At First Sight (Vow To Protect 0.50)

“Keep your eyes and ears open, Kai. I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

His hand tightens on my shoulder. “You have a bad feeling about every party we go to, boss.”

He isn’t wrong.

A pretty little blonde makes eyes at Kai from across the room. Then when her gaze slides to mine, she loses her nerve. “Someone wants you,” I point out to him.

“Who doesn’t?” he parries.

I shrug him off my shoulder. “Don’t get distracted. You and the men need to stay alert.”

He gives me a wink and saunters toward the blonde. Despite his nonchalance, I know he won’t let his guard down. His ease has always been an act he uses to play a role, so they don’t realize what he really is until it’s too late.

My other five closest soldiers, six counting Kai, have spread out throughout the room to listen, watch, and guard my back. But it will take a lot more than their presence to put me at ease here. At least this year, I decided to host it on neutral ground. The Holland Hotel, owned and operated by an anonymous, unaligned individual, is the site for all inter-territory meetings. So it makes sense they would host the gala too. And this year, I won’t find someone trying to sneak their way past security or hack my computer networks.

As I watch each person walk past me, I can’t help but see the lies spewing from their mouths. Each syllable spoken in sweet smiles, all greasy with every untruth, turns my stomach. If I’m going to kill someone, I have the decency to at least tell them outright.

The neck of my perfectly tailored tux feels too tight, like a noose around my neck.

“Scowl any harder, and people will start running for their weapons,” a sweet voice says as she approaches. My fifth wears red satin tonight, cut so low that I would be about to see her belly button with another inch. Another weapon my soldiers employ effortlessly: their beauty.

“Andrea.” I scan the crowd. “Where’s your twin?”

She rolls her neck, her black hair sliding over the bare curve of her shoulder. “Oh, he’s around here somewhere. Probably getting himself into trouble.”

“Shouldn’t you be joining him?” I say, keeping my gaze on the slow amble of the people around me. I half wish someone would start something so I could get the hell out of here.

“I will soon enough. See anyone I should keep my eye on?” Her focus returns to the crowd as well now.

I shake my head. “Not yet. I’ll let you know if I see something. Go play and be nice.”

She saunters back into the fray, and I snag a passing glass of champagne. I don’t usually drink because I feel out of control when I have too much. And no one can see me like that. But Andrea is right. If I continue scowling from the fringes of the ballroom, it won’t help me find the woman I need to turn into my wife.

But I’m not the only one who’s counting the seconds until it’s socially acceptable to leave. A young woman in black with a mass of barely restrained curls stands near a table with someone else I don’t recognize. Which is impossible since I know every member of our little twisted society.

Then I catch sight of Sal squeezing through the crowd, not even bothering to be sly at the way he ogles the women he passes.

When he reaches the table, the girl in black stiffens and shifts away from him but then allows the fucking dickhole to drag her by the arm to his side again. And he isn’t gentle about it either. I’m three seconds from grabbing his threadbare tux and allowing Andrea to escort him out. She loves nothing more than showing a man like him what she thinks of his kind.

So he succeeded in buying himself a family name. And by the size of the rock on Rachel—Royal—no, I can’t remember her name, her daddy had to buy it for her fiancé to propose. Sal and her father, Victor, have been in business together a long time. When word started to spread about his engagement to Novak’s daughter, I thought they were sampling their own product. Now, seeing the way he handles her as though he owns her, I believe it.

And I want to fucking kill him for the way he’s touching her.

For the sadness I see that isn’t quite masked by her bright smile.

My stomach roils, and I shift my focus away before I do something stupid. She isn’t mine, and interfering will only cause trouble. Seeing that look in her eyes—the same look my mother used to wear—unnerves me in a way I haven’t been in a long time.

My mother was the only truly good female I’ve ever known. Even Andrea, one of my closest friends, is a bitch on a good day.