Page 22 of Vows in Violence

Without wasting another second, I leave the road, dart across the street, and cut into an alleyway. My heart pounds, a rhythmic reminder that staying alive means staying ahead.

When I get to the street on the other side, I hail a taxi. I haven't been in one in years, but desperate times call for desperate measures. When a league of highly skilled assassins is gunning for you, you can't be too careful.

A puttering taxi stops in front of us, and the three of us get into the car. I’m not about to have the taxi driver take me to where I intend to go, so I opt for the only safe place in NYC: Bastoni e Pietre.

“Where to?” the driver asks, his voice thick with a Bronx accent.

“Bastoni e Pietre,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. The driver gives me a curious glance in the rearview mirror but doesn’t question it. He knows the place’ everyone in our world does.

Even the Commission wouldn’t disturb the sanctity of Bastoni e Pietre. When Angel was attacked there, rumors spread that the restaurant had lost its protection. But Angel and the Commission made sure that wasn’t the case. It remained a sanctuary, untouchable. There is always the chance that Azrael could trap me there, but that is a risk I am willing to take in these circumstances.

As the taxi driver navigates traffic, I look at my phone. There are texts from Nikolai. He has allowed Vivi to leave her cage in order to visit her brother. Another text, sent twenty minutes later, confirms that Vivi had been returned to the cage.

Nikolai is aching to be named as the official second-in-command, but I don’t run my enterprise that way. The Italian Commission does well because they have multiple voices contributing and voting on issues. As much as Maxim hated the Italians, he admired the hold they had on the United States. He adopted many of their practices when he formed the business.

I have three men who could be called my second-in-command. It will always be three men.

I think about Nikolai, eager and ambitious. He’s good, ruthless even, but too eager. He doesn’t understand the value of patience, of waiting for the right moment.

My thoughts drift to the texts again. Vivi, my delicate, conniving wife, caught in this world of monsters.

The taxi takes a sharp turn, jerking me from my thoughts. I glance at the driver, his eyes focused on the road. He’s nervous, probably wondering why someone like me would be in his cab. I let out a small sigh. Desperate times indeed.

“Bastoni e Pietre,” I remind him, though he knows. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, meeting mine for a split second before darting back to the road.

“We’ll be there soon, sir,” he says, his voice steady but laced with underlying fear. Good. Fear keeps people sharp and keeps them obedient.

The familiar streets blur past, and I think about the power dynamics in play. Maxim’s influence still looms large, even from the grave; his strategies, his iron will, all imprinted on me. I was molded into this role, stripped of anything human. It’s how I survive, how I keep the Romanov name strong.

The screen on my phone flashes, and I glance down at it again, but then it registers that something is off. The taxi driver is not taking me in the right direction; he’s passed our turning point. My eyes meet his in the rearview mirror, and his widen with fear.

Suddenly, the car pitches to the left, turning down a tight alley. The brick walls scrape against the car on one side. My heart races as I reach forward, grabbing the driver by the shoulder and using my other arm to brace myself. The car rumbles through the narrow space, and I tense the muscles in my legs to steady myself.

No time to think. I pull out my pistol and, without hesitation, shoot the driver in the back of the head. Blood splatters all over the windshield and dashboard. His body slumps forward, and the car starts to slow, but not enough. It’s still moving at a brisk pace, scraping along the building until a dumpster stops it dead.

The impact throws me forward, the front seat digging into my ribs. Pain explodes in my chest, but there’s no time to dwell on it. The two undamaged doors are flung open, and we are not the ones doing it. Four strangers yank us from the car, guns blazing. Chaos erupts.

Gunfire is ringing out, deafening in the tight space. One of my men starts to slump, hit by the initial barrage. I grab his bodybefore it falls, using it as a shield. My heart pounds as I return fire, managing to take down one of the assailants. The taste of metal fills my mouth as I grit my teeth against the pain and chaos.

Two of the attackers go after Robert, the last bodyguard I have left. Robert is a young guy. New. Unseasoned. Fear flashes in his eyes as he tries to fight back, but he’s outmatched. They pulverize him, their bullets tearing through his body.

For me, running is not an option, so I back against the car and drag Dimitri's body with me. The bullets thud into his flesh as I take down two more attackers. The last man standing points his gun at me, and I'm doing the same. Dimitri’s weight strains my wrist, his lifeless body slumped against me, pressing me against the open door of the cab.

“That was fucking stupid. I still have your Don,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. I know this is Azrael’s doing.

“Haven’t you heard? All of that is irrelevant now,” the man sneers, his gun unwavering. I notice he’s been hit in the shoulder; it’s enough to slow him down but not enough to have him falling down.

“Angel will be irrelevant if you don’t back the fuck up right now,” I warn, trying to gauge if he’s bluffing.

“The Commission couldn’t let you kill Angel, but if the Commission decided that Angel is no longer capable of running the Valachi family, then the Commission would order the hit themselves.”

“You’re bluffing,” I say, though uncertainty creeps into my voice.

The man smirks. “Ivan, Angel is already dead.”

None of this makes sense. I had just seen Angel that morning before I left the house. Nikolai had just texted updates about Vivi visiting Angel.

Vivi.

---