Page 20 of Broken Vows

"This is not a normal marriage proposal."

"No shit."

At exactly one o'clock, the door opens. Melinda steps inside wearing a navy dress that manages to be both professional and devastating. Her hair is pulled back in a neat chignon, makeup minimal but perfect. She looks like a woman who belongs in boardrooms, not bedrooms—except I know exactly how she sounds when she comes apart.

"Vincent." She nods, taking the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation.

"Melinda. You look well."

"Considering I'm growing your child and dodging assassination attempts? I'm fantastic." She places her purse carefully beside her chair, and I notice the slight weight shift that suggests she's armed. Smart girl.

Tony catches my eye from the doorway. I nod once, and he steps outside, closing the door behind him. Now we're alone with four months of silence and a future neither of us planned.

I signal the waiter, who brings us menus and disappears with practiced discretion. We order—she chooses the salmon, I go with the ribeye—and then we're alone with the pressure of everything unsaid.

"Thank you for coming," I begin.

"You said we needed to talk. So talk."

Direct. I like that about her, even when it's inconvenient. No small talk, no pretense of politeness. She wants to get to business, and so do I.

"I have a proposal."

Her eyebrows arch slightly. "I'm listening."

"Marry me."

She doesn't flinch, doesn't gasp, doesn't show any of the reactions I expected. Instead, she reaches for her water glass and takes a careful sip, studying me over the rim. Our food arrives in record time, and she takes a slow, coy bite of hers.

"Interesting opening move," she says finally. "Want to explain the strategy behind it?"

"It's practical. Marriage legitimizes the child, provides legal protection for both families, creates a unified front against outside threats." I keep my voice level, businesslike. This is a negotiation, nothing more. "Financial security is guaranteed. The child would inherit from both bloodlines, have access to resources from both organizations."

"Romantic."

I ignore the sarcasm. "Romance is a luxury neither of us can afford. This is about survival."

"Whose survival? Yours or mine?"

"Both. And our child's." I lean forward slightly, letting her see the seriousness in my eyes. "That baby makes you a target, Melinda. Every rival family will see an opportunity—kidnap the child, use it as leverage against both the Mastronis and the Russos. Unmarried, you're vulnerable. The child is vulnerable."

She's listening, I can tell, but her expression remains carefully neutral. Years of medical training, probably—the ability to hear devastating news without showing emotion. The same control that let her suture wounds in her own living room, that drove her to build a life outside this world.

"The marriage would be a business arrangement," I continue. "Clean, legal, beneficial to both parties. Your family gets access to Russo territories and resources. Mine gets the same from the Mastronis. Everyone wins."

"Except for the people actually getting married."

"We're adults. We understand the realities of our situation."

She sets down her fork and knife and studies me with those whiskey-colored eyes. I feel exposed under that gaze, like she's reading everything I'm trying to hide. The sleepless nights, the obsessive research, the way her face has been stuck in my head since our night together.

"What about love?" she asks quietly.

"What about it?"

"Don't you want to marry someone you actually care about? Someone who makes you happy?"

I almost laugh, yet something vulnerable in her voice stops me. "Love is weakness. It makes you predictable, exploitable. My mother loved my father, and it got her killed when his enemies used her to send a message."

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