Lies Vows

SERENA'S POV

"I'm not just a witch, but a wicked one at that who eats little boys like you for dinner,"

I leaned in, locking eyes with the trembling brat, my grin spreading slowly as I dragged my tongue across my teeth for effect.

Then I picked up my drink, sipped elegantly, and watched him burst into tears, sprinting off in search of his mother.

"You know you'll have one of your own someday, right?"

My father's voice cut through, amused, as he approached my table, wearing a grin that mirrored mine.

Still tall and handsome even at his current age of sixty-five, he still made the ladies hearts shiver wherever he went.

I could positively say he participated significantly in my good looks.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I snorted in response.

He sighed, pausing while the waiter refilled our glasses. A polite nod to the man, then back to me.

This conversation was old news. My stance on motherhood wasn't changing. He knew that.

"One day you'll understand..."

"Don Giovanni," a loud, slurred voice interrupted, "I didn't think you'd actually show."

Santos. My father's longtime associate and a high-ranking member of the cartel. Drunk and far too cheerful for a man on his fifth marriage-to a girl younger than his eldest daughter.

They launched into loud greetings, all handshakes and back-slaps. I tuned them out, ignoring the bride hovering beside us, desperate to wedge herself into the conversation.

I glanced at her, caked makeup, plunging neckline, cunning eyes behind a fake smile. Gold digger. But hey, who was I to judge? I was just the unwilling plus-one, dragged here by my annoying father.

"I see you dragged the recluse out of her cave," Santos turned to me, eyes twinkling with charm. "What's the trick?"

His grin was all mischief-classic ladies' man. Charm and money: the only two tools in his belt.

"We had a bet. I lost," I replied flatly.

"Oh? And what was the wager?"

That came from the bride. Her voice-high and sugary-grated on my nerves.

I ignored her, taking my time as I sipped my cognac, savoring the slow burn.

"A bet on how long your latest marriage would last. That's why I'm here."

My father choked on his drink, simultaneously kicking me under the table.

I'd totally made that up. There was no bet. But the look on the bride's face? Definitely Worth it.

"And now, if you'll excuse me," I said, standing with a flourish, "I need to use the restroom,"

I walked off, basking in the silence I'd left behind and the bride's strained, frozen smile.

As I moved through the ballroom, familiar faces turned toward me-cartel members, old family friends, snakes in suits. I gave curt nods, never slowing. They didn't deserve my time.

I knew the nickname always whispered behind my back. The Cold Bitch.

Good.

Better that than a warm-hearted fool.

I'd seen too much to play nice. Being the first daughter of one of Vegas' most feared cartels meant I'd witnessed more than enough power games, betrayal, all for the sake of money or at a grasp at power.

Loyalty was an illusion. Love, a transaction.

I veered left instead of heading to the restroom, slipping out of the ballroom in search of air.

That's when I slammed into a wall.

"Ouch!" I snapped, stumbling.

Except, it wasn't a wall. Two strong arms caught my waist, holding me steady.