Page 47 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

TAILORED FOR TEMPTATION

T he car pulls up to a huge building tucked behind skyscrapers. He steps out first, offering his hand. I hesitate for a second before taking it, because something feels… off. Not dangerous, but different.

He leads me through the massive sliding door, and we step into a spacious and cool sitting room. We walk on a marble floor and arrive before a woman who is waiting for us, tall and elegant, dressed in a designer pantsuit, cream colored with matching shoes.

She smiles warmly and nods to Vukan. She keeps it professional and says, “Miss Borrelli. Mr. Petrovi?.”

Vukan’s hand tightens slightly around mine. “Bianca, this is Leila Azar. She’s one of the best private designers in Dubai. She’s here for you.”

I blink, confused. “For me?”

Leila inclines her head gracefully. “Mr. Vukan has commissioned a personal collection for you. Tailored. Exclusive.” She smiles with a Cheshire grin.

My heart stutters in my chest. What did he say? You’ve got to be kidding. Again, with the thoughtful gestures, and it’s something that doesn’t happen on a minute’s notice. How long has he been planning to woo me?

A whole collection? For me? I can’t imagine what it would cost. I immediately glance up at Vukan, searching his face. He watches me happily, his eyes calm and steady, as I process the news.

“Why?” I breathe.

“Because you deserve it,” he says simply. “Because you’re not a prisoner anymore. You’re not a weapon. You’re a queen. And it’s about damn time the world sees it. Besides, you wouldn’t be you without dressing like a million bucks every day.”

He’s right. Emotion clogs my throat. I look away, blinking hard. He’s paying attention. He knows my tells, he knows when I’m concerned, when I’m tired, and when I’m hiding my feelings from him.

I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to accept things just because someone loves me enough to give them.

But he doesn’t pressure me. He just stands there, unshakable, waiting for me to choose.

Slowly, I nod.

Leila’s smile softens. “Come. Let’s find out who you want to be.”

She leads me through double doors into a private showroom — walls lined with gowns, jackets, dresses, suits — every piece is a work of art.

Fabrics I’ve only ever seen in magazines shimmer under soft lights. Silks, velvets, leather stitched so fine it looks liquid. Deep jewel tones. Sleek, deadly cuts—feminine power wrapped in beauty.

It’s me. I trail my fingers over a deep emerald gown, my breath catching at the feel of it.

Leila murmurs, “Try everything. There are no limits, it’s all yours if you want it. ”

The first dress I try is deep navy, cut close to the body, flowing like water when I move.

The second is black, with a slit up the thigh so high it makes me blush.

Every time I step out of the dressing room, his eyes rake over me, full of a hunger so raw it makes my knees weak.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

I feel his approval in every breath he takes. In the way he shifts uncomfortably in the large wingback chair. I’m sure it’s his hard-on and not a gun that fills his trousers. He stands as I return to Leila.

After the fourth or fifth gown, Leila gestures discreetly toward a rack in the corner. “There’s one he chose himself,” she says softly.

I follow her gaze until it rests on a deep crimson dress that waits there, simple, sleek, and utterly devastating for a man with a discriminating eye.

It has a high neckline and long sleeves, but the back plunges scandalously low.

It’s daring. It’s a dress I wouldn’t have picked on my own volition, but I love it.

I slip into it, the fabric sliding over my skin like a lover’s touch.

When I step out, the room goes silent.

Vukan stands completely still, his hands curled into fists at his sides; his jaw is so tight it makes jawbreakers look easy. God, his eyes burn into me like he’s seeing the rest of his life in me.

He crosses to me in three strides. His hand skims down my side, reverently and possessively. Desire flickers in his eyes.

“Perfect,” he rasps. His voice is wrecked, barely holding back everything he feels. “You’re perfect.”

I shiver under his touch, tears stinging my eyes again. I’m not perfect. I’m not even close. But with him looking at me like this, I almost believe it. He leans down, his mouth brushing my ear .

“No one will ever touch you but me,” he whispers. “No one will ever deserve to look at you like this but me.”

I turn my head, catching his mouth with mine in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs.

For once, I don’t feel broken. I feel wanted. I feel chosen.

When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against his chest, breathing him in.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for everything.”

He presses a kiss into my hair, fierce and tender.

“Anything for you, Sre?o. Always.”

Vukan

She hasn’t said a word since I opened the door.

The wardrobe stands behind her—silk, leather, and lace catching the light like a goddamn altar.

I didn’t buy it to impress her. I bought it to claim her. I bought it so she could see herself the way I see her. Elegant, strong, and breakable for the right man.

But the way she stands there—biting her lip, fingers twitching at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them —well, it hits me deeper than I expected. She’s ravishing.

And when she finally turns toward me, with her eyes wide open, her face flushed and wanting me…I break and I move before I can think.

I told myself I would give her space, but I can’t wait. She’s mine, and it’s time she knew it. I move swiftly. I backed her against the wall of the dressing room, crowding her in, caging her between the wall and her reflection.

“You like it?” I ask, voice low, hands planted beside her head.

She nods, eyes flicking between my mouth and my chest like she doesn’t know where to land. She’s trying to contain her breathing, and her lips are dry. She licks her tongue over them to wet them, and I’m jealous of her tongue. Her lips are mine, mine to kiss, mine to claim. Mine.

“Use your words, Princeza.”

She swallows. “It’s… so good.”

I lean in, brushing my mouth along her jaw. “That’s not a ‘no.’”

She shakes her head. “It’s not a no.”

And that’s all I need. I press my hand to her throat, not tight, just a warning—a reminder that she’s mine.

“I didn’t buy it for your approval,” I murmur. “I bought it because I want you wrapped in every piece. I want to know the only thing touching your skin…is me.”

Her breath catches. Her thighs press together, and she slips down the wall. I feel her body wane, hot with desire. Her body’s begging for release. I trail my hand down, across her chest, over her stomach. She shivers, whimpers, and arches.

“I’m hard for you,” I growl, turning her chin to the mirror. I press my body into her so she can feel how hard I am against her. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

She gasps. “Vukan?—”

Her voice breaks when I shove her dress up, roughly.

“You said my name like you meant it,” I rasp, yanking her panties aside, fingers dragging through the heat of her pussy. “Let me show you what that means.”

I slide two fingers inside her. She’s wet, just like I knew she would be.

She moans and lays her forehead on my shoulder, her hands clutching my shirt.

I move slowly at first, then my fingers go deeper.

She’s wet for me, and I’m so turned on I don’t know how I refrain from fucking her against the wall.

I feel her nub harden. She cries out, gripping my shoulders and digging her nails into me as pleasure rips through her. She can barely stay upright.

“That’s it,” I growl, curling my fingers and working her soft folds until her knees buckle with the first orgasm.

“You take it so well, don’t you? Dripping and desperate just at the thought of being mine.” Her hips jerk forward, riding my fingers. I hold her to me. “Look in the mirror,” I snap.

She lifts her head and watches herself come undone. She sees how her body reacts. She watches, and her mouth falls open. I work her faster and harder, finger fucking her until she’s on the brink of coming again.

“What do you belong to?” I murmur against her cheek.

“You,” she moans, and with that, I push her over the edge and give her the pleasure she desired.

“You think that wardrobe’s excessive?” I rasp. “Wait until I bend you over every surface in my mansion and make you scream in nothing but lace, sweat, and cum.”

She moans and comes again, emitting a high, broken sound. Her nails dig into me. I love it, I love pain. Then, her whole body shakes.

“You’re gonna come for me, again,” I promise, speeding up. “Just like this. Standing up, fully clothed, like the spoiled little brat I can’t stop touching.”

“Vukan—” she gasps, her body tensing.

"You’re mine, Princeza. So give it to me—now. I want to feel you fall apart on my fingers."

And she does. Her eyes are wide, her mouth open, and her legs trembling as she comes apart with a sob against my shoulder, and drool runs from her mouth as she struggles to breathe.

“Good girl.” I hold her through it and press my lips to her temple.

I don’t say a damn word about how I’m shaking too. Because she has no idea how far I’d go to keep her. Or how hard it is to stop here.

I pull my fingers out and lick them as I gaze into her eyes. The electricity between us is thick, but something connects in our eyes. An understanding that this will only end one way—with her surrendering to me.

We leave the showroom just as the sun slips behind the skyline. The city is glowing gold and crimson like the dress, still folded carefully over my arm.

“I’m going to devour your sweet pussy and then wreck it with my huge cock.”

She’s so turned on, she all but pants. She doesn’t speak when we slide into the back of the limo. She doesn’t need to. She’s still flushed from the dressing room, her thighs pressed tight like she’s trying to hold onto what I already took.

The door shuts behind us with a heavy click, sealing us inside the low, dim interior of the limo. The city lights flicker outside the tinted windows. Inside, it’s filled with heat and the smell of defeat because she’s going to give herself to me.

I watch her in the low light. Her legs are crossed. Her lips are pursed and then rolled into her teeth. It’s like I’m the toothache she can’t soothe. Her scent lingers in the air, sharp but sweet.

And I swear, if she doesn’t climb into my lap in the next ten seconds, I will drag her there.

She looks over at me, her eyes dark with passion. She knows she’s conceding. This is about who breaks first.

“Are you sure, Bianca?”

“I’m not changing my mind,” she says.

That’s all it takes. I’m lost in her, and I’m not gloating. I’ve never worked harder for anything in my life. But when she crawls into my lap like she belongs there—because she does—it’s the most satisfying win I’ve ever experienced.

And I don’t waste a second to savor it, because I’d rather savor her sweet lips, and I crush my mouth to hers.

Her kiss is hungry. She’s breathless. We make out in the car like we invented it. Both were desperate to be wrapped up in each other.

And I’m never letting her go.