Page 36 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

STEAM AND SECRETS

T he Halekulani doesn’t feel like a hotel.

It feels like a secret you get to keep, and an expensive one at that. From the moment I step out of the car, it’s clear—this isn’t just luxury. It’s over-the-top luxury, and it’s intentional.

The architecture is sleek and open, as if it were designed to breathe. It faces the sea, which stretches beyond the infinite edge of the grounds like a promise, and the air smells of jasmine, salt, and something impossibly clean.

The entrance is a blend of glass and stone, accented with wood, and flanked by private gardens that bloom effortlessly. Even the sunlight looks curated here—filtered through palms and sheer curtains, everything warm, never harsh.

Inside, it’s all marble floors, polished dark wood, paper lanterns casting golden shadows across walls that feel more like art than structure.

I’m almost caught slipping his elixir of grandeur. It alludes to a one-of-a-kind ambiance. But who am I kidding? This is Vukan, and he has unlimited resources to pull this off. I shouldn’t be this impressed. I shouldn’t be this affected. But he did this. And he did it for me .

He didn’t just fly me halfway across the world. He curated every detail of this place like he’s been listening to the thoughts I never say out loud. It’s as if he knows me, and knows I like to travel and explore, and that I’ve never been to Japan. But most importantly, he knows I love sushi.

But being here is beyond my wildest dreams. The textures. The scents. The staff caters to every whim; it all feels like it was designed to strip away whatever armor I’m still wearing.

It’s… unsettling. Because for a moment, standing in this room with ocean air curling through sheer linen curtains and the sea breathing just beyond the terrace, I feel seen , spoiled , and safe—t he three things I don’t trust.

I glance at the bed and chuckle because it’s large enough to swallow a kingdom. It’s covered in soft, sage-colored silk sheets and piled high with too many pillows. It looks like it’s waiting for a surrender I haven’t agreed to give.

I’m still staring at it when I hear the soft click of the door behind me, but I don’t turn around.

“I see your standards are high,” I say, my voice lazy and playful. “I like that.”

“Anything for you, Kitten,” he says, his words dripping with sexual intimacy, and it’s unnerving as hell.

I take a slow and steady breath and find my spine again.

The flutter in my chest?

Buried.

The smitten warmth in my belly that borders on desire?

Extinguished.

I turn and raise one eyebrow. I keep it cool and tell myself I’m in control.

“Oh, is this the part where I’m supposed to melt?”I snark.

He smirks, stepping farther into the suite. “You already did.”

I walk past him, brushing his shoulder as I go, as I follow him back to the balcony. The fact that he’s giving me the tour proves that he’s been here before .

“Please. This is luxury. Not love.”

“Sometimes the difference is paper-thin,” he says from behind me.

I grip the railing, let the breeze bite my skin, and carry my pulse back to something steady.

He went to impossible lengths to impress me. To comfort me. To make me want him without asking for it out loud.

And it almost worked. But not today. Because the second I feel myself slipping, I pull myself back. He may have given me a kingdom to stand in…But I’m still not ready to hand him the throne.

The staff doesn't swarm—they move like ghosts. Perfect posture and barely audible steps. It’s a tradition in their culture, and unknown to Americans. Not a single request needs to be spoken aloud—they already know what we need.

When they open the door to our suite, I don’t step inside; I float.

My jaw actually drops.

Holy. Shit.

The room is huge—massive, but intimate. Every detail is deliberate.

Earth tones and soft textures, pillows stacked like offerings, floor-to-ceiling windows giving me the Pacific Ocean with the sky as my private mural.

There's a private terrace with a soaking tub framed by glass and stone, and when I step out, I hear nothing but water and wind.

Not even the sound of the world catching up to me.

It’s quiet. It’s beautiful, and it’s terrifying me how much I like it.

This isn’t the kind of luxury that screams for attention; it doesn’t need to, because this is the kind that wraps around you, quietly whispering you belong here and you’ll be pampered to death.

And I don’t know what scares me more: That I feel like I do…or that he knew I would. If seduction had another name, this hotel is it.

The crystal glows from the ceiling like floating fire. Warm, perfumed air curls along the floor. The kind of understated opulence that whispers instead of screams—wealth so old it doesn't need to announce itself. The Tokyo skyline stretches beyond walls of glass like a living painting.

Every window has a view of the ocean. I slide over the plush white carpet and enter my room.

It’s massive—floor-to-ceiling everything, silk drapes, gold accents, an infinity tub with flower petals already floating in it.

There's a custom tea set on a lacquered table, pillows the size of thrones, and a view of Mount Fuji from the balcony.

I’ve seen royalty live worse.

“You approve?” Vukan asks from behind me, all smooth danger and masculine satisfaction.

I don’t turn around. “Did you buy out the entire floor?”

“No,” he says. “Just the ones you'd hear through the walls.”

I roll my eyes and step farther inside. “For someone who wants me to fall in love with him, you’re really good at making me suspicious.”

“That’s the fun part.”

He leaves me to explore, and I let myself enjoy the ambiance. Because this? This is luxury the way it was meant to be. It’s quiet, indulgent, and entirely mine.

But it gets worse.

Because the day only gets better. There is a printed itinerary! I instinctively know he not only put thought into this, but he had to have planned it in advance. And that means he’s been thinking about me.

When did he have the time to set this up?

But then I remember his extensive network of connections and access to unlimited resources.

I’m sure he has a personal assistant who arranged the details.

But I’m still excited. I read down the list for today, and it starts with spa attendants waiting outside my suite .

“Let’s change,” Vukan says from across the way. “My room is next to yours.”

“Oh.” I nod. Why am I disappointed?

I wash my face and change into a casual hoodie and matching sweatpants. Our attendant leads us to the elevator, and Vukan moves aside for me to enter first.

The ride is quiet. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, just static. Like, I’m waiting for what? I have no idea. We step out onto a floor with a check-in desk, but don’t stop until we get to sliding doors with frosted glass. Inside is a locker room.

I’m instructed to change, so I slip into a robe and slippers and rejoin Vukan as we sit on a mat for hot tea.

Cups are handed to us as we face each other.

It’s intimate. I’m overwhelmed to the point I’m jumping out of my skin.

I’m not good with intimacy. I don’t have much experience with it.

And damn him for knocking me off my game.

Next, we’re led into a private room for the massage that smells of fragrant oils.

Oh, God, A couple’s massage. I raise an eyebrow when Vukan shows up in a robe, smug and barefoot, like he owns the air. And truth be told? He does.

“You planned this?” I ask as I slide onto the table.

“I gamble smart.”

We’re side by side. Separated only by the ache in my shoulders and the fact that we’re both pretending this isn’t erotic.

“I’m sure your assistant had fun booking this. Was she jealous?”

“I handled every detail myself. You’re too important to me,” he replies, his voice raw with emotion.

I’m speechless. Something stirs in me. I’m falling for him. I can’t deny it. The trip is personal, intimate, and he did it for me. He didn’t have to come. But he did, for me.

He probably has a ton of things to do that are more important than me, but he’s here. There are many layers to him, and I’m only scratching the surface.

My thoughts are interrupted by his groan during his shoulder work.

I arch a brow. “You okay there, old man?” I tease.

The massage table muffles his voice. “You gonna nurse me back to health?”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can afford,” he says. “But your price isn’t money, it’s intimacy, of knowing that there’s no other woman I’ll ever want to touch, ever.”

Damn him for rendering me speechless. That hits home. He knows me, inside and out. I’m filled with relief when we finish and move to the private sauna. I can use the heat to loosen up. It’s hell keeping my guard up all the time.

I shift on the lower bench, dragging my fingers through the sweat beading at my collarbone. My towel clings in places I don’t want it to. He watches me from the top bench, like he’s above it all. But I can feel the tension radiating off him in slow, as it rolls in baby waves.

I shouldn’t ask the next question, but curiosity has the best of me.

“What was your plan that night? The warehouse. The guns. The stare-off with my brothers like you were untouchable.”

He exhales, leans back, and closes his eyes like he’s remembering it second by second.

“I was untouchable,” he says. “Until you walked in.”

I blink. “That’s not an answer.”

He opens his eyes. “I didn’t go there to start a war. I went to prevent one. Matteo and I had already made the deal quietly. Milo? didn’t know. Only a few of my men knew. Milan and another soldier Radovan didn’t know. They would’ve torched the alliance before it could stabilize. ”

“And me?” I ask.

He smirks. “You were the surprise variable. The unexpected. You were the wild card with a mouth like a switchblade.”

“I aimed to kill you.”

“I know. I liked it.”