Page 50 of Dangerous Vows

I pretend to be normal, but let’s face it—I’m anything but normal.

Sure, I have Luca, the guard assigned to guard me. He’s in his late twenties, with an affinity for cigarettes. And even though he’s muscular, he’s just one man. My father and Miloš? They have an army.

Miloš.

I’d never seen him before he showed up at the club, but I won’t forget him anytime soon. That’s why I asked Pietro who he was—I didn’t know. I’ve never met him. But that scar on the side of his face? It’s unforgettable.

And he’s the last person I ever want to see again.

Last night was full of truths.

One: Pietro knows who I am. I don’t know how long he’s known, and I’m not sure he wanted to tip his hand.

Two: He knows more than I ever planned to share about my home life.

Three: He knows where I live—and that’s embarrassing enough, but I’ll get over it.

Four: Even if Pietro doesn’t marry me, I’m still his. He’ll protect me. He makes me say it before he lets me come.

If that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is.

By aligning myself with Pietro, I gain protection. It’s not foolproof. But it’s better than facing this world alone.

Besides, the way he makes love to me—it'ssublime. I crave him. That cocky smirk. That massive cock.

He’s dangerous in all the right ways… and I want every inch of him.

I slip out of bed slowly, assuming he’s already left. But when I walk into the kitchen, I stop short.

He’s ordered breakfast.

Not just for himself—for me.

Not only did he order waffles and candied bacon, but he also added scrambled eggs, biscuits, and gravy. He must have looked to see what I order daily because it’s all here and then some.

“There’s enough food here for a dozen ‘me’s,’” I protestbefore adding impishly, “Thank you so much.” I flash him a smile as I reach for a piece of crisp bacon. “But what areyoueating?”

His eyes widen, and when I laugh, his smile spreads until it reaches his beautiful blue eyes.

“You’re kidding, right?” he counters.

“Partly,” I tease, settling into the chair across from him, wearing only his shirt.

“You know, we should get some of your stuff from your apartment.”

“Sure.”

“No argument?” He lifts a brow in my direction.

“Nope,” I say, popping the “p” dramatically.

He chuckles, and the sound of it makes me feel like I’ve been hugged.

I’m diving into breakfast when my phone rings. It’s Sarah.

Or at least—it’shernumber.

I answer, only to hear a voice I’d hoped never to hear again.

---