Page 7 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

VUKAN

RUNNING LATE

R adovan is a pain in my ass.

I have a run-in with him as I leave my estate. His unannounced visits are annoying. He delays me, and now I’m running late.

Fuck, she’s going to hate the fact that I’m late. And I can’t blame her.

I brush Radovan off, but he’ll return the moment he hears I’m marrying Bianca Borrelli. My family might think I’ve caved, marrying the Italian, but they’re wrong.

Having just swept it for explosives, my right-hand man, Filip, opens the door of my bulletproof Bentley.

“This is a date?” he asks, eyeing my outfit. I look like a gym rat—nothing special—but a damn good one. I smile, knowing I’m better looking than men half my age.

“Yeah,” I gruffly mutter. He’s a friend and loyal supporter. I shouldn’t vent my frustration at him. I slide into the car.

Filip is with me when I start my illegitimate business after the Kosovo war. Times are tough, and we see the market for weapons. It’s lucrative—and still is. It’s terrible that war is not only profitable, but a never-ending business opportunity.

I’m surprised at Bianca’s request for this date .

I’m pissed she doesn’t want me to pick her up. I put an end to that quickly. Any man who doesn’t pick a woman up for a date is a loser. Some call it old-fashioned. I call it manners.

I shift in my seat. My cock is hard just thinking about her. I’m fifteen minutes behind, and traffic is backed up. Great. Another delay.

Filip presses on the gas pedal. The city blurs past, all steel and tension—just like me. But none of it matters except getting to her.

She hates waiting—not because she’s impatient, but because waiting reminds her of everyone who left and never came back. I’d be hard pressed to find a woman who hasn’t had a man walk out unannounced.

I’m intrigued that she thinks she can force me to end the engagement.

Her dating record leaves much to be desired. Aside from that and her immediate family, I don’t know much about her—but that will change because Dragan’s already digging. She dates boys, not men. There’s no comparison. She’s young and impressionable.

It won’t take long for her to fall in love with me. It’s inevitable, and I delight in knowing I’ll be the last man to fuck her.

The car hums beneath us, the engine growling low. I recheck the time—sixteen minutes now—and curse.

I should’ve left earlier. I should’ve ignored the call after Radovan left. Handed it off to Luka. But I didn’t.

Now she’s probably pacing outside—arms crossed, sunglasses on, expression unreadable.

She’ll say she isn’t worried. But she is. She’s the type who cares. Underneath the finery and makeup is someone who feels everything.

I don’t need a background check to know that. She stood with her brothers in the warehouse, ready to kill for them. She’s fierce. She’s loyal and Brave. It makes me hard .

She’s smart. Has convictions. I’m sure she’ll be opinionated, tool. I can’t wait to peel back her layers.

I wonder how she’ll handle herself when it’s just the two of us in the backseat.

How will she deflect the burn of her desire?

I smile, knowing it’s only a matter of time before she’s mine.

Bianca

I’m pissed he’s late. Who shows up late to a first date? It means everything. Tardiness is rude. I walk out to the sidewalk to wait—try to save time.

What happened? He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who lets details slide.

Is this a tactic? A way to grab my attention?

He already has it—though not for the reason he thinks. There’s no way I’m marrying someone I don’t love.

Then I hear it—that low purring growl. The kind of engine that costs more than people’s homes.

He doesn’t just pull up. He arrives .

Matte black Bentley. Sleek as sin. Windows blacked out. Quiet power. Quiet threat.

It doesn’t rev. It doesn’t shout.

It hums —like it owns the road.

Of course, he drives that.

Vukan

We roll up to the curb—quick and clean. Filip keeps the engine running.

She’s already there, just like I expect—one hand on her hip, lips pressed in a line I know too well.

Fuck. She’s gorgeous .

Bianca

The passenger door opens before I can blink—and it’s Vukan who steps out.

Not the driver. Not some security goon. Him.

He steps out like he’s materialized from an old film—the leading man. He’s gorgeous—even in workout clothes. Buff arms. Tattoos. His body screams .

Fuck me.

His face is serious, carved from stone, and just as unreadable. He wears the morning humidity like cologne. He opens the door for me like this is a royal procession.

People stare—not at the car, but at him .

Women’s mouths drop. Eyes follow him, not the sidewalk.

“Bianca,” he says, like my name holds weight. His voice is thick, like honey, and smooth. He’s sweet. He’s thoughtful.

The driver doesn’t move. Doesn’t glance over.

But this moment? I won’t forget it.

He waits patiently. His hand rests on the door handle like it bends to his will. And maybe it does. He feels that powerful.

His eyes meet mine. Steady. Gentle. Patient. And it twists my chest in a way I hate.

I hesitate as my pride digs in.

But the longer I stand here, the more I feel like I’m being pulled into something unstoppable—a war chariot dressed in silver and sin.

My fingers curl around the doorframe. His scent hits me—cedar, musk… ruin.

I slide in. The leather is cold, but the atmosphere is worse. Too quiet. Too emotionally charged. He gets in and shuts the door. The sound echoes in the stillness.

I need to move this date along—fast. Short exposure is safest. The longer I’m around him, the more my body betrays me.

He sits beside me. Close. Too close. His thigh brushes mine, heat bleeds through layers of tailored fabric .

He watches me. He hasn’t stopped. His attention is quiet. Protective. But there’s something darker beneath it.

He treats me like I’m something precious—not a pawn.

The silence thickens. I won’t break it because this is his territory.

Vukan

“Don’t,” she snaps, just as I open my mouth.

“I’m late,” I admit.

“You think?”

Her voice cuts, but her eyes say something else. Relief—quick and fleeting. Most people miss it.

But I see it.

“I’m sorry. I had to wrap something up,” I say, leaning closer. “But I’m here now.”

Filip merges into traffic. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s fighting a grin.

Two beats of silence.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” she says softly. “But part of me still... well, you know.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “Not now. Not ever.”

And I mean it even if I have to fight the whole goddamn world to keep that promise.

I drink her in. She’s refreshing. She’s a storm. She wants to end the engagement—but I won’t let her.

She can try to scare me off. She’ll fight until she’s out of fight. But I always get what I want.

And she’ll be mine. I’ll break down her walls. Show her she’s not just a pretty face. Prove to her I’m a good man—even if I live in a dark world.

She wants to be pissed—but I see the relief in her eyes. She’ll keep deflecting until she has nothing left to push back with .

She’s spent her whole life building walls. Even now, she stares out the window instead of at me.

She has trust issues carved into her bones.

“I hope you’re accustomed to losing,” she huffs.

That’s my girl. Challenging. Fiery. Precisely what I want.

Easy women are everywhere. I want her . All of her.

She crosses her arms, playing defense when she should be on offense. So I changed the subject.

“You clean up nice,” I say.

“You haven’t even looked at me yet,” she snaps.

But I don’t need to. I already know every angle of her face, the color of her eyes, the way her lips curl when she’s amused.

And soon, I’ll know everything .