Page 36 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

I brush his hair back, ignoring the pain radiating from my face and ribs. "I'm okay. It's just a little bump. I'm tougher than I look. And you? You're the bravest boy I know. We're going to get through this."

Leo presses his face into my side, his grip tightening. "Is Alessandro really coming?"

I close my eyes briefly, swallowing back my fear. "Yes. He's coming. And he's going to be so mad at the bad guys. They won't know what hit them."

Every breath stings and my body feels battered and broken, but none of it matters. Not when my son is scared and looking to me for strength.

I hold him tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"I've got you, Leo. And Alessandro will come. I promise."

ALESSANDRO

Istand in my study, staring out at the rain as it streaks down the glass. The silence in the room is deafening, reminding me that Leo is gone. They will be on the plane by now, on their way to a better life. My phone vibrates on my desk—it'll be the driver to let me know they've boarded safely.

I slide the screen open. It's not my driver. It's an unknown number.

One message.

I swipe the screen, and I have to hold back the puke that rises in my throat. I am sick to my stomach—fear, anger, dread—I feel everything all at once. The image is clear, there is no mistaking what I see on the small screen.

Serafina—bound, bruised, terror in her wide eyes.

Leo—clinging to her, his small face buried in her shoulder.

My pulse thunders in my ears as my eyes drop to the text beneath the image:

Come alone, or they die. The longer you take, the more fun I'll have with them…

The air leaves my lungs in a slow, steady exhale. My hand squeezes the phone, and I feel it crack under the pressure. Glasssplinters against my palm, but I barely notice as it slices into my hand, blood dripping onto the floor.

Marco.

"Enzo said they had eyes on him," I whisper to myself, fury bubbling up. "How did this happen? How the fuck did they take her?"

Rage builds higher, hotter. My muscles tense, ready to strike. The room feels too small to hold the shitstorm brewing inside me.

I trusted the wrong man. The driver—vetted, loyal, or so I thought. How much did it take for Marco to buy him? Or did Marco threaten him, and his family?

"I'll kill him."

The picture of her hurt,and afraid. It's burned into my mind—Serafina and Leo, are both terrified. A vivid reminder of my failure.

I sit in the darkened room, slouched in the leather chair behind my desk, gripping the shattered phone so tightly that shards of glass still cut deeper into my palm. I don't care how much it hurts. I deserve the pain. I should feel worse. This is nothing compared to what they're going through because of me. Marco is a fucking maniac. God only knows what he will do to them. When I think of the possibilities, it makes me sick to my stomach, and the urge to hurl comes back with a vengeance.

I stare at the cracked screen. For the first time since I was a little boy, there are tears in my eyes—what have I done? I should have left her alone, let her go. She was happy without me. Even if Marco was circling, he had no way to get what he wanted until I pursued her. Every second that passes is another secondMarco has them, another second they could be suffering. But I can't move. I cannot force myself into action—he will kill me—and them.

"I should've driven her myself." The thought lances through me, sharp and unforgiving. "I didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't want to face it."

I did this.

I sent them away thinking it would protect them, but I put them straight into his hands. I wish I knew what he said to her on the terrace, then I'd have all the pieces. My breaths are ragged, sticking in my dry throat. It's hard to breathe as waves of guilt crash over me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, tears finally leaking out of them and rolling down my cheeks. The darkness behind my eyelids only brings more terrifying images—the car, the fire, Serafina's terrified scream. It's all happening again. I should call Enzo, mobilize my men—something, anything. I need to make a move before it's too late—Marco is not a very patient man.

I shoveback from the desk, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as I stand. Pacing the room again, I can't sit still. I don't know what to do with myself. My fists clench and unclench at my sides, trying to find a way to save her and not die—but the more I think about it, the fewer solutions I come up with.

Serafina's last words to me cut deeper than any blade.

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