Page 8 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

Ice blue.

Focused.

Unmoving.

He watches me approach with unnerving intensity, like he’s already trying to solve me.

Who is this man?

Why the hell is he agreeing to this?

My father practically dragged me into this church. Aleksander could have refused. Could have demanded another alliance, another arrangement, another woman.

Instead, he’s standing there waiting for me.

That realization fills me with resentment so sharp it almost steadies me.

My spine straightens.

If I’m walking into hell, I’ll do it standing tall.

The closer we get, the worse the awareness becomes. Not fear exactly, something hotter. Sharper. My body reacting to a dangerous man at the exact moment my life implodes.

Humiliation twists through me.

Really?

Now?

This is not attraction. It’s cortisol. Proximity to danger. My body doing something deeply unhelpful at the worst possible moment. That’s all this is. That is absolutely all this is.

The organ swells around us as we finally reach the altar. My father stops beside me.

Guilt flickers across his face. Then it’s gone.

“Be good,” he murmurs.

“Fuck you,” I hiss back.

His fingers tighten painfully on my arm. A warning.

But before he can retaliate, he places my hand into Aleksander’s.

The contact shocks through me.

Warm palm. Rough skin. Controlled strength.

Aleksander’s fingers close around mine firmly, thumb brushing once across my knuckles. His mouth shifts slightly at the corner, like my outburst amused him.

“Easy, trouble,” he murmurs quietly.

Traitorously, my hand stays where it is. No one warned me he’d sound like that. Like we were already in on something together. Like this was a joke we were both going to survive.

I hate that it almost works.

My head snaps toward him.

Big, big mistake. Because up close, he’s devastating.