie I’m pretending is for me , not him.

Fine. I’m overpacking.

I knew it. You like him. Is this… defeat?

I’m not surrendering. It’s strategy.

I toss in three pairs of stilettos, a knife hidden in a travel case, and a sleep set I will absolutely not wear unless seduction becomes the only way out of this alive.

Then, my phone buzzes again.

You got this. Just remember—if he ruins your life, make sure you’re wearing designer.

I laugh, but it doesn’t touch my lips. Because there’s a strange flutter in my stomach, I don’t want to name it.

I zip the case.

This isn’t a date. It’s an ambush.

And if he thinks he’s going to strip me bare with soft touches and hard truths…he’d better be ready to be disappointed.

I quickly change and head to the door. When I arrived at our sushi place, Joanne was already in the booth, sunglasses on, sipping sake like holy water.

I drop into the seat across from her with a dramatic sigh.

“You ordered without me?”

She shrugs, unbothered. “I figured you were either dead or busy packing lingerie, mace, knives, and mascara for the weekend.”

I blink. “Can we not yell that across the restaurant?”

She grins. “Um—that wasn’t a no.”

I sigh, peeling off my sunglasses like they’ve held back my panic.

“What am I to do? He texted. Told me to pack for three days. Something about a view and a bed he’d like to ruin me in.”

Joanne gives me a side-eye. “Romantic, isn’t he? That he talks to you like that?” She giggles. “I have to say, he’s confident, and that’s actually very hot and intriguing, y’know? It’s right up your alley. I mean, what’s one more dangerous adventure?”

She shrugs like I’m a legendary hit woman or something.

“More like foreboding. And who knows if I’ll return from this adventure? They all come with a risk.”

She moves her fingers through her hair before flipping it over her shoulder and says, “Let’s hear it.” She pours me a shot of sake.

I take a sip, letting the warmth of the fermented rice drink coat my throat before I set the glass down. “He won’t tell me where we’re going. Just said it’s private, I’ll want to wear green, and I won’t want to miss it.”

Joanne stares. “Okay, that’s not ominous at all. You sure he’s not flying you out to some underground fight club or a vineyard where people vanish?” She chuckles, and I have to admit she’s amusing. God knows I love her.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. But he doesn’t need a vineyard to make people vanish.”

She nods solemnly. “True. Efficient. He’s a man with unlimited resources. Good. I like where your head is.”

The waiter brings over a dragon roll and some spicy tuna. Joanne waits until he’s out of earshot before leveling me with her most dangerous weapon—her concerned voice.

“So,” she says, taking a bite, “what’s your real plan?”

I blink. “What?”

“You said you were going to ruin him. Break him. Ten dates, emotional terrorism, slow psychological death—remember?”

“I do.”

“So what’s with the ‘ I’m taking a silk robe and matching panties’ energy I’m getting right now?”

I groan. “I’m still in control,” I lie.

Joanne snorts. “You agreed to three days with him. Alone. Off-grid. That’s not control, babe—that’s hope with extra lipstick red smeared on it.”

I stab a piece of tuna. “I want to know what he’s hiding.”

“And what if what he’s hiding is just… the fact that he likes you?”

I look up. She’s serious.

“I don’t need him to like me.”

She tilts her head. “But you want him to.”

I hate her. I hate her even more because she’s not wrong.

“He looks at me like he’s already chosen me, in a very intimate manner,” I whisper.

“And you hate that?”

I shake my head slowly. “I hate that I don’t.”

Joanne reaches across the table and steals a piece of my roll.

“You’re in trouble,” she says around her mouthful. “Big trouble. Delicious trouble. Hot, morally compromising trouble.”

I glare at her. “If I die on this trip, make sure my family doesn’t pick my funeral outfit.”

“Please. I already have three black dresses ready. You’d want to look powerful.”

“And expensive.”

“And slightly scandalous.”

We clink glasses.

“Just promise me,” Joanne says, serious again, “if you start falling for him… do it with your eyes open.”

I nod. But deep down, I already know— My eyes have never been more open.

And that’s the problem. He’s handsome, distinguished, and unlike the boys I had in Europe. He’s a patient man who knows what he wants.

And he wants me. Out of all the women who would love to be married to him, he chose me .

That speaks volumes.

“I can’t believe I agreed to a three-day getaway ,” I whine, adding air quotes. “I don’t know where, I don’t know what, and I don’t like how okay I am with it.”

Joanne beams. “That’s called character development.”

“That’s called temporary insanity.”

The waiter brings over some bluefin tuna, compliments of the house, and I jab a piece like it’s the problem.

“He said to pack green.”

Joanne gasps. “You’ve bought the Ravella, right?”

I lift an eyebrow. “Would I be me if I didn’t?”

“I mean… are we talking Ravella and backless silk nightgown, or just Ravella and emotionally repressed sarcasm?”

“Both. Probably. And backup heels—so I can kill him when this goes terribly wrong.”

“Obviously,” she deadpans.

Then, she leans in. “What are you going to do with all that time alone with him?”

I nearly choked on my water. “Hopefully not him.”

“Bianca…”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re lying to yourself, and it’s adorable.”

I roll my eyes. “Look, I just—three days is a long time to keep him at arm’s length.”

Joanne smirks. “You planning to pack a chastity belt?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

She gives me a knowing look. “You think you can resist him that long?”

I start to say yes. Then I pause before muttering, “Shut up.” I chuckle.

Joanne shrieks with laughter. “ You’re so doomed. ”

“Okay, but what do I pack besides green dresses, weapons-grade perfume, and my own emotional damage?”

“Shoes that say I might run, but probably won’t. Lingerie that screams you wish, and a swimsuit—because if there’s a pool, you need to ruin his brain cells.”

I blink. “You’re evil. I didn’t even think about a swimsuit. I know nothing about him. I have no idea what he likes to do. I need to do some research before we leave.”

“I’m a realist. And if you don’t come back glowing and slightly ruined, I’ll be personally offended because I live vicariously through you.”

“Thanks,” I reply sarcastically before I take another sip of my sake and dive into the sushi roll.

“And you’re more entertaining than a new movie release. I’m telling you, I should have brought that popcorn!”

I sputter.

Am I really that entertaining?

She’s a riot today, and she means that like it’s a compliment. And all the while, I’m trying to ignore the flutter in my chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol or the eel sauce laden with wasabi.

She watches me for a few seconds, then asks, “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I admit. “It’s just…what if he’s not trying to break me?”

Joanne raises a brow. “Like, that scares you more?”

I nod because it does. Because I never had a man come at me the way he is. He’s direct and intense. He has his cards on the table, which scares me more. What if I fall for him and he doesn’t return it?

And the reality is, if I stop fighting him?—

I might fall.

And I don’t know if I’ll want to get back up.