Page 95 of Broken Vows

I go at him, the adrenaline in my blood poison whose only antidote is to beat this guy to death.

We circle each other, slowly warming up to the fight with random punches hitting the target, but Franco soon realizes he’s no match for me. Of course he isn’t. Franco Fiore has demons of his own, but they aren’t born out of my level of physical violence.

He manages to hold me off for a while, with the superhuman strength that surfaces when you’re fighting for your life, but I’m fueled by something else. Every kick, every punch, is fueled by the need to find justice for Mom, for that night so long ago when the Don made me do shit no kid should ever do, telling me to do it harder, until I hit her with a punch that satisfied him.

When Franco finally crumples to the floor and curls into himself, I feel only warmed up. Nothing stops me now. I’m on top of him in destroyer mode.

It’s only when I don’t recognize his face anymore that I stop, chest heaving, blood all over me. Fuck, for a long time, it wasn’t his face I was beating to pulp. It was Don Scalera’s. Franco still breathes, but his chest wheezes with each labored breath. I squeeze with my thighs, and he struggles even more.

Fuck. This must end.

“The axe!” I call out. “Bring me the fucking axe.”

When Matteo walks up to me, I glance up at him. Our gazes hold for a long minute, and in his eyes, there’s approval for this thing we were groomed to do. For these men we’ve become under the Don’s sick manipulation and guidance. It’s in our blood, and we’re only perpetuating the violence, but on our terms.

“Do it,” he says. “It’s like shedding old fucking skin.”

Just like he shed his past when he killed Don Scalera.

I nod, knowing I will never tell a soul that my oldest brother murdered our father. “Where’s Gigi?”

“Benedict took her and Carla to the clinic,” Luca says. “Carla was coming to. Dominic is still with the other woman. She’s unconscious.”

Our little sister.

Or not.

Fuck.

I glance down at my body. I’m splattered and smeared with blood. Bruises bloom where Franco managed to get in a hit. At least Gigi isn’t seeing me like this. She’ll never see me like this. “If I do this, there’ll be no more information from him.”

“I don’t care,” Matteo says. “If there’s any truth to his words, the woman will talk.”

“If she lives.” My final strike can’t be the reason we’re hitting a dead end.

“I have her,” Dominic says as he walks past us, her body in his arms. “She’ll live.”

We watch him leave, then Matteo looks down at me. “If there’s any truth to it, we’ll figure it out some other way. Get it done, Stephano.”

Matteo lowers the axe to the floor, and he and Luca step to the side. The body underneath mine drags in strained breaths, blood oozing from his lips and nose and ears. For all we know, the damage is done, and he’ll never speak again.

I stand, pick up the axe, and hack off both his hands in two swift swoops of the blade.

“I promised my wife you’ll never touch a woman again. I never break my promises. And it’s only fair to deliver her the proof.”

50

GIGI

I’m pacing the vast space that’s Matteo’s living room. It’s almost dark outside now. Tasha is rocking herself on the sofa, knees pulled to her chest. She stares at me, and I can’t help but think this situation is bringing back nasty memories for her. Matteo is out there, too, and what with this being the Mafia, neither of us have guarantees our men will come back, irrespective of the way things were when I left that warehouse.

We’re alone. Benedict dropped me off and made sure I was okay, then he returned to the warehouse as backup.

My body is in a chokehold. “What if he dies?” I cry out to the void.

“He won’t.”

Tasha’s unwavering faith seems childish to me. She doesn’t know Franco.

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