Chapter 4 - The Vow
Norah didn't scream. The desperation and panic that had driven her to spill the wine six months ago had been replaced by a quiet, fierce strength forged in the heart of Victor’s empire.
She pushed the door open.
Victor jerked his head up, his hand instinctively dropping to the weapon on his desk. When he saw it was her, his shoulders slumped.
"Go back to bed, Norah," he gritted out, pressing a bloody towel against his left side.
"Sit down," she ordered, moving toward him with absolute authority.
Victor blinked, momentarily stunned by the command in her voice, but the loss of blood betrayed him. He sank heavily into his leather desk chair with a harsh groan.
"A disagreement with the Rossi family," Victor breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as Norah expertly peeled back his ruined shirt. "They ambushed my car on the south side. My men got them, but... one got lucky."
It was a clean through-and-through graze along his ribs. Painful, bloody, but not fatal.
Norah didn't call for the guards. She didn't call a doctor. She retrieved the medical kit Victor kept in the bottom drawer of his desk and went to work, her hands perfectly steady as she cleaned the wound, stitched the torn skin, and bandaged his side.
Victor watched her the entire time, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavy.
"You didn't flinch," he murmured, his voice rough.
"I've been married to the mob for six months," Norah replied, securing the bandage. "I'm learning."
She stepped back to admire her work, but Victor’s hand shot out. He caught her wrist—not with the bruising grip of a captor, but with a desperate, heavy need. He pulled her forward until she was standing between his knees, her white silk robe brushing against his dark trousers.
"Why did you stay?" Victor asked softly, looking up into her eyes. "My men were outside. You could have run while I was bleeding. Your brother is safe. The debt is paid. You could have left."
Norah looked down at the man who had bought her life, the man who terrified the city but who had never raised a hand to her. She looked at the exhaustion in his eyes, the permanent weight he carried alone.
"I didn't want to leave," she whispered.
The silence in the study shattered.
Victor pulled her down, his mouth crashing into hers with a sudden, overwhelming hunger. The kiss was bruising, desperate, and entirely possessive. He tasted like copper, rain, and absolute devotion. Norah didn't pull away; she sank into him, her hands tangling in his dark hair, answering his desperation with her own.
He broke the kiss, his chest heaving, his forehead resting against hers.
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"You aren't a transaction anymore, Norah," Victor vowed, his voice a fierce, lethal whisper against her lips. "You are my wife. And if anyone in this city ever tries to touch you, I will burn it to the ground."
Norah closed her eyes, resting her hand gently over his heart. She had walked into that gala expecting to lose her life. She hadn't realized she was walking in to conquer a king.
