Ruthless Vow (Vegas Vicious #2)

1. Nicole

1

Nicole

My heart starts to pound loud and fast when the burner phone buzzes. I pull to the shoulder on Summerlin Parkway and take the call.

“It’s happening this weekend. Sunday morning at ten,” says a deep male voice with a hint of a Russian accent.

How delightfully cliché. Because sounding like a villain in a B-list action movie absolutely screams ‘take me seriously.’

But I do take him seriously. His name is Danila. He is one of the mercenaries hired by my aunt Bianca.

“Okay,” I say, feeling sick. My hands are sweating.

“Get rid of the phone,” he says.

“Okay,” I say again.

He ends the call and I stare down at the screen before it goes dark. The burner is the latest in a continuous stream that have been delivered to me anonymously for the past two years. I mostly keep the phone in airplane mode which cuts off all cellular connections. I allow cellular connection for only five minutes at a time on a random, rotating schedule so my aunt’s people can reach me.

I have no way to contact them. There are no numbers stored in this phone, no personal information.

And now, they have no further need to contact me because their plan is in motion, set to take place on my boss, Leonardo Russo’s weekend retreat on his family’s yacht. The place where he’s the most at peace.

It’s the best place to strike. Out in the middle of nowhere. No witnesses. No surprises. No chance arrival of reinforcements.

Leo dies this weekend, and I tell myself I won’t shed a single tear about it. He’s a psychopath, a killer, a blackhearted villain who has destroyed countless families.

Including my own. Twenty-seven months ago, he murdered my father.

Which is why working as his executive assistant for the last two months has been… difficult, to say the least.

For two years before that, I worked for his father, Salvatore Russo, watching, gathering information, spying, reporting back to my aunt. I was supposed to hate Salvatore Russo too, and in the beginning, I did.

But two years is a long time to be in daily contact with someone without acknowledging the layers they reveal.

I fought against myself every time a part of me grew softer for the man who’d given me a job because he and my mother had known each other when they were kids. The man who seemed so kind and generous, who’d never raised his voice to me, even when I made mistakes.

As I sit on the side of the road now, cars whizzing past, I remember the time I dropped an armful of folders, business documents, spreadsheets. I knew it would take me hours to put them back into order. It was only a week into my new job, and I’d been nervous and unsure of myself, terrified that I’d be fired, that I’d fail my aunt.

She’d expected me to fail. She’d told me so, point blank. Your father had no faith in you , she’d said. He knew you are good at nothing, good for nothing.

Her voice and his are always lurking at the edges of my thoughts.

“Stupid,” I’d admonished myself as I dropped to the floor, desperate to gather the papers. “I’m so, so stupid.” I could hear my father’s voice in my head, spitting the words at me in stereo.

I hadn’t realized my new boss was close enough to hear me.

“You are not stupid,” Salvatore had said, squatting down opposite me and gathering papers into a pile. “No more beating yourself up for no reason. You’re a smart, capable girl, Nicole. I see that even if you don’t. I have complete faith in you.”

Yeah. Times like that, I’d almost forgotten who and what Salvatore Russo really was. And who he and his family had destroyed.

Then, while out for dinner with his four sons, he’d been murdered. Two bullets, one to the heart, one to the head. My aunt would be horrified to know that I’d cried for hours when I’d heard the news.

A day later, Leo Russo was at my door. I hadn’t been able to tell if he was grieving his father’s loss. His expression had been made of cold, hard stone, his eyes black ice.

“You work for me now,” he’d said.

It wasn’t a question, it was a command. One I had expected. Because once you get a glimpse behind the Russo curtain—both the innocent exterior and the not-so-innocent interior—you're automatically enrolled in the ‘lifetime employment’ program.

Which was perfect for my aunt’s plan. She needed me to stay on the inside indefinitely, an informant, a spy. And just in case I ever developed a conscience or qualms, she’d found a way to guarantee my loyalty.

Sofia.

She and my father had used my sister as leverage all her life.

I close my fingers on the antique silver locket I always wear. The locket was my mother’s, and her mother’s before that. Inside there is a picture of my mother on the left and a picture of Sofia on the right. I open it now and look at my sister’s face, letting myself think of her as she was the last time I saw her, eyes alight with laughter. It’s been just over two years. Does she still look the same? Does she still love Skittles and stars and everything pink? Probably not. She’d been seventeen the last time I was allowed to see her. And I’ve only been allowed to speak with her three times since then.

I close the locket and force myself back to the moment. I take my manicure scissors from my purse then pull the sim card from the phone. I cut the card into tiny pieces, open the car door and step out onto the shoulder. I toss the bits in a wide arc. After wiping down the burner phone, I throw it onto the highway and watch as a truck drives over it, leaving it in pieces.

Focusing on the small task helps keep me from obsessing about the bigger tasks or the weekend to come.

I get back in the car and tighten my hands on the wheel, closing my eyes and pulling in a slow breath to help steady my nerves.

I need to act normal, act like I always do. I need to get Leo to sign the contracts that weren’t ready when he left the office earlier today, discuss the invitation to the governor’s charity gala, and confirm the menu for this weekend on the yacht. Act like I would on any other Thursday.

I drive the rest of the way to Leo’s house. More of an estate, really. The contemporary house is set on acres of land against the backdrop of the mountains, surrounded by an electrified fence and metal gates, patrolled by security. Which is why my aunt’s people prefer to hit Leo on the yacht.

I pass the security and the gates. I’ve been here often, dealing with whatever Leo needs me to deal with, dealing with his father before that. I’m known and familiar. Accepted. Trusted.

After I park, I head to the front door, walking along the concrete rectangles that float on a bed of water and river rock.

A muscled, good-looking guy guards the door. Luca. Six five. Built like a tank. Dark hair. Hazel eyes. His expression holds menace for an instant, then he recognizes me and smiles. With a flourish, he opens the front door and motions me inside.

How easy it’s been to fool them all. To gain their trust.

They see only the plain mouse of a woman who is forever in the shadows, meek, insecure, insignificant.

They don’t see the snake in their midst. And they won’t. Not until it’s too late.

The thought ought to bring me only joy.

“You’re late, gorgeous,” Luca says. “Leo expected you an hour ago.”

Luca’s called me that since the first time we met. For a while, I thought he was being sarcastic and fucking with me, since gorgeous is the last thing I am. But then I realized he calls every woman gorgeous.

It’s part of his charm. Part of the role he plays to get along in this world, I’d realized. When you look like Luca—tall, muscular, attractive, but in a rough way, like someone who usually talks with his fists rather than his mouth—a friendly demeanor helps people let their guard down. All the easier to sucker punch them when the occasion calls for it.

“The contracts were late,” I say as I pass him, my gaze locked on the ground.

“He’s in his office,” Luca says. “He has company.”

“I just need a few minutes of his time.” I head toward the back of the house, to Leo’s office. Company usually means a woman. Rarely ever the same woman. Leo doesn’t do relationships. They’re probably having drinks. Maybe hors d’oeuvres.

I hear his voice, talking to someone. I can’t make out the words but he sounds angry. No… not angry… Firm. Unrelenting. I head in the direction of the voice. The door to his office is open.

A breath catches in my throat, and I freeze in place at what I see.

It’s Leo. And he is definitely with a woman.

She’s naked except for her stiletto heels, bent at the waist, face-down across his desk, her long legs spread wide. Leo stands behind her, his expression intent. One hand is between her legs. The other comes down on her buttock with a sharp smack.

The woman gasps and moans but makes no effort to get away.

I take a step back. I should make a sound, let him know I’m here. I should back away, turn away.

But I don’t do either of those things.

Instead, I stand and look my fill of Leo Russo. He’s shirtless, his shoulders broad, his waist trim, his chest and belly ridged with muscle. The smooth, tanned skin of his arms and torso is decorated with beautifully artistic black ink. Roses. A sword. Skulls. A thorny vine curls over his hip and along his lower belly, following the V of muscle that descends into his waistband.

Square jaw, razor-sharp cheekbones, luscious mouth, his lower lip fuller than his upper. He is all hard edges and cruel lines, but he’s absolutely beautiful—the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.

He strokes the woman between her legs while he slaps her ass, a look of aggressive pleasure on his face, his perfect mouth drawn in a taut line. She moans and gasps.

Heat blooms low in my belly. I wet my lips, shocked, aroused.

Again, Leo smacks the woman’s ass.

The crack of sound reaches inside me and twists a tight knot of lust. I’m wet between my legs, a tingling heat spreading up to my breasts, hardening my nipples.

My mouth is dry, my breathing shallow.

Why don’t I move, leave, run? Why do I stand here watching… yearning? What’s wrong with me?

Leo strokes the woman faster. Her breath comes fast and rough as she squirms against the desktop, panting, whimpering. He slaps her ass again, harder than before, and grunts the order, “Come.”

As if she had been waiting for his permission, she cries out, her whole body drawing tight, her head thrown back as she obeys.

She collapses, her breathing ragged as Leo strides around the desk to the other side. He grabs the woman’s hair, pulling her head back as he unzips his fly. His cock juts out. I stare, because just like the rest of him, Leo’s cock is gorgeous. Long and thick and hard. And…

Oh my god. His cock is pierced, a curved bar adorning the thick, smooth head, a stud at each end.

He pushes his cock past the woman’s lips, into her mouth, deep into her throat. She moans as she sucks him, eager, her hips thrusting against the desktop as if her orgasm has given her no relief.

I stare, wondering how she can take so much of him and still breathe, how she can take so much and not choke.

And then I wonder how much I could take.

I want to take all of him.

For an instant, just an instant, I am that woman on the desk, Leo’s hand twisted in my hair, pulling my head back so he can fill my mouth, my throat.

I’m shocked by my thoughts, by how turned on I am. Horrified, because this is Leo Russo, the man who killed my father. I hate him. I want him to pay with his life for what he’s done. Of course I do.

I gasp and stumble back.

The sound catches his attention.

His gaze shoots to mine. Our eyes lock. He keeps fucking the woman’s mouth, long, deep strokes, but he doesn’t look away. I’m pinned by those cold, emotionless eyes.

And I know he sees me. He sees me , the woman I am inside.

His lips curve in a cruel smile.

“Want to join us?” he asks, his voice smoke and gravel.

His fathomless, dark gaze holds mine and freezes me in place for what feels like hours, but I know it’s only a second before I turn and run.

My shame quickly turns to embarrassed anger. And anger makes it so much easier to hate him again.

For a moment, just a moment, I’d forgotten to do that.