Page 12 of The Don's Eternal Vows

"Boss!" Sal calls out. "Second floor, east wing. Heavy resistance."

I nod, signaling two men to follow me. We ascend the grand staircase, marble steps slick with blood. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils, mixing with the copper tang of death.

A door bursts open. Three of Greco's men spill out, guns blazing. I dive for cover, feeling the heat of a bullet as it grazes my arm. Gritting my teeth, I return fire. One, two, three bodies hit the floor in rapid succession.

"Clear," I mutter, stepping over the corpses.

As we push deeper into the house, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A figure darting down a hallway. Tall, broad-shouldered, redhead. My heart rate spikes.

Her assassin.

"You two, sweep the rest of this floor," I order my men. "He's mine."

I give chase, my footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but the thrill of the hunt. I round a corner, and there he is, fumbling with a hidden panel in the wall.

"Going somewhere?" I snarl.

He whirls, fear etched across his face. "Montagna, please—"

I cut him off with a bullet to the knee. He crumples, howling in pain.

"Did Genoveva get to beg?" I ask, my voice dangerously soft as I approach. "Did you give her that chance?"

His eyes dart wildly, searching for an escape. There is none.

"It wasn't personal," he gasps. "Just business, you understand—"

My fist connects with his jaw, silencing him. "This?" I growl, grabbing a fistful of his hair. "This is personal."

I press the muzzle of my gun to his forehead, savoring the terror in his eyes.

“L..look,” he mumbles, his eyes darting around for help. “You won’t get away with this. My brother will have your head.”

“Your brother?” I snarl. “This only gets more interesting.”

Suddenly, the familiarity is evident. He has Paolo’s eyes. How could I not have seen it?

"Please," he whimpers, his voice cracking, his hands raised in supplication. "Mercy."

I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. "Mercy? Did you show mercy when you ordered your men to gun down my wife? Did you show mercy when you left me to cradle her lifeless body?"

I scream, a primal urge driving through me. His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head back, but I barely feel it. I'm lost in a haze of grief and fury, a mist that drowns out everything but the need to hurt, to kill.

This man saw my wife, hiding and innocent as she was, and shot her. I’ll have his eyes for that. My fingers find his eyes, digging, gouging. He screams a high, keening wail that echoes off the walls. I press harder, feeling the give of soft tissue, the warm gush of blood.

"My brother will kill you," he gasps, his voice thick with pain. "He'll avenge me."

I laugh, a harsh, grating sound. "Let him try. I'll take his eyes too. An eye for an eye, isn't that the saying? He took my wife, and I’ll take you."

I reach for my gun, pressing the barrel to his forehead. "This is for Genoveva," I whisper and pull the trigger.

The shot is deafening in the confined space. I stand, breathing hard, staring down at the ruin of Paolo's brother. But there's nosatisfaction, no sense of victory: just a hollowness, a void where my heart used to be.

I turn, ready to finish what I started.

Later, back at the house, I pace like a caged lion, my fury barely contained. My men stand around me, their faces grim and eyes downcast after they inform me that while they killed off most of his men, Paolo found a way out. It is a secret tunnel, it seems.

"Find him," I snarl, my voice low and deadly. "Turn this city inside out. Check every bolt hole, every safe house. I want Paolo Greco in front of me, on his knees, begging for mercy that will never come."

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