Page 42 of Dangerous Vows

I scooted across the seat, not that I was that far from him. I hesitate for half a second before taking his outstretched hand.

Tonight, when we step into his suite, I can see more of the penthouse. It reflects him and his rich and expensive taste. And I hate how easily I could fall in love with all of it.

I walk toward the glass windows, pressing my fingers to the cool surface, staring at the city below. It’s stunning. Endless lights stretching into the night, like possibilities I can’t reach.

“You like the view?”

His voice is closer than I expected, sending a shiver down my spine.

“It’s… perfect.”

He moves beside me, and his reflection in the glass is next to mine. “You could come here more often,” he says.

I turn to him, forcing a smirk. “As if I haven’t.” But the penthouse? The room service? The incredible view? Sign me up!

He steps closer, and his gaze drops to my lips. “You could have all of it.”

My heart stutters, and for a second, everything else fades—just me, him, and the moment hanging between us. I let myself imagine it—a life where I don’t have to worry about being snatched off the street or being married off to a monster. A life where I could breathe. A life where Pietro is something more than a battle I keep losing.

But that’s not my reality. And I know it’s too good to be true.

Instead, I tilt my head, my voice filled with defiance, “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

He grins, fingers brushing my wrist slowly and deliberately. “You say that now.”

I swallow my saliva hard. Then, I stare at him, as desire courses hot in my veins. “Pietro…”

He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath against my skin. “You can run tomorrow.”

It’s as if he knows me. The real me. “I’ll think about it.” I know better than to turn down the only man who understands me. He’s a man who can protect me from my father, perhaps. I’m still learning how the criminal organization works.

“Fine. Are you hungry? Pedro makes a mean Angus burger and crips fries.”

“You know me so well,” I mutter while overlooking the Park. He’s thoughtful and kind. He has a sixth sense about him and reads me like a book.

I don’t know how long I’ll get to enjoy this slice of decadence, but I’m going to ride this train as long as I can and hope something happens to free me from my past.

Pietro orders food before walking to a record player and placing a vinyl record on it. I don’t understand it, but it’s pleasant and soothing. It’s Italian, I know that much.

“You like music,” I say. It’s more a statement than a question.

“Yes, and opera. You?”

“I’m up to trying anything. You must have been born in Italy.”

“Yes,” he says, coming to stand behind me. “I just moved here from Sicily. I have four brothers and a sister. You?”

“One of three, the only girl.”

“Daddy’s little girl?” he teases, but I sense he’s fishing for information. He’d be stupid not to. We just met, and he’s practically invited me to live with him.

“Anything but that.”

“Care to share?” He runs his hand over my arm. Goosebumps pepper my skin.

“I can’t.”

“The tattoo on your back, the one with circles. What does it mean?”

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