Page 43 of Twisted Vows

“Good,” she replies, leaning back slightly, but her gaze never softens. “Because strategy,cara mia,is the only thing that will keep your alliance intact.”

The air seems to shift, heavier now, and I feel the familiar weight of her words pressing down. Nonna doesn’t waste time on pleasantries when there’s something more important to say.

“Trust,” she says, her fingers wrapping around the base of her glass, “is the foundation of any alliance. But trust is also the easiest thing to break—and the hardest thing to repair.”

Her words settle between us like a stone dropped in still water. “Do you think the alliance is cracking?” I ask, my voice quieter than I’d like.

Nonna’s lips purse, thoughtful. “Cracks are inevitable, Arianna. No family—no matter how strong—remains unbrokenforever. It’s how you handle those cracks that determine if the foundation holds or collapses.”

She studies me for a long moment before continuing, her voice softer now. “Your husband is protecting you in his way, but protection is not the same as trust. And without trust, the cracks will only widen.”

I swallow hard, the weight of her words twisting in my chest. “What do you think I should do?”

Nonna’s expression doesn’t waver. “Men like your Maxsim don’t give trust easily. It must be earned—through loyalty, through action. But you,cara mia, you are a Bianchi. And Bianchis don’t wait for trust to be handed to them. They take it.”

Her words are a challenge, plain and simple. A reminder of who I am and what’s at stake. But there’s something else there, too—an edge of warning. She knows, just as I do, that the cracks in the alliance aren’t just theoretical. They’re real, and they’re growing.

Nonna’s hand rests on mine, light but firm. “If you want this alliance to hold, Arianna, you must find the cracks before they break wide open. And when you find them.” Her eyes narrow slightly, her voice lowering. “You must decide whether to patch them—or shatter the pieces yourself.”

I don’t reply because I’m unsure what choice I will ultimately make.

The sound of boots against polished wood cuts through the room, breaking the quiet that had settled over Nonna’s words. I glance toward the doorway just as Carolina strides in, her leather jacket slung over one shoulder, a laptop bag in her other hand. She looks like she just came from a fight—or from causing one.

“Sorry I’m late,” she announces, dropping her bag onto a nearby chair without ceremony. “Blocked the Feds from snooping in one of our accounts this morning. Took longer than I expected.”

Nonna shakes her head, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Carolina,cara, must you always bring your storms into my dining room? Sit. Eat.”

“I plan to,” Carolina says, grabbing a plate and piling it high with pasta as if she hadn’t just barged into the room.

“Since when did you two become besties?” I ask, looking between Nonna and the family’s cybersecurity expert.

“Carolina is here every day working with André or your brother, and it’s better that she shares my table than the soldiers.”

“She likes to hear all the latest gossip,” Carolina adds, her eyes bright with mischief. “So, what’d I miss? Are you being grilled about married life?”

“Something like that,” I mutter, but my lips twitch despite myself.

Carolina plops into a chair, twirling her fork through the pasta like she has all the time in the world. “Hope you’re surviving. Maxsim seems like he’s got a stick up his ass half the time, but hey, maybe that’s just the Bratva way.”

“Carolina,” Nonna scolds lightly, though her lips curve into a small smile. “Do you always have to be so crude?”

“I’m just saying what Ari’s thinking.”

I roll my eyes but feel the corners of my mouth lift. Carolina has a way of cutting through the heaviness. “How is your brother? Is Fausto ruling Chicago yet?”

“Hardly.” She gives me a curious look. “I thought you two would keep in touch.”

“I haven’t texted him.” I wipe my mouth and look up with a faint smile. “Figured he was busy being the second in command.”

“He calls Mama once a week, and it seems like he’s settling in.”

“That’s good.” Nonna’s hand wraps around mine, and I squeeze it gently. A part of me wishes that spinning back the clock was possible and I could return to more carefree times.

Carolina pulls out her tablet and rests it on the edge of the table. Her fingers fly across the screen, her expression shifting from thoughtful to sharp in an instant.

“The chatter’s been weird lately,” she says, her tone casual but with an edge underneath. “Encrypted messages popping up between Sal’s people and an outside Cartel. And don’t even get me started on the weapons deals.”

I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. “Weapons?”

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