Page 80 of The Don's Eternal Vows

My strategic mind kicks into overdrive, assessing angles, cover, and vulnerabilities. I gesture silently to my men, coordinating our assault with practiced efficiency.

Another of Greco's thugs emerges, pistol raised. I don't hesitate. My shot catches him square in the chest, and he falls without a sound.

As I move through the warehouse, dispatching Greco's men with ruthless precision, a grim satisfaction settles over me. This isn't just about territory or respect anymore. It's about Genoveva, about our shared past and the future. I'll be damned if I let anyone threaten.

"You can't hide forever, Greco!" I roar, my voice cutting through the din. "Face me, you coward!"

The chaos swirls around me, a maelstrom of gunfire and shouts, but suddenly, everything seems to slow. Through the haze of gunsmoke and dust, I lock eyes with Greco across the warehouse floor. His smug grin has vanished, replaced by a look of barely concealed fury.

I feel my lips curl into a predatory smile. "There you are, you bastard," I growl under my breath.

Our gazes hold a silent conversation louder than the gunfire around us. In his eyes, I see the dawning realization that he'smiscalculated. In mine, I make sure he sees the promise of retribution.

"Gianni!" he calls out, his voice strained. "Let's talk about this like reasonable men!"

I bark out a laugh, harsh and humorless. "Reasonable? You crossed that line when you threatened what's mine."

My mind flashes to Genoveva's face, to her lingering kiss before I left how his brother killed her, on his command.

"Your obsession with that woman will be your downfall!" Greco shouts, desperation creeping into his tone.

I advance slowly, my gun trained on him. "No, Paolo. Your greed and your stupidity will be yours."

Chapter 34

Genoveva

The cab's leather seat sticks to my thighs as I lean forward, eyes locked on the convoy of black SUVs ahead. Gianni's in one of those vehicles, heading straight for Paolo Greco's hideout. The man whose directives killed me.

My heart thunders in my chest, twisted with dread. If Gianni dies, my worst nightmare would come true. I’d be forced to exist, unseen by all, without the love of my life.

A shiver races down my spine as memories of my death flash through my mind. The cold steel of the gun pressed against my temple. The deafening bang. Then... darkness. To imagine Gianni going through all that is a petrifying thought.

"You okay back there, miss?" The cabbie's gruff voice snaps me back to reality.

I swallow hard. "Fine. Just keep following those cars."

As we round a corner, my body tenses instinctively. The convoy screeches to a halt, and figures pour out of the vehicles, weapons drawn.

"Oh shit," the cabbie mutters, slamming on the brakes. "Lady, I ain't goin' no further."

I barely hear him, my eyes searching desperately for Gianni. I pay without waiting for the change and exit. I run behind the men, watching.

There – a flash of his midnight blue suit as he darts between cars, gun in hand. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him move with lethal grace. I watch Paolo and his men emerge, circling Gianni and his.

Shots ring out. Men fall. Blood stains the pavement.

I should be terrified. I should be cowering in fear like any sane person. But a strange thrill courses through me as I watch Gianni weave through the firefight. He's magnificent – dangerous and beautiful all at once.

I move a little further, eyes locked on Gianni's form as he moves through the battle like a dark specter. His movements are fluid and precise, a deadly dance amidst the gunfire. I watch, transfixed, as he disarms one attacker with a swift twist of his wrist, the man's gun clattering to the ground.

"Let them go," Gianni's gravelly voice carries over the din. "We're not here for you."

My breath catches as I see the conflict in the eyes of the men he's spared. They hesitate, then flee. Gianni's mercy is unexpected, a reminder of all the good he’s capable of.

I can't look away. Something primal stirs within me, a hunger I can't explain. The air thick with gunpowder and fear should repulse me, but instead, it calls to me like a siren song.

My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms. I feel torn, caught between the safety of my position and the pull of the battlefield. The violence, the chaos – it awakens something in me, something that died along with my old life.

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