Page 53 of His Ruthless Vow

Two simple words, spoken with such certainty that something breaks open inside me. He knew. He always knew. Even when Zenon tried to poison him against me, tried to make him believe I'd turned on him.

The second my wrists come free, I'm throwing my arms around him, mindful of his wound but desperate for the contact. He's heavy against me, all muscle and barely contained pain. I position myself under his shoulder, taking his weight as best I can.

"I got you," I whisper, feeling his blood soak into my clothes. "We're getting out of here."

He growls in pain, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine, but he lets me hold him up as we stumble toward what I pray is an exit. Each step is a battle. The floor beneath us grows hotter, the smoke thicker, making every breath a struggle.

"Left," he manages, voice rough as gravel. "There's a... service door."

I adjust our direction, half-carrying this impossible man who should be dead or unconscious by now. Instead, he's fighting, each labored breath a testament to sheer willpower. The Enzo I first met—cold, calculating, dangerous—is still there in the rigid set of his jaw, in the merciless determination pushing him forward.

A support beam crashes behind us, showering our backs with sparks. I bite back a scream, pushing us faster despite the way Enzo's breathing grows more ragged with every step.

"Stay with me," I demand, my voice stronger than I feel. "Don't you dare check out on me now, Rossi."

His lips quirk in what might have been a smile under different circumstances. "Wouldn't... dream of it."

The service door appears through the smoke—a rectangle of darker gray in a world gone orange and black. My heart leaps, but we still have to cross fifteen feet of burning warehouse to reach it.

"Almost there," I say, more to myself than to him.

Enzo straightens slightly beside me, summoning reserves from somewhere impossible. "Run," he grits out. "When I say."

I tighten my grip around his waist. "I'm not letting go of you."

"Wasn't asking you to."

We brace ourselves as a wall of heat rolls toward us. The fire has found something new to devour, and the roar is deafening now. Enzo's eyes narrow, calculating even now, waiting for the exact moment.

"Now!" he commands.

We lunge forward together, a desperate, stumbling sprint. The distance to the door seems to stretch impossibly. My lungs scream for clean air. Enzo's weight grows heavier with each step.

The door handle is hot against my palm as I reach for it, twisting with desperate strength. It gives way, but beyond is only darkness—whether salvation or another trap, I can't tell.

Flames rush toward us, hungry and merciless, as we fall forward.

32

ENZO

Blood seeps through my fingers as I press against the wound. Hot, sticky, metallic—I'm losing too much, but there's no time to dwell on that. The warehouse behind us crackles with flames, casting Kendra's face in flickering orange light. She looks like fury personified—wild-eyed, determined, and so fucking beautiful it hurts more than the bullet.

"Lean on me," she commands, sliding her body under my arm.

My vision swims as we stumble toward my car. Every step sends white-hot pain shooting through my abdomen. The bullet is still inside—I can feel it grinding against something it shouldn't.

"I've got you," Kendra says, her voice steady even as her hands tremble against my side.

I focus on her—the anchor keeping me present. Her hair smells like smoke and that coconut shampoo she uses. Blood smears across her jacket where I'm gripping her shoulder. My blood. Zenon's parting gift.

The car appears before us, black and sleek against the night. Kendra fumbles with the door, struggling under my weight.

"You need to—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"Shut up and help me get you in."

The world tilts as she maneuvers me into the passenger seat. Pain explodes through my core, and I bite back a growl. Not in front of her. The leather seat accepts me like an old friend, and I sink into it, head spinning.

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