Page 58 of Filthy Promises

We’re alone out here. The sounds of the party are muffled behind us. The privacy should make me nervous, especially after what I just overheard, but instead, I feel relieved to be away from all those calculating eyes.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” he says after a moment. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, staring out at the twinkling city lights.

“Don’t apologize. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

I take a deep breath. This is my chance. I could ask him directly about what I overheard. About what “eliminating competition” really means. About the gun in his desk and the mysterious shipments.

But then I think of Mom. Of her medical bills. Of Diane’s warning to keep my head down and my mouth shut.

Is this a test? Is he waiting to see if I’ll cross a line?

“Nothing’s bothering me,” I say finally. “It’s just been a long day.”

He steps closer, invading my personal space. “You’re lying.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. “I’m not.”

“You heard something back there that disturbed you.” It’s not a question.

I swallow hard. “It’s not my place to question your business dealings.”

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not. But you want to.”

Our eyes lock. The tension between us could power the entire Manhattan skyline.

“Is it true?” I whisper before I can stop myself. “Are you going to… eliminate someone?”

There. I’ve said it. Crossed the line and possibly signed my own death warrant in the process.

Instead of anger, though, his expression softens. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with such things, Rowan.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His voice is gentle but firm. “Some questions are better left unasked.”

“And if I can’t do that? If I can’t just ignore what I’ve seen and heard?”

He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is surprisingly tender, especially in contrast to the words that come out of his mouth next. “Then this job isn’t for you. And that would be unfortunate. For both of us.”

I freeze. My skin is cold, but Vince’s fingertips brushing across my jawline are hot as hellfire.

“I need this job,” I whisper. “My mom?—”

“I know.” His thumb taps my chin. “And you’re good at it. Better than I expected.”

“But?”

“But curiosity can be dangerous, Rowan. Especially in my world.”

“What is your world, exactly?” I find the courage to ask.

His eyes darken. “Do you really want to know?”

No. Yes. Maybe.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

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