Page 83 of Twisted Vows

“He just texted someone that he will be there at eight,” Carolina adds, not looking up from her laptop.

“Idiots,” I mutter, knowing they think we haven’t got a clue and they have time to regroup.

André straightens, his eyes cold and calculating. “This ends tonight.”

“It’s time to consolidate,” Alexey says, his voice low but resolute. “Cut the weak links. Keep only the men whose loyalty is beyond question. The rest—” He flicks his hand dismissively, the meaning clear. “Gone.”

André nods, his expression carefully controlled. “Agreed. We’ve been running too wide for too long. Tightening the circle is the only way we survive going forward.”

André glances at Carolina, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Honestly, with her drone army and AI efficiency models, it won’t be long before half of our ranks become unnecessary.”

“We could all become redundant,” I offer with a smirk.

Carolina snorts without missing a keystroke. “Don’t worry, you’ll still be useful—for at least a little while.”

The room lightens for a moment, the tension thinning just slightly as a ripple of amusement flickers through. Even Alexey allows a faint chuckle, though it dies quickly as his expression sharpens once more.

“Useful is all that matters,” André says, his tone clipped. “Anything less, and you’re just dead weight. And in this life, dead weight doesn’t last.”

Carolina looks up from her laptop. “Everything is in place. Giovanni’s arrogance will work in our favor. He’ll expect retaliation, but not this quickly. It looks like he’s only got a couple of soldiers with him.” She looks at André. “Four heat signatures total.”

“Is Sal one of those signatures?” Franco asks as he stands and studies Carolina’s screen.

“He’s got three phones, and I haven’t narrowed down which one is on his person. One shows him at the warehouse, but the other two are pinging all over the city.”

“We’ll start with the warehouse,” I bite out. “Get Gio to talk if Sal’s not there.”

“Works for me,” Franco clips.

Alexey steps toward the door, his phone vibrating in his hand. He answers with a sharp, “What?” His tone softens slightly as he steps into the hallway, his voice lowering.

I already know who’s on the other end of that call. His beloved.

I stare at the polished wood of the desk, letting my mind drift for a moment. To her. To the way her voice sounded when she called me earlier, teasing and defiant as always. “Come back alive, husband.” She said it lightly, but I heard the weight beneath the words.

My beloved. And the fucking bane of my existence. How could she have put herself in danger?

Alexey returns, and I stand, my movements sharp. “Let’s cut the head off the snake now.”

Dealing with my wife will have to wait until later.

***

The warehouse is a crumbling monument to bad decisions, its metal siding streaked with rust and its windows jagged like broken teeth. Shadows stretch across the loading docks as we move into position, the hum of distant traffic the only sound that breaks the silence.

Word just came in that Sal isn’t here, but that doesn’t mean that taking care of Giovanni won’t hold its own reward.

Franco and I move in silence, our men fanning out with the precision of a well-honed blade. Vincenzo flanks Franco, and Anton takes the rear, his sharp eyes sweeping every shadow.

We breach the side entrance in a coordinated sweep, silenced weapons cutting through the dim, oil-slicked corridors. The first guard drops before he can react, his body crumpling soundlessly to the concrete.

The main room is lit by harsh fluorescent lights, a glaring contrast to the darkness outside. Giovanni stands at the center, flanked by two of Sal’s men, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looks up as we enter, his smirk faltering when he recognizes me.

“Maxsim,” he says, recovering quickly. “This is unexpected.”

The room erupts in gunfire before I can respond. Franco and Vincenzo move with ruthless efficiency, each shot precise and clean, taking down Sal’s soldiers like it’s second nature. I close the distance between Giovanni and me.

His smirk returns, though it’s weaker now, his arrogance cracking beneath the surface. “You don’t want to do this,” he says, his voice laced with false bravado.

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