Page 22 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

My phone vibrates against the console, slicing through the taut silence like a blade. I glance down, expecting a routine security update—but the name on the screen stops me cold.

Marco.

His signature calling card appears: an encrypted message blinking ominously. No words. Just a single, grainy image that makes my stomach twist.

Serafina's car.

Parked outside one of my businesses.

And tucked under the windshield wiper—an envelope, bold letters glaring back at me:

TICK TOCK.

My breath catches, my pulse spiking. The message is clear—a threat.

Ice slithers through my veins, but it’s quickly drowned by a surge of fury.

How the fuck did this happen? Why the hell were they there?

I slam my foot on the gas, the tires screaming against the wet pavement. Horns blare as I cut through lanes, ignoring the chaos. My mind is a blur of strategy and fury. Marco has crossed a line.

The distance between me and that parking lot is blocked by traffic and idiots who can't drive in the rain. Every second counts. I dial Enzo, my voice sharp. "We have a situation. Marco's planted a bomb under Serafina's car. I need eyes on that location now." I can't get there fast enough—I am in a gridlock.

Enzo doesn't waste time with questions. "Understood. I'm on it."

Wipers slash across the windshield in a frantic rhythm, but it's not enough. The city becomes a smear of lights and shadows. I want to floor it, but cars are stopped at every turn. Horns blaring, the traffic crawls when it does move.

I can't stop picturing Serafina—walking toward that car, unaware of the danger beneath it. Leo's hand in hers.

Why the hell wasn't security with them?

No.

I press harder on the gas, forcing my way through gaps in the traffic, the engine roaring beneath me. I won't let Marco take them from me. I have only just got her back.

My phone buzzes again. Enzo.

"We've got eyes on the car. It's clear for now, but we're sweeping the area."

"Get them out of there. Now."

"Already on it."

I end the call. Marco wanted to send a message.

By the timeI reach the parking lot, the rain has eased to a faint drizzle, but the weight in my chest is as heavy as ever. Enzo and my men move with precision, sweeping the area, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning every corner for a threat that may not even be there.

Serafina’s car sits in the far corner, untouched yet ominously isolated. The image Marco sent still burns in my mind—TICK TOCK scrawled across an envelope tucked beneath her windshield wiper, daring me to act.

Enzo approaches, his expression tight and unrelenting. “The car’s clear,” he reports. “No bomb, no tracker—nothing. It was all for show.”

The tension in my jaw tightens as I glare at the car. Show or not, Marco made it clear he could get this close. That he could find them. This wasn’t just a message—it was a threat.

And it was personal.

My grip on my phone tightens, the photo still open on the screen. Relief flickers for a moment, but anger rushes in to replace it. Marco played me. He wanted this reaction—wanted me here, on edge, with my focus fractured.

“Serafina and Leo?” I ask, my voice clipped.

---