Page 49 of Silent Vows

“Going somewhere?” His voice still carries that false gentleness that makes my skin crawl.

“Actually,” a familiar voice growls from behind him, “they are.”

The priest’s eyes widen as Matteo’s gun presses against his skull. Relief floods through me at the sight of my husband—dangerous and beautiful in his rage.

“How—” Romano starts, but Matteo cuts him off with a harder press of the gun.

“You really should update your security.” My husband’s voice carries that deadly calm that makes smarter men tremble. His eyes find mine across the lab, and the intensity of his gaze steals my breath. Pride and possession and relief war in those steel-blue depths. “Bella’s note was very helpful.”

“Dad,” Bianca whispers, and the vulnerability in that one word speaks volumes. She still sees him as her father, blood or not. Still trusts him despite whatever poison Romano has tried to pour in her ear.

But before any of us can move, Romano laughs—a horrible, knowing sound that seems to corrupt the very air. “Kill me if you want, DeLuca. The truth is already out there. About Sophia, about your father, about what really happened that night in the monastery. About what you’ve been hiding about your precious daughter?—”

“Myrealfather,” Bianca cuts in, her chin lifting in that defiant way she gets from Matteo, “is right here.” She moves to his side, and even in her hospital gown, she radiates that DeLuca strength. “The rest is just DNA.”

Something in Romano’s face twists—rage and madness and decades of secrets all warring for control. He moves suddenly, spinning toward Matteo with inhuman speed. Two shots ring out simultaneously, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.

Both men fall.

22

BELLA

“Dad!” Bianca’s scream echoes off the stone walls as Matteo crumples to the ground. I’m moving before conscious thought kicks in, muscle memory from years of first aid training taking over as I drop to my knees beside my husband. The lab’s harsh fluorescent lights turn his blood almost black against his white shirt, but his eyes are clear and focused as they lock onto mine.

“I’m fine,” he growls, though the pallor of his skin betrays him. “Check Romano.”

“He’s dead.” Bianca’s voice trembles as she kneels on Matteo’s other side. Even in the harsh lighting, I see how she unconsciously mirrors his mannerisms, that DeLuca grace present in every movement. “Your shot…right through the heart.”

“Excellent.” Matteo tries to sit up, a hiss of pain escaping through clenched teeth. “You’re getting good at saving my life,piccola.”

My hands shake as I tear open his shirt, finding the wound high in his shoulder. The sight of his blood makes something primal rise in my chest—rage and fear warring for control. “Stoptalking. You’re lucky—through and through, missed anything vital.” I snatch gauze from the lab’s first aid kit, pressing it against both entry and exit wounds. “Bianca, find me something to bind this with.”

She moves with that innate DeLuca grace, returning moments later with strips torn from Romano’s expensive suit jacket. Together, we work to stabilize the bleeding, our shared concern for Matteo temporarily erasing any tension between us. Her hands are steady as she helps me bind the wounds, and I see steel beneath her teenage facade—the same steel I’ve come to recognize in her father.

“Security team’s sweeping the building,” Matteo reports, his free hand covering mine where it presses against his wound. The heat of his skin grounds me, reminds me he’s alive despite the blood staining my hands. “But we need to move. The Calabrese family won’t be far behind.”

“You need a hospital,” I argue, though I already know it’s futile.

“What I need is to get my family somewhere safe.” His eyes move between Bianca and me, carrying that intensity that still makes my breath catch. “Both of you.”

The word “family” catches us all off guard. After everything that’s been revealed about parentage and succession, it should feel hollow. Instead, it feels more real than ever—like steel forged in fire, stronger for the tempering.

“Both of us?” Bianca’s voice sounds younger than her seventeen years, vulnerability bleeding through her usual ice princess facade. “Even though I’m not…”

“Youaremy daughter.” Matteo’s voice carries that tone that makes hardened killers obey without question. “Some bonds matter more than blood. Some choices define us more than the ones made for us.”

Tears spill down Bianca’s cheeks as she throws herself into his arms, uncaring of the blood. He holds her with his good arm, pressing a kiss to her dark hair. The gesture is so tender, so paternal, it makes my chest ache. For a moment, her profile against the fluorescent lights is pure DeLuca—the same commanding presence he has in that turned-away photo frame in his office.

The moment shatters as footsteps approach. Antonio appears in the doorway, gun ready. “Building’s secure, Boss. But we’ve got incoming—multiple vehicles approaching from the south.”

“Time to go.” Matteo starts to stand, but his legs buckle. Blood loss is taking its toll, though he’d never admit it.

I catch him before he can fall, pulling his good arm across my shoulders. To my surprise, Bianca mirrors me on his other side, careful of his injury. The trust in the gesture—both of them letting me help, letting me in—makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

“Together,” I say firmly, meeting both their eyes. “We move together.”

Before we leave, I pause by Romano’s body. His dead eyes stare at nothing, expensive suit now ruined with blood. The gun in his manicured hand still looks wrong, but I take it anyway.

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