Page 4 of Silent Vows

I’ve watched her grow up, keeping my distance, protecting her from our world without letting her know she needed protection. But somehow that little girl with scraped knees and paint-stained fingers has become this woman who makes my heart race like I’m some goddamn teenager instead of the most feared man in New York.

She looks lost in my massive office, like a dove that’s wandered into a hawk’s nest. The space around her is all dark wood and leather, weapons disguised as decoration, power masquerading as taste.

There’s only one photo in the room—a group shot of the DeLuca men. My father, Giuseppe DeLuca stands central,imperious, one hand on my shoulder. God, I couldn’t have been more than fourteen there. I keep the frame turned slightly away from my desk, but I notice her artist’s eye cataloging it along with everything else.

I wonder what she sees—the calculating display of wealth and influence, or the emptiness beneath it all? Does she notice how my father’s hand on my shoulder looks less like pride and more like possession?

There’s steel in her spine as she meets my gaze, and for a moment, I see Gio in the set of her jaw, the quiet strength she probably doesn’t even know she possesses. It makes my chest ache with something dangerously close to tenderness. Her hazel eyes, though red-rimmed from crying, still flash with that inner fire that draws me like a moth to flame.

“Mr. DeLuca,” she says formally, my body betraying me as she moves closer—heart pounding, muscles tensing like I’m bracing for a fight. But the only battle here is with myself.

She perches on the edge of one of my leather chairs, her posture perfect thanks to years of her mother’s training. The dress rides up slightly, and she tugs it down revealing a small artist’s callus on her thumb where she holds her brushes. Such a delicate thing, that small imperfection.

Such a dangerous thing, how much I notice it.

“My mother said you’re handling the funeral arrangements.” Her voice is husky from crying, and it does things to me that will surely damn my soul. Gio would kill me if he could see inside my head right now.

“Your father would have wanted—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“My father would have wanted to see me graduate in the spring.” Her voice cracks slightly, and the sound hits me harder than any bullet ever has. “He would have wanted to walk me down the aisle someday. He would have wanted to grow oldand spoil his grandchildren. But what he wanted doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

The accusation in her tone is a blade between my ribs. She’s right—I failed to protect her father. My best friend died because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t smart enough, didn’t see the betrayal coming until it was too late.

But I won’t fail to protect her. Even if it means making her hate me.

Looking at her now, I see flashes of the past like photographs: her sixth birthday party, where she showed everyone her first “real” painting; her high school graduation, where I watched from the back row because Giovanni thought my presence would draw too much attention; last month’s art show that I attended in secret, proud of her talent even as I worried about her vulnerability in our world.

The sun has fully set now, casting my office in shadows. A strand of her hair falls across her face, and my hands itch to brush it back. Instead, I clench my fist, letting the pain from the glass cuts ground me. I’m almost twice her age. Her father’s best friend.

The man about to destroy her carefully constructed world of art and innocence.

My phone buzzes again. Another message from Carmine.

Johnny Calabrese is making his move tonight. Time’s up.

The rage that fills me at the thought of Johnny touching her surprises even me with its intensity. I’ve killed men for less than the thoughts I know he’s having about her. The protectiveness I feel goes far beyond my promise to Gio, and that’s another sin to add to my growing list.

She’s almost half my age. My best friend’s daughter. The one pure thing in our corrupt world.

I look at Isabella,reallylook at her. So young and fierce and unknowing of the dangers closing in around her. Paint still stains her fingers—midnight blue, like the bruises that will mark her skin if Johnny gets his hands on her. She has no idea what men like him do to beautiful things, no concept of the violence waiting to swallow her whole.

But God help me, I can’t stop my treacherous mind from noticing how she’s changed. The slight tattoo peeking out from her shoulder—when did she get that? The way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous, exposing the graceful line of her neck. The shadow of her lashes against her cheeks when she looks down, trying to hide her tears.

I’ve spent years protecting her from afar, making sure she never knew how many threats I eliminated before they got near her. Like her father, I wanted to preserve her innocence, her ability to create beauty in a world full of ugliness.

She shifts in her seat, and a hint of jasmine reaches me—her signature scent, the one she’s worn since she was eighteen. I remember when she first started wearing it, how it softened her edges and highlighted her transition from girl to woman. How it made me start seeing her differently, much as I tried not to.

In that moment, I make my decision. I think of my promise to Gio, of Johnny Calabrese’s sadistic reputation, of the vultures circling the Russo empire.

I’m about to change everything for her. About to drag her from her world of light and color into my shadows. The thought makes me sick, but not as sick as the alternative.

Isabella might hate me for what I’m about to do, but she’ll be alive to hate me.

Better she hate me than end up another one of Johnny’s broken women.

“Sit down, Isabella,” I say softly, my tone making it clear it’s not a request as I sit down at my desk. “There’s something we need to discuss about your father’s last wishes.”

The sun has fully set now, casting my office in shadows. In the darkness, I can almost pretend I don’t see the fear that flickers across her face, the way her hands tremble slightly as she takes the seat across from me. I’ve spent years protecting her from our world, just as Gio wanted. But now, to keep her safe, I’ll have to drag her right into the heart of it.

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