Page 42 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

I motion forward, and we move—ghosts in the rain. The northern fence looms ahead, and my men cut through the barbed metal with ease. The stench of burning fuel mixes with the rain as we slip into the compound. My pulse pounds in my ears, driven by one thought:

Serafina.

Inside the walls,it is a war zone. The south gate is under siege, drawing Marco's men away from the main house. The compound is chaos, but the house is far from empty. There are fewer guards now, but the ones left patrol in pairs with weapons ready. We move through the shadows, every step precise, every breath measured.

A guard rounds the corner.

I don't hesitate. My knife slices across his throat in one swift, silent motion. He slumps to the ground, lifeless. I strip him of his weapons, shoving a silenced pistol into my holster, and look over my shoulder.

Enzo catches my eye. "Keep moving."

We advance through the maze of rooms; anyone who tries to stop us meets a silent death. No hesitation, no mercy. Every move is calculated. Every kill is clean.

A gunshot echoes down the hall—not ours.

They know we're inside.

I grip my gun tighter, the tension coiling in my chest like a snake ready to strike.

Marco's trap is tightening like a noose around my neck, but I won't stop. I can't. I need to find them—or him—before he ends this on his terms.

Marco's office is open, the faint glow of a desk lamp spilling into the hall. My gut instinct screams that he's in there—lying in wait for me to come to him. A power play, a twisted game to make me walk right into his trap.

I push the door open wider so I can see inside. Just as I thought. Marco leans back in his chair, his smirk is venomous, his posture casual—too casual. He's baiting me, trying to lure me in.

I step into the doorway, scanning the room for any backup. My eyes catch movement—a gasp cuts through the tension.

Serafina.

She's bound to a chair. Her eyes are bruised but still burn with defiance, a fire Marco hasn't managed to extinguish. Leo clings to her legs, trembling, his sobs muffled against her thighs. Alive. They're alive. Relief and fury surge through me in equal measure.

Marco lifts his gun, pointing it lazily at Serafina's head.

"Alessandro," he purrs, his voice dripping with mockery, "I was beginning to think you'd leave them to rot. Your son, though…" he sneers, glancing at Leo. "A bit of a crybaby, isn't he? You'll have to fix that—if you live." He grins, teeth flashing like a predator toying with its prey. "Can't have a ninny take over that precious family name. Your father would be so humiliated."

I grit my teeth, his words bouncing off me. I don't give a fuck about my father—or what he thinks. Not anymore.

I take a step forward, rage simmering beneath my skin, coiled tight and ready to explode. "Let them go. Now." I give him the chance, though we both know he won't take it.

Marco chuckles, cocking the gun. Standing right in front of her. "Or what? You'll shoot me? You won't risk hitting her. We both know you're too sentimental for that."

His mocking tone digs under my skin, but I keep my focus sharp, my fury tempered.

My eyes lock with Serafina's, her gaze steady despite the tears streaking her face. She leans forward, her posture shifting slightly to look past Marco. In that moment, no words are needed. We understand each other.

Marco shifts, his finger tightening on the trigger. He brought me here to kill me, to make his point, and he plans to do it in front of my son. He wants me broken before the end.

The gunshot ripsthrough the air—but it's mine. Not his. Marco was too slow, too cocky, and it cost him.

Marco stumbles, howling in pain as the bullet tears through his shoulder. His gun clatters to the floor, and before he can recover, I close the distance, slamming into him with everything I've got. We hit the ground hard, fists flying. He struggles beneath me, his movements frantic and desperate. But I am relentless. His injured shoulder weakens him, and his Kevlar vest won't save him from me.

"You took my family from me—my best friend is dead because of you." My voice is low, a growl of fury as I slam his head against the cold, hard floor. Once. Twice. The sound of impact reverberates through the room, matching the pounding in my chest. "You will never touch them again."

Marco coughs, blood spilling from his mouth along with a few teeth. His laugh is garbled, taunting, even in his pain. "You think you can have it all?"

I don't reply. There's no point in arguing with a dead man.

I press the barrel of my gun against his forehead.

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