Shadows Of Vows

Chapter 5: ONE RELENTLESS DAY

Emily’s POV

Steam curled around me as I stepped out of the shower, my damp curls clinging to the sides of my face. Wrapping a towel around myself, I padded back into my room—and froze.

Spread neatly across my bed was a collection of brand-new school supplies: notebooks in muted tones, high-quality pens, a sleek laptop, and even a leather-bound planner with my initials embossed in gold.

Saint.

I didn’t need a note to know it was him. He probably sent someone to buy everything before the sun even came up. It was… thoughtful, in a way. And completely unexpected.

I got dressed in my usual “don’t-bother-me” style—baggy black jeans, a white cropped tank top, and my favorite baggy red jersey, left unzipped. My hair went up into a messy bun, letting a few stubborn curls fall to frame my face. White sneakers completed the look. I slung my bag over my shoulder, ready to head downstairs for breakfast.

The scent of something sweet and buttery drifted toward me, making my stomach growl before I even hit the bottom step.

In the kitchen, a tall man I didn’t recognize flipped pancakes like he owned the place. His relaxed stance screamed confidence, his grey eyes sharp and assessing when they landed on me.

Then, with a smirk, he said,

“Damn. I didn’t know Saint lets his hoes sleep over.”

My brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just an observation,” he said casually, turning back to the pan.

I crossed my arms. “Funny for you to assume I go around opening my legs for men in exchange for money, kitchen boy.” I said, rolling my eyes as if I wasn’t itching to throw the nearest hot pan at him.

That got a laugh out of him—an amused, deep chuckle. He glanced back at me like I’d just made his morning.

“I like you. Hey, Leo!” he called toward the stairs. “I think we should keep this one.”

Leo? I blinked. I’d heard Saint called many things — mostly titles whispered in fear — but never that. It felt too personal, too casual. I stored the thought away, my curiosity nagging at me.

Saint appeared in the doorway, sharp in a tailored suit that made him look like sin wrapped in silk. His eyes flicked to Greyson, then to me.

“Call her a hoe again,” he said, voice calm but razor-sharp, “and I’ll put a bullet through your skull.”

Greyson placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Damn, you’d kill your right-hand man over a girl?”

“Fiancée,” Saint corrected, cold but casual, like the word didn’t carry the weight it should.

Greyson’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re planning on getting married and you didn’t tell me?”

“Last time I checked, I don’t report to anyone,” Saint replied, eyes narrowing. “You all report to me.”

I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place I was in this exchange.

“Eat your breakfast, Emily, so we can leave,” Saint said without looking at me.

“I’m not hungry.”

“It wasn’t a request.” His eyes locked on mine — unreadable, steady, and unyielding.

I sat, fork in hand, while Greyson slid a plate of pancakes toward me. The warm smell made me realize just how hungry I actually was. I ate, but my mind wasn’t on the food. Something in Saint’s demeanor felt… different today. Yesterday he’d been unexpectedly kind, even warm in his own guarded way. This morning, he was all steel again, unreadable except for the flicker of his gaze every now and then — small, almost imperceptible glances at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Greyson caught him once. I saw it happen — Greyson’s jaw tensed for a split second, the smirk vanishing as his eyes darted between us. He didn’t comment, but the look he shot Saint felt loaded, like they’d already had some private conversation about me.

By the time I finished eating, the air between the three of us felt heavier than when I walked in. We made our way to the car. I slid into the backseat while Greyson took the passenger side, and Saint got behind the wheel.

From my spot, I could see his eyes in the rearview mirror, catching mine when I looked up. I quickly turned to the window, counting the trees we passed in my head to keep my mind busy. One, two, three…

I could feel Greyson watching me too, but not in the same way. His gaze had curiosity in it — like he was trying to piece together what, exactly, I was to Saint, and why.

Halfway there, I caught it again — that silent exchange between the two men. Just a brief look, but it felt like an unspoken language. Something told me they’d already discussed my schooling, maybe even my safety, before I’d even stepped into the kitchen. The thought made my stomach twist.

When we finally pulled up to the front of my new college, Saint shifted the gear into park.

“Please don’t come in,” I said before he could reach for the door.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

I opened the door and stepped out, but his voice stopped me. “Emily.”

I turned.

“Take care of yourself. I decided to let off the security guards on your first day. If anything happens, call me.”

I gave him a quick nod and slipped into the crowd of students, trying not to wonder why part of me already missed the intensity of his eyes on me.

SAINT’S POV

By the time we pulled up to the Rossi headquarters, Greyson was already acting quieter than usual. That wasn’t a good sign. He wasn’t the kind of man who stayed quiet unless his head was turning over something he didn’t like. He trailed me as we moved toward my office, his silence heavy enough to notice. The headquarters was alive with low murmurs, the metallic click of safeties being disengaged, and the faint scent of gun oil. Men straightened when I passed, eyes sharp, backs straighter. They didn’t just respect me—they feared me. And fear was far more reliable than loyalty.

Running the Rossi empire wasn’t a game of chess. Chess had rules.

This was war—daily, constant, and unforgiving. Every handshake was a possible trap. Every smile could hide a knife. In the past month alone, I’d put down three men who thought they could skim from me without consequence. One begged for his life until I pressed the barrel to his temple. The other two? They didn’t get the chance.

I stepped into my office, the scent of leather and smoke clinging to the air. Before I could sit, Greyson closed the door behind us. That look from earlier was still in his eyes—too direct, too sharp.

Finally, he spoke.

“There’s a deeper reason why you’re getting married to her, right?”

I turned halfway, one brow raised. “It’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t.” His voice sharpened, his jaw flexing. “It is my business if it’s going to affect you—and the mafia.”

The room seemed to tighten, shadows stretching long across the floor.“Mafia before love, remember!” he bit out, his voice rising.

That was it. I turned fully, slow and deliberate, and drew my gun from the desk drawer, the metallic click echoing between us.

“Who the f**k do you think you’re talking to like that, Greyson?”

His eyes flickered—not fear exactly, but awareness. He knew when the line was close.

“Now get the f**k out of my sight,” I said, my tone deadly even. “And remember this—I just f*****g met the girl. Love is not in my vocabulary. I’m ruthless. Love makes you weak.”

Greyson’s lips twitched in a humorless smirk.

“Not yet,” he said quietly, eyes steady on mine. “I’ve seen how you look at her. There’s something deeper to this, Leonardo, and you know it.”

I stepped in close, the distance between us suffocating. “You’re walking a fine line, Greyson.”

He didn’t flinch. He never did. But as he turned for the door, his parting words were laced with something I didn’t like—conviction.

“She’s going to change something in you. Whether you want it or not.”

The door shut, leaving the office thick with silence. I leaned back against my desk, running a hand down my face. Greyson was loyal to the bone, but he was also right about one thing—something about Emily had me off balance. I caught myself thinking about her more than I should have—how she looked this morning with her hair in that messy bun, the stubborn set of her mouth when she told me she wasn’t hungry.

That was dangerous.

And dangerous, in my world, usually meant one thing—weakness.

But as I glanced at the small folder on my desk, the one with her college schedule, notes from the security detail I hadn’t assigned today. Greyson was right. There was a reason I married Emily. And it wasn’t just about control or power. I knew things she didn’t. About her mother. About the night she died.

And sooner or later, that truth would either destroy her… or bind her to me forever.