Page 53 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

VUKAN

ROOFTOP RECKONING

S he’s beautiful, and today, she’s carefree. The only other time she’s been like this was when she held the toddler at the center and snuggled Meatball at their reunion.

It seems we’re both broken and gravitate toward those who know our pain.

And I hate that we’re having a romantic rooftop dinner because it’s risky. I hate every second she’s out in the open—she’s a walking billboard that says, “Hit me.”

She’s a goddamn moving target. Dragan comes up beside me, and Luka is a step behind him. They are dressed casually, but I can sense the tension emanating from them in waves.

“She looks happy,” he says, careful, like he’s testing the air between us.

I grunt. “She’s happy because she thinks it’s safe.”

“It’s as safe as it can be,” Luka says. “We swept the area. Nothing shady yet.”

“Yet,” I snap. My hands clench at my sides, the urge to storm across the street and drag her back into the car almost overwhelming. But I can’t .

I promised her a life. I promised her freedom and loyalty, not another cage. Even if every instinct tells me this is wrong, I take a breath, trying to shove the panic into my chest.

“I don’t want to deny her this,” I say, voice low, almost to myself. “She deserves a fucking evening without walls closing in on her.”

Dragan nods, patient. He gets it. He’s seen what Bianca survived to get here.

“But Radovan’s out there,” I continue, scanning the rooftops, the street corners, every goddamn face that lingers too long. “And he’s looking for an opening he can exploit.”

“We have eyes everywhere,” Luka says, tapping his earpiece. “Two spotters on the roof, two more watching the street. No blind spots.”

“It only takes one second,” I growl. “One second for everything to go to hell.”

Dragan steps closer, lowering his voice. “You want to pull her now?”

I shake my head, jaw tight. “No. Not unless we have to.”

I glance back at her. She lifts her wine, smiling at the waitress. Laughing. She belongs in a place like this. God, I want her to have this moment. I need her to have it because the world has spent years trying to break her. But I’m not fucking stupid, I know danger lurks around every corner.

“If anything goes wrong,” I say, voice like stone, “we go hard and fast. Luka, you and the rest of the men, cover the street. Dragan, you and I grab her and get the hell out. No hesitation. Don’t second-guess the situation. We pull her and run.”

Dragan nods once. “Got it.”

“What’s the exit plan?” I ask.

“The Hummer is running and waiting,” Luka says.

They both nod, professional, with a deadly calm in their eyes. But I feel it in my bones. It’s the crackle in the air, like a summer storm brewing. It’s the faint breeze before the heavy wind.

Something’s coming. And if anyone even thinks about hurting her, I’ll burn this whole fucking city down to keep her safe.

Outdoor cafés leave too many variables. Luka and Dragan are stationed like sentinels, and she notices.

“Why so many bodyguards?” she asks, voice low, sharp.

“The risk to me has gone up with you on my arm,” I say.

She scoffs. “I didn’t think I was that important.”

I lean in just enough. “You are my world, but we live in a dark one, and it’s unforgiving.”

We’re exposed here, but I insisted she have tonight. I told her the evening ambiance was romantic. It’s a half-lie. She doesn't realize—not fully—that romance has never been my only goal. I wear my darkness like a weapon. She wears her sunglasses like armor, and her lace like a loaded gun.

This rooftop is imperfect and vulnerable, just like this moment.

Bianca

I smooth my hands down the blood-red dress, and my palms are slick.

I don’t know why I’m nervous. Perhaps it’s the expensive ruby pendant that rests against my chest, warm from my skin.

He gifted me a war chest of expensive jewelry.

He said he bought a piece every time we had a moment, to commit it to memory, and this way, I can wear them.

I’m trembling, but not from fear. But of hope and want.

He’s waiting for me when I return from the restroom. He’s standing at the rooftop entrance, dressed in a tailored black suit with no tie and an open-collar shirt.

Vukan looks like a man built to destroy kingdoms — and tonight, I think he would, if I asked.

His eyes rake over me, slow and consuming. His jaw tightens, his fists clench, and he doesn’t move for a moment .

He just stares as if he’s looking at something holy.

“Bianca,” he breathes, my name breaking from him like a prayer.

I walk toward him, every step measured, the silk of the gown whispering around my legs. His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to snatch me up and devour me right there. I stop a breath away from him.

“Do I pass inspection?” I tease, voice shaking slightly.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t joke. Instead, he lifts his hand and trails one knuckle down the side of my neck, over the ruby pendant, and even lower.

“You’re the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, voice rough and low. “And the most beautiful.”

My heart stutters in my chest. He offers his arm. I take it. He leads me up to the rooftop — all twinkle lights, candlelit tables, and the soft hum of the city far below.

But I don’t see any of it. I only see him.

His hand brushes mine across the table, and I swear the contact sends lightning straight through me.

Every time our knees bump under the table, every time he leans in too close, my whole body tightens with wanting.

I can't breathe. I don't want to. Not if breathing means stepping away from this.

Vukan

She sits across from me, a vision in red, sipping her espresso like she doesn't know the color is killing me. I rest my sunglasses in the collar of my black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. Casual. Calculated. Not smiling, but close enough.

She catches me staring. Of course she does.

“You’re staring,” she says, lifting her cup to her lips.

“You wore red,” I reply, voice steady.

“Observant.”

“You know what it does to me. ”

She shrugs, mouth twitching at the corner. “That’s your problem.”

I let my fingers trace the rim of my glass, lazy and slow. “You keep poking the bear, Princeza.”

“And you keep mistaking me for prey.”

I laugh—low, warm, real.

She rolls her eyes and grabs a biscotti. “This is supposed to be a date, not verbal foreplay.”

I lean forward, dropping my voice to a growl. “Then stop looking at me like you want to break it off in the middle of the sidewalk.”

She arches a brow. “You mean the date, or your resolve?”

I grin, sharp enough to draw blood. She’s too good. Too easy.

Dinner passes in a haze of wine, soft laughter, and the constant, aching pulse of wanting her closer. Every brush of her hand against mine sends lightning through my veins.

When dessert comes, I push the plate aside. I’m done pretending to be patient.

I hold out my hand. And when she doesn’t hesitate, and gently puts her hand in mine, it’s as if she’s given me the keys to the kingdom, and I want for nothing.

I led her toward the private elevator. The doors slide shut with a soft hiss. I’ve barely hit the button before I’m on her.

I press her against the mirrored wall, my mouth crashing onto hers, devouring her like I’m starving.

She gasps into me, clutching my jacket, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. My hands roam over her hips, up her back, into her hair.

“Vukan,” she breathes against my mouth, desperate and wanting.

“Sre?o,” I growl, the word tearing out of me like a prayer.

Her hands find the back of my neck, dragging me down into another kiss, bruising and messy. The elevator hums around us, but I don’t hear it. All I hear is her—all I feel is her .

Her fingers tug at my shirt, nails scraping skin, and I groan into her mouth, my restraint snapping thread by thread.

I kiss her like the world is ending. Because maybe it is. Because perhaps I’d let it.

We’re exiting the elevator, and the air shifts…