Page 62 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“Yes,” she says hesitantly, like she’s testing the weight of it. Deciding whether it’s safe to carry. “You almost look normal. Almost⁠—”

Her fingers make a small gesture toward my side, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

Subtle. Quick.

The gun.

I laugh, and realize too late it’s relief more than amusement.

“Careful, trouble. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

A smile appears on her face, softer this time. Quietly devastating. We stand there for a moment looking at each other while snow drifts silently through Manhattan.

Then her phone buzzes.

“Maya?” I ask.

“Yes. I haven’t replied to her email fast enough.”

“Aren’t you the boss?”

Tamara snorts softly into her coffee. “My point exactly.” Then her expression shifts, becoming more thoughtful. “You really meant it, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“The site visit. Thursday. The security routes. Transportation. All of it.”

“Yes.”

She believes me a little. Not enough to say so.

“I kept waiting for you to change your mind.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Silence settles between us again. Tamara glances toward the second security vehicle parked across the street.

“They follow you everywhere?”

“Mostly.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It’s work.”

Her gaze drifts briefly toward the street beyond the market. “It’s claustrophobic. This is exactly why I didn’t want to stay in my father’s orbit.”

She stops herself there. Too late.

I study her for a moment. “What was it like?”

“What?”

“Growing up with him.”

The question clearly catches her off guard. For a second, I think she’ll deflect. Instead she looks down into her coffee cup.

“My mother used to say the worst thing about powerful men is that eventually people start organizing themselves around their moods.” She gives a small, humorless sound. “Schedules. Conversations. Entire rooms.”