Page 10 of Jealous Vows

Despite lying to myself, I know I’ll see the mystery mafia man again.Part of me can’t wait.

The other demands I flee.

Chapter 4

Romeo Yovanni

Despite my predatory urgeto chasemia bambolina, I let my prey disappear into the crowd.It doesn’t matter where she goes; I’ll see her again tomorrow at Mario’s wedding.

My cock still throbs in my trousers from her startled little squeak as I lifted her into my arms and dragged her across my body.Although slim, she’s no doubt a woman with delicious feminine curves.Her breasts pillowed against my arm and her ass nestled perfectly in my lap for the briefest of moments as I shifted us around.

I tell myself picking her up and moving her away from the asshole’s groping was fueled by revenge—I’m the only one allowed to terrorize her—and cold calculation—she’ll no doubt let her guard down faster if I play the savior—but I can’t erase the feel of her in my arms.

When I bypass my driver and car instead of dropping into the back seat, he opens his door and rises to watch me over the roof of the vehicle, but I wave him away.

It isn’t until several minutes later when I glimpse my prey turning the corner that I realize my instincts kept me tethered to her.Instead of fighting or questioning my basal self, I follow her onto the free sky train—ducking into the back of the car behind her—and wait a few moments after she exits to trail behind her.

I keep her in my sights as she transfers to the subway.She keeps her head down and steps off a few stops later, following the crowd around her through the concrete tunnel and up the stairs to the streets.

Even thrust into the bustle of New York City, she doesn’t lift her head.Her feet hit the pavement in rhythmic determination.

After turning a few corners, she begins looking over her shoulder as though she senses me trailing her.

I shorten my stride and put more distance between us.When she slows and takes a few questionable streets, I realize she has no set destination in mind.

She stops and uses a traffic light post as coverage from the foot traffic as she studies her surroundings for the first time.I find an awning to hide under and lean against the building.

An odd emotion stirs behind my sternum as wonder fills her eyes.For a few minutes, she just stands and stares.

Like most New Yorkers, a tourist’s gaping would normally annoy and frustrate me, but the only frustration I feel now is the lust throbbing in my balls and the ache in my half-hard cock.

After several minutes of gawking, she rubs her face and rolls her shoulders back before choosing a direction.

With her posture stiff and awareness on high alert, she steps into the shadiest clothing thrift store on the block.I sigh and watch her through the dirty windows.When I realize she’s shopping for a dress, probably to wear to tomorrow’s wedding, an idea forms.I smirk, shake my head, and pull my phone out of my pocket.

Several messages wait for me.I send an update to my closest friend and consigliere, Alan Everett.He responds in seconds, confirming business continues as normal and no one knows of my travel or my movements.I send him instructions, turn off my screen, then slip my phone into my pocket, trusting him to take care of it.

He’s proven himself more than capable over the years.Even though we were violent, ego-driven street rats who butted heads when we first met in our preteen years, our gran—an old lady more stubborn than the both of us combined—stopped us from killing each other in front of her tiny, rundown corner store.When everyone else, from family to CPS and even society as a whole, had already given up on us, she dragged us both into her shop and gave us our first official jobs.She made sure we were both too tired at the end of the day to fight, and after several months of good food and beds of our own, we were both whipped.

Neither of us could stand to see her struggle, so we made a pact; we’d become so successful our gran would never have to lift a finger ever again.She now lives in a luxury most people can’t even fathom exists.

We may not be on the straight-and-narrow, but our business dealings are more or less clean.You can take the rat off the streets, but you can’t take the street out of the rat.Alan and I both agreed some things, especially our reputation and power, are worth getting your hands dirty over, so we do.Often.

The violence inside us needs an outlet.

Mia bambolinawill feel mine soon enough.

Sienna turns her back to the windows.

I duck into the thrift store and saunter toward my prey.She stands holding a dress up to her body in front of the chipped mirror on the back wall.I stalk toward her and enjoy the terror in her eyes as my reflection appears behind hers.

She spins around with the dress clutched in both hands.

“Who are you, and why are you following me?”she demands.

Her eyes scan the shop, but no one dares look our way.

“Your uncle and I are close,” I hedge.