Page 13 of The Don's Eternal Vows

They nod, scattering to do my bidding. I'm left alone, the silence pressing in on me, suffocating. Genoveva's absence is a physical ache that throbs with every beat of my heart.

I pour a glass of whiskey, downing it in one burning gulp. The alcohol does nothing to numb the agony and rage. I hurl the glass against the wall, watching it shatter, wishing it was Paolo's skull.

Chapter 5

Gianni

Bullets whistle past my ears, and the acrid smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils. I charge forward, my eyes locked on the enemy, my heart pounding in sync with the chaos erupting around me. The world narrows to a tunnel of adrenaline and instinct.

"Boss, get down!" someone shouts, but I ignore the warning. “What are you doing?”

My fingers tighten around my pistol as I weave across overturned crates and shards of glass to get across to the warehouse floor, vaulting over dead bodies. The enemy is close—I can almost taste their fear.

A bullet passes by, mere centimeters from me. I feel the wind from its passage, the heat from its metal. I don't flinch, don't break stride. What’s the point of caution now? What do I even have to live for?

You might as well die trying to win another round.

I emerged from the cover, gun blazing. Two of our rivals fall before they can react. A grim satisfaction curls my lips as another man comes my way. The world narrows to the space between heartbeats, each breath a countdown to the inevitable.

Suddenly, white-hot pain lances across my cheek. I stumble, feeling warm blood trickle down my face. Before I can regain my footing, Marco is there, yanking me behind a pillar as a hail of bullets rains down where I just stood. His eyes blaze with fury and something else - fear.

"Do you have a fucking death wish?" he shouts, his face inches from mine. "What's gotten into you?"

I meet his gaze steadily, the ghost of a smile playing on my lips. "Maybe I do," I say, my voice barely audible over the gunfire. "Maybe that wouldn't be so bad."

Marco's grip on my arm tightens, his knuckles white. "Don't say that. Don't even think it. We need you, boss. The family needs you."

I lean my head back against the pillar, closing my eyes for a brief moment. Genoveva's face flashes before me. One bullet to the heart, and I could be with her. God, I miss her. We miss the life we should have had, and the future is stolen from us.

"I'm already dead, Marco," I whisper, the words tasting like ashes on my tongue. "I died with her. This? This is just going through the motions."

Marco shakes his head vehemently. "No. I won't accept that. You're stronger than this, Gianni. You have to be."

I push off from the pillar, checking my gun with practiced efficiency. "We'll see," I mutter, straying away from him, right into the action. As I step away from him, I can't help but wonder: would it be so terrible if a stray bullet found its mark?

The war is over, and we reconvene outside, the victory ours for the taking. “They won’t know what hit them,” I pump my fist in the air, grinning through the blood and fatigue. Our family has prevailed, unbroken and undefeated."

All around, men roar, pumping their fists high toward the sky.

Marco approaches me, his eyes filled with concern. "Boss, are you alright?" He reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I back away, the pain in my cheek suddenly more acute.

"I'm fine," I lie, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, I focus on the setting sun, casting blood-red hues on our terrain of battle.

“Boss, you’re getting reckless,” Marco's eyes bore into mine, searching for something—an explanation, a denial, anything. But I offered nothing. The silence between us stretches, heavy with unspoken truths. A flicker of understanding crosses his face, quickly replaced by a mix of concern and resignation.

"Gianni..." he starts, but I cut him off with a sharp shake of my head.

"Enough," I growl, my voice barely audible over the chaos around us. "I have to go now."

Without waiting for a response, I push past him, my feet carrying me away from the carnage. The adrenaline that fueled my reckless charge earlier has drained away, leaving me hollow.

It all means nothing without Genoveva. The highs and lows are the same, settling me into this numbness that living can’t override.

Without thinking, in near autopilot, I park my car towards the forest’s edge. I exit the vehicle, leaving the keys in the car itself and watch the setting sun paint the skies in colors Genoveva loved.

This was always our place. From the earliest days of our marriage, we’d venture out here often to hike, camp, and swim. She’d always pack a neat picnic basket with sandwiches and pies, and I’d remember to carry the champagne.

We’ve laughed in this forest, fought in this forest, made love in this forest.

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