Page 90 of Broken Vows

The row of warehouses will make it possible to walk along the roof right up to the one Franco chooses, without him being aware we’re there. There are two access points on either side of the row, something he wouldn’t have checked out.

“Too fucking easy,” I grunt. I’m like a great white shark that has smelled blood. I’m pumped to end Franco, and I will.

“Fine, but we take out his men first,” Luca says.

“Obviously. Gigi and Carla are in there.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t barrel them up to die,” Matteo mutters.

I shoot him a glance. “Really? What the fuck, dude?”

“One of the Don’s party tricks.” He shrugs. “Personally don’t care for it.”

I shudder. Matteo has been places us younger lot haven’t. Not that we didn’t get our fair share, but still.

Benedict starts a video call, and we strategize our next move as the second confirmation comes in from one of the motorcyclists: Franco pulled into the second last warehouse. Through a small hole in the wall, the motorcyclist saw three women with two other men who are carrying automatic rifles and handguns.

I glance at my brothers. “Seem like a thin spread for such a momentous moment?”

“Arrogant fucker. You’re on, boys. Go clean up what you can,” Matteo says to Dominic and Benedict.

“Yes, boss,” Benedict teases with a smirk. This is new for all of us. In the past, Matteo was the first-in-command henchman, but now, he’s the Don. Not that we care to call him that, and he doesn’t seem to give a fuck.

“Leave Franco for me,” I say. “We’re right behind you. We’ll be blocking the street, so don’t waste time.”

“Got it, Steph,” Dominic says. “Don’t get your balls all knotted up.”

Fuck. “Remember mywifeis in there.”

“As if you’d let us forget that.”

Benedict kills the call, and a heavy beat of silence fills the car.

I’m trembling. My fingers are shaking so much, I have to put the phone down.

Luca reaches for my shoulder and squeezes it. “Save it. Bottle it up. You’re going to need it.”

It’s as if my twin already senses what I need. I stretch my fingers and fist them, taking deep, slow breaths. Somehow, every trajectory in life has led me to this point.

I’m primed to perfection.

47

GIGI

It’s hot in here. The afternoon sun bakes down on the metal roof, and dust motes dance in the few beams breaking through the dirt.

The executioner approaches Carla, and when she senses him, she kicks…and misses. I wince and close my eyes, not wanting to witness the repercussions.

“Sure you want to keep that dickhead’s baby?” the executioner grunts. “We left him for dead in a dungeon in Lake Como after he finally caved in and gave us access to his email, sweetheart. Opening his inbox was such a…joy.”

Sobs rack through Carla’s body, but with a wild punch to her stomach, the executioner folds her in half, and she tumbles to the floor. With her hands bound, she can’t brace her fall, and her head hits the cement floor.

Oh. My. God. She doesn’t stir. I can’t watch. She might be dead. Their baby…Vittorio Rossi was tortured by this man and left for dead. Probably in the wine cellar in Don Trapani’s house.

Fear eats me up from the inside out, like acid. I was so ludicrously brave and arrogant, thinking running away from theMafia was a solution. That I would be able to free myself from this life.

Now my sister looks dead, and if not, she might lose her baby.

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