Page 62 of Bound in Promise
“But you just said you may not make it and I’m not going to?—”
“I’ll worry about that. Look for the flashing red light. I’ll be right in front of you.”
And then he hangs up.
I drop my phone into my lap and bring my knees up to my chest.
Don’t move.
If he’s not here by the time I see the sun rising, I’m going to do something myself.
I can’t just sit here while Angelo murders my husband.
I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him while I was waiting on some broody stranger with no sense of urgency.
Call him if you run into any issues. Repeat his number again.
Oh, Dante. Who the hell is this guy?
Based on his attitude, I wouldn’t want to rely on him to bring me coffee before it got cold.
I glance down at the phone’s clock and begin my countdown.
I hope Enzo shows up in time.
If he doesn’t, I’ll kill him myself.
20
DANTE
I can’t stop worrying about Victoria.
I also can’t help but blame myself for not handling this better.
I know better.
I should’ve moved her somewhere remote while I waited for her passport and fake ID. There’s nothing to do now but wait—and I’ve always had a hard time doing that.
And, to make my typical impatience worse, I actually care about her.
I’m slightly obsessed with her.
Victoria is constantly on my mind. The woman is a damn plague that won’t fuck off. It’s those sapphire blue eyes that haunt me and the memory of how it feels to sink deep inside her that gets me hot and bothered.
I should be bothered.
Just strictly bothered. In the annoyed businessman kind of way, not the sexually frustrated addict way. My mind is taking this whole wife bullshit to a whole other level.
Yes, I’m responsible for her, but no, she’s not fully mine.
She can’t be.
You can’t always get what you want and life is more than ready to slap me in the face with that truth again.
My brain can barely remember that I still have hands, my restraints are so tight. The chair I’m sitting in is a fucking piece of shit and I can’t stop my foot from bouncing along the polished hardwood floors. Who the fuck puts hardwood in their torture basement? No wonder Angelo needs cash.
I need something to do.
