Page 161 of Ruined Vows
Luka doesn’t answer because he doesn’t have to.
I lean back in the chair. There’s a hum in my ears—a sound that starts low and steady, the kind that comes right before something snaps.
“They’re turning,” Luka confirms.
Maybe not all at once, or publicly. But the alliance with the Borrellis—the very thing that held our territory from imploding last year—is now being whispered as treason.
“They think I’ve sold us out,” I say flatly.
“They think you’ve let her in,” Luka corrects. “And they’re afraid.”
“Good.”
“No, Vukan. Not fear, like respect. Fear like revolt.”
I stare out the window at the estate grounds below. Everything is still. My life is controlled. But I know better. This is the stillness before the blade drops and before someone twists it in my back.
“David is still loyal. Watching Milan’s logistics. If Milan moves, we’ll know.”
“And Radovan?”
“He’s been hiding and sending messages through lieutenants. He’s bribing low-rank captains. But his intent is clear—he wants you out and the old world back.”
“The old world died withmy father.”
Luka’s voice is quiet now. “Some men want to dig up the past.”
Some men never learn from the past—that’s the tragedy. Everything I’ve built—every fragile thread of peace, every calculated risk to merge power with the Italians—is starting to unravel.
Because of her.Because of me. Because of us.
I let my enemies see my weakness. And worse—I let them see my want.And now they think they can bleed me for it.
They can try. This won’t be met with diplomacy because those days have passed. My seat at the head of the table is not political; it’s my birthright, and it’s mine. I’m done being nice.
“If they want war, then I’ll give them one.”
And there will beno survivors.
49
BIANCA
NO SUCH THING AS SAFE
He returns from war. He looks tired, but he lifts me into his arms, carrying me across the room like I weigh nothing, laying me down across the bed like I’m something precious. Like I’m breakable.
He covers me with his body, kissing me deeply, his mouth claiming mine in a way that sets me on fire. His hands slide under the gown, slow and reverent, baring my skin inch by inch like he’s unwrapping a secret.
And I am—his secret, his storm, his sanctuary.
“I need you,” he says, voice raw. “Tell me you need me, too.”
“I do,” I whisper, reaching for him. “God, I do.”
My back arches into his touch, a gasp catching in my throat as his hands roam lower, dragging every ounce of hesitation from my bones. He touches me like he already knows — like he mapped my body in another life and never forgot a single place I wanted him. Every place I ache, he’s there before I can even ask.
His mouth finds my neck, hot and insistent, and then he’s kissing down, over my collarbone, lower still, and any words Imight’ve had scatter from my mind like ash in a storm. There’s nothing left but sensation — no air, no thought, no restraint—just heat.
