Page 138 of Vow to Claim You

“Vold—”

I don’t leave any room for argument. “You tried to sell your youngest daughter the same way you sold your eldest to me. And when she ran, when she escaped the fate you’d arranged for her, you come here expecting me to hand her back?”

“She is my daughter⁠—”

“She is under my roof.” I cut him off once more. “Which makes her under my protection. And I don’t hand over people I’ve sworn to protect.”

“Sworn to protect?” Leandro scoffs bitterly. “You’ve barely known her.”

“We’re family. You said it yourself.” I throw his own words back at him, and his composure falters.

“This is absurd. You have no right⁠—”

“I have every right.” I can see the fury burning in his eyes, slipping. “This is my house. My territory. My rules. And my rule is simple. Naomi stays.”

“And if I disagree?”

“Then you can take it up with the men stationed at every entrance.” I straighten, hands clasped behind my back. “Or you can accept that you’ve lost this battle and leave with what remains of your dignity.”

I can see Leandro weighing his options. He has men outside. He could push this. Could turn it into something uglier. Something that ends with blood on my wooden floors and international headlines neither of us wants.

But I know he won’t.

Not because he’s afraid of the violence. Men like Leandro aren’t afraid of violence; they’re fluent in it. But because he’s smart enough to know when the odds aren’t in his favor.

My house. My men. My territory.

He’s outgunned, and he knows it.

“You’re making a mistake,” he hisses. “You think you’ve won something here. You haven’t. All you’ve done is delay the inevitable.”

“Perhaps.”

“My daughters belong to me. Both of them. And I will have them back.”

“Your daughters,” I growl, “are not property. No matter how much you wish they were.”

His face hardens with hatred, stripped of every pretense. I see exactly what he is. I know precisely the kind of monster hiding behind the concerned father, but he won’t fool me.

“This isn’t over,” he warns.

“No.” I hold his gaze. “It isn’t.”

He turns on his heel and walks toward the door, his footsteps echoing through my hall like the countdown to the inevitable.

Tassilo materializes at my side the moment the front door closes. “Should I have the men follow him?”

“Yes. I want to know where he goes, who he meets with, and every move he makes while he’s in Norway. And if he tries something”—I glance at Tassilo—“I want to know about it before he does.”

“Understood.”

“Aric.” Ayanna’s voice makes me turn.

She’s standing at the top of the stairs. She’s tense. Her hands grip the banister like she needs it to stay upright.

“He’s gone?” she asks.

“He’s gone.”