Page 10 of His Savage Vow
“What the hell are you doing barging into my office without knocking?” I bite out, lowering my weapon but not putting it away.
“You,” she seethes, marching up to my desk. “You knew.”
She throws the folder at me with enough force that the papers explode across the desk.
“You knew my father asked for help!” she exclaims, her voice quivering. “You knew he reported that car outside the restaurant. And you didn’t do a goddamn thing about it!”
I set the gun down on the desk slowly and retake my seat. “I didn’t know about the suspicious car until after the fire.”
“Bullshit!” She’s shaking now, not with fear, but betrayal. “Your men dismissed him. They called him paranoid! This—” She slams a finger onto the folder. “This is what got my father killed.”
“Constance—”
“No. You don’t get to say my name like that, like I’m overreacting. Not when you or your men ignored him.”
My jaw clenches. “I didn’t ignore him.”
“Then yourmendid. And you’re responsible for them.”
Every word out of her mouth is as sharp as a knife, and she goes right for my jugular.
“You have every right to be angry,” I say quietly.
She freezes because she expected denial or deflection, not my agreement.
“I know I failed him,” I admit.
Her eyes widen, not with victory at hearing my confession, but with something heavier.
“But I won’t fail you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
She sucks in a breath. “You can’t possibly promise that,” she whispers.
“I’m promising it anyway.”
She looks away for a second, her jaw tight, robe slipping further down her shoulder. My fingers twitch with the urge to pull it back into place, and that alone infuriates me.
“Did you just bust in here to scream at me?” I ask her.
She swallows, her throat bobbing. “I came in here to confront you, yes. And now…now I want…” She hesitates. Then says, “I want you to teach me how to kill them all, everyone responsible.”
I lean back in my chair to brace myself. I knew she wanted revenge, but I didn’t expect her to ask for training. That’s something else entirely.
“You want me to teach you to be a killer?”
“You or one of your men.”
As if I would trust “one of my men” to work closely with her without being nearby.
“You want to learn what exactly? How to shoot a man in the head? Stab him in his chest?”
“Practice makes perfect, right?”
Sighing, I get up to walk around the desk to face her. Constance lifts her chin as if to remind me she’s not afraid of me.
“You’re not built for this,” I say. “You’re smart. I’m well aware that you’re studying business administration at NYU. Your father was so proud…”
“Not anymore, I’m not.”
