Page 44 of Silent Vows

“Bella’s proved more resourceful than expected,” I hear Carmine say. “But some truths even she won’t be able to forgive.”

My hands clench around the binoculars, rage and frustration burning hot in my chest. Always more secrets, more lies. Every answer seems to lead to ten more questions, and at the center of it all is Giuseppe DeLuca, a man whose shadow seems to poison everything it touches.

Movement in the courtyard catches my eye. A medical team wheels a gurney through the stone archway, heading toward the east wing. The sight that greets me makes my blood run cold. Bianca lies unconscious, her dark hair spilling over the white sheets like ink. Even at this distance, I can see Matteo’s featuresin her face. She’s pale but breathing, an IV drip attached to her arm like some macabre lifeline.

I quickly photograph the scene, my hands shaking slightly as I send it to Matteo with our location coordinates. His response is immediate:Coming. Don’t engage.

“We should go,” Antonio says quietly. “We have what we need.”

But I can’t look away from my stepdaughter’s unconscious form. The medical equipment they’re bringing in looks far more sophisticated than what you’d need for simple sedation. Through my binoculars, I can make out specific pieces—not just monitoring equipment but blood testing supplies, genetic testing kits. The kind of equipment you’d need to run DNA analysis.

“What are they doing to her?”

“Mrs. DeLuca?—”

“Look.” I point to where the medical team has stopped, consulting with Father Romano under the Gothic archway. Modern medical equipment looks out of place against the ancient stones, like two worlds colliding. “That’s not just sedatives they’re giving her. Those are serious medical supplies.”

Antonio tenses beside me. “You think they’re?—”

“Testing her for something specific.” The pieces start clicking together, but not completely. Like looking at an abstract painting where you can see the shapes but not quite grasp the meaning. “Why go to all this trouble? What kind of tests would be worth this risk?”

“The kind that could destroy a family legacy.” Antonio’s voice is careful, measured. “There are certain things even Matteo doesn’t talk about.”

Something in his tone makes me look closer at him. He knows something—something he’s not sharing.

I think about how Matteo reacts whenever Giuseppe is mentioned—the way his whole body goes rigid, like he’s bracing for a blow. How he keeps that old family photo turned away in his office. The way Father Romano smiled when he mentioned Giuseppe’s confessions.

Something dark lives in those memories, something that makes even the most feared man in New York flinch.

The medical team wheels more equipment through the courtyard—centrifuges, PCR machines, advanced testing equipment that seems wildly out of place in a monastery. My mind races as I catalog each piece, trying to understand what could possibly require this level of sophisticated technology in a place meant for prayer.

A branch snaps behind us. We whirl around to find Father Romano’s second priest, gun aimed steadily at my head. In the dying light, his collar seems to glow against his black robes, a mockery of everything it’s supposed to represent.

“Clever girl,” he says softly, and his voice carries none of the gentleness he used during my wedding ceremony. “Too clever for your own good. Hands where I can see them, both of you.”

The priest’s gun doesn’t waver as he steps closer. In the dying light, I notice details my eye can’t help but catalog—the expensive cut of his cassock, the gold cross at his throat that probably costs more than most parish priests make in a year.

This is no simple man of God. This is someone who’s comfortable with power.

Antonio moves to step in front of me, but another gun cocks from the shadows. They’ve surrounded us while we were focused on the monastery. Amateur mistake.

“You’re very like your father,” he observes, head tilting slightly. “Giovanni had that same look when he figured things out. That same inability to leave well enough alone.”

“My father is dead,” I say coldly, “because of secrets like the ones you’re keeping.”

“You know,” the priest continues conversationally, as if I hadn’t even spoken, “this could work out better than planned. Instead of just the girl, now we have DeLuca’s wife too.” He smiles, and the expression turns my blood cold. “Giuseppe DeLuca left quite a legacy of secrets. Come quietly, and you’ll learn just how deep they run.”

I think of Matteo’s words:“Come back to me.”Of his kiss before we parted, desperate and claiming. Of Bianca lying unconscious on that gurney, being tested for God knows what. Of all the secrets that seem to be circling us like wolves, waiting to strike.

I make my decision in a heartbeat.

“Antonio,” I say quietly, “tell my husband I’m sorry.”

Then I step forward, hands raised in surrender. Because sometimes the only way to protect your family is to break their trust.

And sometimes the only way to uncover the truth is to walk straight into the devil’s den.

20

---