Page 31 of Silent Vows

His free hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing my bottom lip in a gesture so tender it makes my heart ache. Even with death coming for us, he touches me like I’m precious. “When,” he insists. “Because now I have something worth surviving for.”

The tenderness of the moment contrasts sharply with the violence surrounding us. More windows shatter, and the footsteps are getting closer. I should be terrified—Iamterrified—but somehow being in Matteo’s arms makes me feel safe even as my world falls apart. How can I still trust him, still want him, when he’s lied to me? When my mother is dead and I’m probably next?

Before I can sort through my tangled emotions, he rolls us over, shielding my body with his as the kitchen erupts in chaos. His heartbeat thunders against my cheek as bullets fly overhead, and I realize something that terrifies me more than the gunfire—I’m falling in love with a man I’m not sure I can trust, and we might both die before I figure out if that’s wonderful or terrible.

Bullets whiz overhead as Matteo keeps his body curved over mine. The kitchen island won’t protect us for long—already chunks of marble are flying off as bullets strike. The rich smell of coffee mingles with gunpowder and broken glass, creating a surreal snapshot my brain can’t help but catalog even in crisis.

“When I say run,” Matteo breathes against my ear, “head for the garage. Don’t stop, don’t look back.”

I want to trust him completely. Last night, when he was inside me, whispering Italian endearments against my skin, trust seemed so easy. Now, with the video of Sophia fresh inmy mind and my mother’s death a raw wound in my chest, everything feels uncertain. But what choice do I have?

“Three.” His arm tightens around me. “Two.” A bullet strikes dangerously close, sending marble shards raining over us. “One.”

We move as one unit, him firing behind us as we sprint for the garage door. My bare feet barely feel the glass cutting them—adrenaline dulls everything except the awareness of Matteo at my back. The garage is thirty feet away. Twenty. Ten.

A figure steps out from behind a column. Without thinking, I grab a heavy crystal vase from a side table and hurl it at his head. The man drops, gun clattering away. Matteo’s approving grunt would make me proud if I weren’t so terrified.

“In!” He shoves me toward the waiting Bentley as more shots ring out. I dive into the backseat as he slides behind the wheel. The engine roars to life just as bullets start pinging off the bulletproof glass.

We burst through the garage door in a shower of splintered wood. As we speed down the private drive, I risk a glance back at the house. Smoke curls from broken windows, and dark figures move through the destruction like shadows. My mother is dead, my father’s murderers are hunting me, and I’m married to a man who might be lying about everything.

“You promised me the truth,” I say as we hit the main road, my voice shaking. “All of it.”

“I know.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and what I see there makes my heart stutter. Fear, yes, but also something deeper. Something that makes me want to believe him despite everything. “And you’ll have it. But first, we need to survive.”

The Bentley speeds through the morning light, taking us toward an uncertain future. I press my hand against the window, watching the lake house disappear behind us. Last night I gaveMatteo my body. This morning, I saved his life even after discovering his lies. And now, as we flee from people trying to kill us, I realize I’m still willing to give him my heart—if he’s brave enough to trust me with all his truths.

I just pray we live long enough to find out if that’s possible.

14

MATTEO

Blood trickles down my arm as I guide the Bentley through winding back roads, each turn calculated to lose our pursuers. The morning sun flashes through autumn leaves, creating a strobe effect that makes it harder to track the black SUVs in my rearview mirror. My shoulder burns where the bullet grazed me, but I’ve had worse. What I can’t stand is seeing Bella beside me, her bare legs dotted with tiny cuts from the shattered glass.

She clutches my discarded shirt closer, trying to preserve some modesty. We’d had no time to properly dress—the moment there was an opening, I rushed her to the car. The sight of those small wounds on her perfect skin makes rage build in my chest. I’m supposed to protect her, and instead she’s bleeding, half dressed, and running for her life less than twenty-four hours after becoming my wife.

“You’re bleeding,” she says, her voice steadier than I’d expect after our narrow escape. Even now, after everything she’s seen, she worries about me. It makes something in my chest twist painfully.

“Graze wound. Nothing serious.” I take another sharp turn, the tires protesting as we barely miss a guardrail. The road ahead winds through dense forest, perfect for losing tails if you know the terrain. And I know every inch of these roads. “Call Antonio. Speed dial three.”

She reaches for my phone, but it’s already ringing—Elena’s name flashing on the screen. Bella answers immediately, putting it on speaker. My jaw clenches. We don’t have time for this.

“B, thank God!” Elena’s voice is frantic through the speaker. “Are you watching the news? They’re saying your mother?—”

“I know.” Bella’s composure cracks slightly, and the sound of pain in her voice makes me want to kill someone. Preferably Johnny Calabrese. “Elena, I need you to be careful. They might come for you too.”

“I’m already at the safe house. Your friend Father Romano got me out just in time. Someone tried to break into my apartment an hour ago.” There’s a pause that makes my blood run cold. “B, the video they released…you need to see it. All of it.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. Goddamn Elena and her need to protect Bella. Some truths are better left buried. “Elena, hang up.Now.”

“Mr. DeLuca, with all due respect, she needs to know what?—”

“Hang. Up.” I put every ounce of authority into those words, the tone that makes hardened killers obey without question.

But it’s too late. Bella’s already pulled up the video on her phone, her fingers moving swift and sure across the screen. My wife’s stubborn streak is going to get us both killed. The thought would be admirable if it weren’t so dangerous.

“Bella, don’t?—”

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