Page 84 of Twisted Vows

I grab him by the collar, slamming him against the nearest wall. The whiskey glass shatters on the floor, its sharp tang mixing with the acrid smell of gunpowder. “You should’ve stayed in your lane, Giovanni.”

He sneers, but I can see the flicker of fear in his eyes. “It wasn’t personal, Maxsim—it was survival!”

“That’s the problem,” I say, my voice low and steady. “You think survival justifies everything.”

Giovanni’s lip curls. “And what justifies you, Volkov? Your alliances? Your blood-soaked empire? Don’t act like you’re any better than me.”

I shove him harder against the wall, my grip tightening. “The difference is, I don’t pretend loyalty means nothing.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, bitter and mocking. “Loyalty? That’s rich coming from you. Tell me, Maxsim—how much loyalty do you think your precious alliance has? Do you think Franco isn’t biding his time? That André doesn’t resent having to share power with a BratvaPakhan? Your world is built on shifting sand, and you’re too blind to see it.”

I press the barrel of my gun against his temple. “Keep talking, Giovanni. Every word just confirms why you’re about to die.”

But he doesn’t stop. Desperation fuels his tongue now, the arrogance giving way to survival. “Killing me won’t solve your problems! Sal has plans, Maxsim—plans you can’t even imagine. You’ll burn before you see him coming.”

My jaw tightens. “Sal’s next. Don’t worry. You won’t be lonely in hell.”

Giovanni’s smirk returns, weaker but no less infuriating. “And what about your wife? She’s a smart one, isn’t she? Maybe too smart. Sal’s been watching her, you know. Watching and waiting.”

The words hit like a blow, but I control my expression. “You won’t get another chance to say her name.”

“Oh, but she’ll remember mine,” Giovanni says, his voice dripping with venom. “Because when Sal’s done, there won’t be a Volkov dynasty left for her to mourn.”

I sweep his legs out from under him and bend down, pressing the barrel of my gun against his forehead. “This is mercy,” I say, my voice a deadly whisper.

His eyes widen, and for the first time, the mask of arrogance slips entirely. “Maxsim—wait—”

The shot echoes through the room, silencing him forever.

For a moment, everything is still.

I rise, stepping over his body as I holster my gun. The echoes of his threats linger, but they’re already dissolving into the chaos of what’s to come. I glance at the shattered whiskey glass, the amber liquid pooling on the floor like spilled blood.

No one covets my wife and lives to tell about it.

Breathing through my nose, I refocus. There’s still a threat that needs my attention.

***

The rhythmic thrum of the helicopter blades drowns out everything as its relentless beat echoes in my chest. The cabin is dark, lit only by the faint green glow of the console. I sit across from Franco, the weight of my gun resting against my thigh. Vincenzo and Anton are silent, their eyes trained on the dark expanse of the city stretching out beneath us.

The air smells of oil and metal, and there’s a tension hanging over us, sharp and taut like a live wire. None of us speak. There’s nothing left to say.

Sal thinks he’s untouchable and that his jet waiting at the airstrip is his ticket to freedom. He doesn’t know we’ve got a surprise and tonight his treachery ends.

Not only are we coming by air, but Grigory and Carolina have drones circling Sal’s progress to the airport.

Franco leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his voice low enough to cut through the sound of the rotors. “Carolina just confirmed that Sal’s got four men on the ground and two with him in the car. We hit fast, no hesitation.”

I nod, my jaw tight. “He doesn’t leave that airstrip.”

Franco meets my gaze, his expression grim but resolute. “Agreed.”

I glance out the window. The city lights blur beneath us, the sprawl of concrete and steel giving way to open fields and dark stretches of nothing. The airstrip is just beyond the horizon, its faint lights barely visible against the black sky.

Vincenzo shifts beside me, his grip tightening on the barrel of his rifle. “We’ll be on the ground in three minutes,” he says, his voice calm, almost detached.

The helicopter dips slightly as we begin our descent. The lights of the airstrip grow brighter, cutting through the darkness like a blade. I roll my shoulders, the tension settling in my muscles as we near the endgame.

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