Page 28 of Lethal Vows

The car slows to a stop, and he exits and walks around to my side. Opening the door, he offers me his hand, but I refuse to take it as I climb out and grip my purse to myself.

It still doesn’t add up.

All he talks about is marriage.

He’s a man who doesn’t believe in love and could own the world if he wanted to. So why stalk me?

“So what’s the point of marriage?” I ask as he strides into the restaurant, straight past the hostess, and keeps going to a booth in the back. He waves for me to enter, and he sits across from me after I sit. I hate how this was all just so conveniently prepared for us. He knew I would come with him and I find that so infuriating.

“Marriage is just another contract,” he says, reaching for the water and pouring us a glass each. “It’s a deal between two people, and this arrangement could benefit you wisely. Not only would you have status, but you would be one of the most feared women ever.”

“I don’t care to be feared unless it’s in the courtroom,” I inform him. He sits back and takes me in. That cool, harsh gaze on me as if he’s deciding what to do with me. “Why am I here?”

He pulls out the box again, placing it on the table between us as the waitress comes over. I take a sharp, constricted breath at the sight of the damn box right in front of me. Just by looking at the box I know this ring cost a small fortune. This fucking box is going to be the death of me. I want to throw it across the room, but if anything, he’ll demand I get on all fours to crawl and bring it back to him.

I scan the menu as he orders a steak and waits for me to speak.

“I’ll have the green curry buddha bowl, please.” When I’m finished, I hand her the menu, but her gaze is on Crue. And his gaze is fixated on me.

“Why no meat?” he asks, effectively dismissing the waitress.

“It’s something I decided on many years ago and never went back,” I reply, my gaze leaving his face and falling to the box.

“You can open it.”

A part of me really wants to, just to look at what he got, knowing it will be stunning. But the other part knows how stupid that would be—to even look at the ring because it would give him hope, which I don’t want to give him.

Instead, I meet his gaze again, my disinterest evidence enough that I am not going to play into his game.

“How long have you been in charge? What do you call it these days… a mafia kingpin?” I say with an eye roll.

He quirks an unfriendly smile and leans in. “Your father is a part of us, so why the attitude?” And before I can answer, he raises a brow. “Kingpin?”

I shrug. “Sounded good. Fitting, really.”

“I like to just go with ‘boss.’” He smirks as the waitress comes back with a bottle of wine. She fills our glasses in silence and places the bottle on the table before she walks off again, obviously offended that he hasn’t offered her one ounce of attention since we arrived. And I don’t know why, but, for some reason, having this powerful man’s undivided attention is nice.Even if he is batshit crazy.Damn, am I really that desperate to scratch my itch?I down a mouthful of the wine, desperate for relief from all the menacing ways this man seems to crawl under my skin.

“I’m sure you can marry any woman,” I point out and nod to the box.

“It’s you I want.”

“You don’t even know me,” I remind him, then take another sip, which he seems to find almost amusing, before he takes a mouthful of his own. “And I don’t know you.”

“Don’t I?” he asks, leaning in.

“All right, hotshot. What’s your impression of me then?” Part of me wonders how much I’ll regret asking him that question—as if I care what he thinks of me—but I do like to challenge and prove someone wrong.

“You like to win in all aspects of life. You aren’t one to divulge too much of your personal life, and Angel can attest to that. You don’t ask too many questions unless you require the correct answer. I know I make you nervous.”

I roll my eyes at that and take another mouthful, but he continues. “Your lip twitches when you look at me like it’s torn between kissing me and yelling profanities.” I stare at him. “You just did it again.” And now I’m self-conscious. This arrogant, cocky bastard. He picks up his glass and lifts it to his lips. “Do you want to know about me?”

“Not particularly,” I answer.

But he proceeds to tell me anyway. “I wasn’t chosen for this job. I was born into it. From early on, I was molded to be who I am today. Trained and taught to be what I represent.”

“And what is that?”

“Power. Obedience. And profit.”

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