Page 17 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

At some point, I catch myself listening for Aleksander. Irritated, I turn onto my side and glare at the rain-streaked windows.

This is insane.

I married a stranger ten hours ago.

A dangerous one.

A man with track marks beneath rolled sleeves who walked away from a bed the rest of this world would have claimed.

Somewhere between the cathedral and this apartment, I stopped being afraid he would touch me—and started wondering why he hadn’t.

6

I ALMOST WISH YOU WERE AWFUL. (ALEKSANDER)

Iset the whiskey down untouched and loosen my tie, pacing once across the study.

This is the one room I actually think in. Everything else in this apartment is furniture. This is where decisions are made.

Tonight, I’m not sure I trust myself to make any.

What the hell was that?

This was supposed to be simple. An alliance. Optics. A signature written in vows and gold rings. None of it was supposed to reach me.

But the moment Tamara Kalinin walked through those cathedral doors looking furious enough to burn the building down, duty became a woman in white lace trying not to break.

I recognized something in her before I let myself want her.

She was trapped. And worse, she knew exactly what she was.

Most people in our world lie to themselves. Dress coercion up as loyalty. Call fear duty because it sounds cleaner.

Tamara didn’t.

I saw it in the way she carried herself at the altar, every inch of her arranged into refusal.

When she leaned toward me, she looked resolved. Like she’d already accepted she might have to let me take what I wanted.

The part I cannot shake is that she was prepared for it.

I scrub a hand over my face and stare down at the amber liquid in my glass.

There was a time I would’ve finished this bottle and started another. Weeks disappearing into static—needles, vodka, a grief I couldn’t outrun fast enough. After Elena died, Igor dragged me back. Sat with me through the worst of it. Never mentioned it again.

The scars are pale now, easy to miss unless someone pays attention. Tamara pays attention. She also knows when not to speak.

Smart.

Most people either ask stupid questions or pretend not to see. She catalogued it and moved on.

My phone lights up across the desk. Missed calls. Updates. Problems that will still be problems tomorrow.

I ignore all of them.

Tonight isn’t about Colombians or territory or politics. Tonight is about the line I drew in that bedroom. I meant every word. If she never wants me, then she never wants me.

I leave the whiskey where it is. That is the first decision I trust tonight. Then I head for the bedroom.