Page 38 of Silent Vows

I meet her eyes, seeing trust there despite everything she’s learned about me, everything she’s lost because of me. My free hand cups the back of her neck as I nod once, drawing both guns.

Whatever comes next, we face it as one. Because Carmine and Romano have forgotten something crucial—a wounded animal is most dangerous when protecting its family.

And they’ve threatened both my wife and my daughter.

God help them all.

17

BELLA

Water drips steadily from my clothes as I crouch behind the boulder with Matteo, his body heat the only thing keeping me from shivering uncontrollably. The lake water has soaked through to my skin, making every breath a battle against chattering teeth. Flashlight beams sweep the beach around us like searching fingers, accompanied by the crunch of boots on gravel. Above us, my uncle’s voice continues giving orders, each word a reminder of how completely my world has shattered in the past week.

I risk a glance around the boulder’s edge, and my heart clenches at the sight of him. Carmine Russo stands silhouetted against the weak sun, every inch the powerful mafioso in his perfectly tailored suit. Even now, soaked to the bone and hiding for my life, I notice these details with an artist’s eye—how the sun catches the silver at his temples, the way his Italian leather shoes seem untouched by the rocky terrain. This is the man who used to play card games with me, who taught me to drive in his Mercedes, who helped me escape punishment whenever I did something I wasn’t supposed to.

Now he’s trying to kill me.

“Nothing here,” one of the searchers calls, his boots crunching closer to our position. “They might have drowned.”

“Find the bodies,” Carmine snaps, and his voice has changed too—gone is the warmth that used to color his tone when he called menipote. In its place is something cold, calculating, utterly foreign to the uncle I thought I knew. “No assumptions.”

Matteo’s hand finds mine again, squeezing once. Even through the chaos, his touch grounds me. I know what he’s thinking—we’re running out of options. The searchers are moving methodically down the beach, their lights drawing closer with each passing second. Soon they’ll reach our hiding spot, and then…

A phone buzzes above us, the sound sharp in the quiet. “Yes?” Carmine answers, and something in his tone makes my skin crawl. This is the real him, I realize. The monster that was always hiding behind the loving uncle mask. “Good. Keep her sedated. DeLuca will be more…cooperative once he knows we have his precious daughter.”

I feel Matteo go rigid beside me, every muscle tensing for violence. His grip on his guns tightens, and through the dim light, I see that look in his eyes—the one that reminds me he’s every bit the killer they say he is. He’s calculating angles, counting enemies, deciding if he can take them all out before they reach Carmine.

Before they can hurt Bianca.

The beach is exposed, the sun peeking out of the clouds robbing us of shadows. There are at least six armed men that I can count, all with automatic weapons. Even Matteo, deadly as he is, can’t take them all before someone gets off a lucky shot. Not with his injured arm already seeping blood through the makeshift bandage.

An idea forms in my mind—reckless, probably suicidal, but possibly our only chance. The artist in me sees the compositionof the scene, the angles, the possibilities. My father taught me more than just how to shoot—he taught me how to see opportunities where others see only obstacles.

“Wait,” I breathe against Matteo’s ear, so softly only he can hear. His skin is fever hot against my lips. “Trust me?”

His eyes meet mine in the dim light, intense and questioning. For a moment, I see everything there—fear for me, rage at them, and something deeper that makes my heart race. After a long moment, he nods once. The trust in that simple gesture gives me courage.

I take a deep breath, trying to still my trembling hands, then step out from behind the boulder. “Uncle Carmine!” I call, raising my hands. “Looking for me?”

Six gun barrels immediately swing in my direction. The sun paints the scene in shades of blue and gold, turning the lake behind me to fire. In this light, I can see Carmine clearly—reallysee him. The expensive suit is Brioni, his signature style. His balding head is perfectly coiffed despite the hour, his Roman nose and strong jaw a mirror of my father’s.

But his eyes…God, how did I never notice how cold his eyes are?

“Bella.” His voice drips false concern as he starts down the rocky path. “Thank God you’re alive. We’ve been so worried.”

In my peripheral vision, I see Matteo moving silently, using my distraction. Every artist knows about negative space—the places people don’t look because something brighter draws their eye.

Right now, I’m the bright distraction.

“Have you?” I take a few steps forward, keeping their attention on me. My bare feet ache on the rocky beach, but I refuse to show weakness. “Like you were worried about my mother?”

Something flashes across his face—annoyance? Or guilt? “Your mother’s death was a tragedy. Another of DeLuca’s victims, just like his first wife.” Carmine reaches the beach, Father Romano close behind him. Four armed men spread out in a semicircle, all focusing their weapons on me. None of them notice the deadly shadow moving into position behind them. “Come with me,nipote. Let me protect you before you meet the same fate.”

“Protect me?” I force a bitter laugh, channeling every ounce of scorn I can muster. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure they must hear it. “The way you protected my father?”

He reaches the beach, his Italian leather shoes somehow navigating the treacherous rocks with perfect grace. Four armed men create a deadly arc around me, their weapons trained on my heart. Father Romano hovers at Carmine’s shoulder like a dark angel, his priest’s collar a mockery of everything it should represent.

“Your father made his choice,” Carmine says smoothly, and God, his voice still holds echoes of the man who used to read me bedtime stories in Italian. “Just like your new husband made his. Tell me, did he tell you what his father forced him to do?”

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