Page 80 of Twisted Vows

After Franco and André outline the basics of the plan, I retreat to Luna’s room under the pretense of changing clothes. The air feels heavy as I step into the closet, my fingers brushing over the silk and lace of her carefully curated dresses.

Giovanni loves control. Power. The illusion that women are tools for him to wield. If I’m going to manipulate him, I need to look the part—soft, vulnerable, just angry enough to make him believe I’ll break my vows.

I pull out a black dress with a plunging neckline and drape it over the bed. It’s a costume, nothing more, but doubt creeps into my chest as I stare at it.

I’m playing with fire. Maxsim will lose his mind. He doesn’t want another man looking at me, much less flirting.

Civil War.The thought steadies me because I have to do what I can to avoid it.

I step into the dress, the cool fabric sliding over my skin like armor. When I look in the mirror, the woman staring back is someone I barely recognize—dangerous, alluring, and entirely in control.

Downstairs, Franco and Emilio wait by the door. Franco looks me over, his expression tightening slightly.

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say honestly, grabbing a clutch from the table.

“Good,” Emilio says. “Overconfidence will get you killed.”

Franco steps closer, his dark eyes sharp. “Remember—Giovanni thrives on ego. Flatter him. Let him feel like he’s thesmartest man in the room. But don’t push too hard. If he smells the trap, he’ll shut down.”

“Please don’t give me advice on how to handle men.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve been doing it since I took my first step.”

“I know,” Franco says quietly. “That’s what I’m counting on.” He studies me for a long moment before stepping aside. “Good luck.”

As I step into the car waiting outside, the rain starts to fall again, tapping against the windows like a warning.

This isn’t just about Giovanni or Maxsim anymore. It’s about me. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone take my choices away again.

The valet station in front of the family’s resort gleams with polished brass. A line of luxury cars stretches down the circular drive, and Emilio cuts in front of them, stopping in front of aFamigliasoldier.

Encore’s entrance is a study in excess—towering glass doors flanked by immaculately dressed doormen and a cascade of lights spilling across the polished marble steps. Even the air smells expensive, tinged with the faint aroma of designer cologne and rain.

Enzo is waiting for me just inside, standing near the carousel like a sentinel. The soldier, whose name I’ve forgotten, opens my door and tips his head toward my brother.

I stride inside and see Enzo dressed in a suit that fits him with military precision. His gaze sweeps the room constantly, tracking every subtle movement as if he’s cataloging threats before they can materialize.

When his eyes meet mine, his lips curve into the faintest hint of a smirk—a rare concession for someone like him. “You’re late,” he says, his deep voice carrying over the din of slot machines and laughter.

I adjust the strap of my clutch, keeping my expression neutral. “Traffic.”

His sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” I reply evenly, accepting the slim disc I’m supposed to slip into his pocket.

“Any questions?”

“Carolina explained everything. She needs ten minutes to clone his phone, and I must ensure the tag is on his person.”

“Seems simple, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely.” I take his hand and start walking toward the lounge. “It’s like taking candy from a baby.”

We walk side by side, his presence an unsettling combination of calm and dangerous. “You finally got a sanctioned job,” he says, lowering his voice as we weave through the crowd. The casino is a blur of gold and glitter, the spinning wheels of fortune blending with the faint notes of a jazz quartet drifting from the bar.

“It’s about time,” I reply, though my pulse betrays me, racing like a horse at the starting gate. As we approach the lounge, the atmosphere shifts—the air cooler, quieter, more refined. This isn’t where people come to gamble. It’s where deals are made, fortunes are traded, and power is measured by what’s left unsaid.

Enzo stops short of the entrance, nodding to a soldier stationed nearby. “I’ll be close,” he says, his tone low enough that only I can hear.

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