Page 21 of Broken Vows

Something flickers in her eyes—sympathy? Pity? I don't want either from her.

"My father doesn't know about the pregnancy yet," I continue, steering the conversation back to safer ground. "I plan to present the marriage as a strategic alliance. Russo-Mastroni cooperation instead of conflict. He'll see the value in avoiding a war."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He will. The alternative is bloodshed, and wars are expensive. Bad for business on both sides."

The waiter refills our water glasses, and we eat in tense silence for several minutes. The ribeye is perfectly prepared, but I'm not really tasting it. I'm watching her face, trying to read her thoughts, calculate her response. This conversation will determine everything—the future of our child, the balance of power between our families, maybe even whether we all survive the next few months.

"You really think you can just announce our engagement and expect me to fall in line?" she asks as she finishes her salmon and sits back in her chair.

"I think you're intelligent enough to see the benefits."

"I see a man trying to control a situation he didn't plan for." Her voice sharpens slightly. "I see someone who thinks pregnancy makes me weak, manageable."

"I think pregnancy makes you valuable. There's a difference."

"So this isn’t a proposal," she says, voice sharp. "It’s an ultimatum."

I lean in, voice low and lethal. "No. It’s a warning."

A beat of charged silence. Her eyes lock on mine.

"You walk away, Melinda, and I promise you—there’s nowhere on earth safe enough."

I let it hang between us, the words settling like a brand.

"But if you stay?" I straighten, voice steady. "You’ll never need to run again."

Her response cuts deeper than I expected. I set down my fork and study her face, looking for the calculation I know must be there. No one survives in our world without learning to weigh every angle, every advantage.

"Value isn't an insult, Melinda. In our families, being valuable means being protected."

"It also means being owned." She pushes food around her plate, not really eating. "I've spent five years building a life where I belong to myself. Where my choices are my own."

"And how's that working out for you?" The words come out harsher than I intended. "Someone attempted to murder you two weeks ago. You're back under your brother's protection, living in the family compound, surrounded by guards. How much choice do you really have?"

Fire flashes in her eyes. "More than I'd have as your wife."

"Would you?" I lean back, studying her. "As my wife, you'd have the protection of both families. Resources neither of us could access alone. Legal standing that would make our child untouchable."

"And what would you get out of this arrangement?"

The honest answer is complicated. I'd get her—the woman who's been haunting my nights for four months. I'd get to claim what'smine, to protect it, to build something that couldn't be taken away by bullets or betrayal. But I can't say that. She'd hear weakness, vulnerability, all the things my father taught me to bury.

"I'd get a strategic alliance that benefits both families," I say instead. "Access to Mastroni medical networks, pharmaceutical connections. Your brother's expansion into legitimate business sectors."

"You've done your homework."

"I always do." I signal for more wine, needing something to do with my hands. "The question is whether you're willing to be practical about our situation."

"Practical." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You expect me to marry you for practical reasons. Sleep in your bed for practical reasons. Raise our child in a world of violence and bloodshed because it's practical."

"I want you to be smart about this. We're not normal people, Melinda. We don't get normal choices."

"Don't I?" She meets my eyes directly. "What if I said no? What if I decided to raise this child alone, far away from both our families?"

The thought sends ice through my veins. "You can't."

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