Page 25 of Possessive Vows

I position the chair in front of the table and wedge myself into the corner beside the door to give her room to skirt around the bed. She carefully balances the soup in one hand and a water bottle in the other and places them on the table before turning the chair so the back faces the wall.

I gather a few items and sit on the bed far enough away to appease her, but still closer to the door.

“I will kill all the others, too,” I vow.

She pauses with her soup halfway to her mouth. The color drains from her face and her pupils shrink, but after searching my eyes, she places her soup on the table and leans back in the chair.

“Who else will you kill?” she asks.

I don’t understand the fear in her eyes.

“Everyone involved in Feliks’s schemes. The men who hurt you, the soldiers who attacked Nico Russo, and every idiot who accepted money from the weasel,” I say.

Relief relaxes her expression. She nods.

I pop a potato chip into my mouth and nearly spit it out for how salty it is.

“How did you know to follow the man to the garden?” she asks.

I chew and swallow before answering her.

“You could say my intuition led me to his favorite bar, but I didn’t go there specifically for him. I overheard him in an alley,” I say.

She picks up her soup but rolls it between her palms instead of drinking it.

“Did your brother send him?” she asks.

“No,” I say.

She sighs, nods, sets her soup down and takes a bite of cracker before saying, “I didn’t think so. There’s no reason for him to—”

“He will send men after you soon,” I interrupt.

She scoffs and says, “Why would your brother come after me again? He already destroyed me.”

“You are not destroyed,so´lnyshka. He will blame you for his failure.”

All expression drains from her face as she studies mine.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Instead of breaking apart the Vivaldi family and ruining their ties with the Russos, you brought them together and made his enemies stronger. He will be angry.”

Her shoulders stiffen and she chews as though her mouth is full of ash.

I toss my uninteresting foods onto the television ledge, prop my elbows on my knees, and meet her eyes, ensuring I have her full attention.

“I will protect you. You will marry me,” I demand.

After choking down her bite and chasing it with a few gulps of water, she shakes her head and coughs.

“No. I will not marry you. I won’t marry anyone. Ever,” she declares.

“You will,” I assure her.

She huffs and slams her water bottle onto the table and stands.

“No, I won’t. I’m not marriage material anymore, so stop talking like an idiot,” she snarls.

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