Page 52 of Silent Vows

Artist and ice princess, forced together by circumstance, now finding common ground in survival.

“The wound will heal clean,” Dr. Marcus says, securing the bandage with practiced hands. He’s been the family’s private physician since Giuseppe’s time, which means he knows better than to sugarcoat things. “But you need rest, Boss. No shooting anyone for at least a week.”

“No promises,” I mutter, already shrugging my shirt back on one-handed. The movement pulls at fresh stitches, but I’ve had worse. Much worse.

Through the window, I watch Bianca say something that makes Bella laugh—not the polished society smile she’s perfected this past week, but something real and bright that transforms her entire face. The sound carries through the glass, hitting me like a physical blow.

When was the last time I heard such genuine joy in this house?

“They’re quite remarkable,” Antonio observes from his post by the door. My most trusted captain has seen enough to know when something extraordinary is happening. “Both of them.”

“They are.” I button my shirt carefully, each movement a reminder of how close I came to losing everything in that monastery. How close I still might come, with Johnny still out there and so many secrets still buried. “Status report?”

“Johnny Calabrese survived the tunnel collapse. He’s in the wind, but we have teams tracking him.” Antonio consults his tablet with military precision. “The other Families have officially recognized your leadership after Carmine’s…removal. And Miss Bianca’s blood work came back clean—whatever they were testing for, they didn’t find it.”

“They were testing for specific genetic markers,” I say quietly, watching my daughter’s profile through the glass, seeing shadows of the past in her features, but more importantly seeing the strength she’s developed despite everything—or maybe because of it.

Seventeen years I’ve spent protecting her, making sure she grew up knowing she was loved, wanted, protected. Making sure she never felt the kind of fear I knew as a child.

“Boss?”

“I had those tests done years ago.” I turn to face him, choosing words carefully. Antonio’s been with me long enough to understand the weight of what I’m about to reveal. “The results were…conclusive. But not in the way anyone expected.”

Understanding dawns on his weathered face. He was there during Giuseppe’s reign, saw how things played out with Sophia. “That’s why you let everyone believe the official story. To protect her.”

“From the truth.” My jaw clenches as memories surface—Sophia’s tears, Giuseppe’s rage, the weight of choices that would echo through decades. “Sophia knew what those medical records would prove. That’s why she tried to use them against me, thinking she could force my hand.”

“But you chose Bianca.” It’s not a question.

“I’ll always choose her.” The words come out rougher than intended, raw with seventeen years of protection and sacrifice. “She’s been mine since the day she was born. The rest is just details.”

Antonio, who’s served the family long enough to recognize when not to press for details, simply nods. Through the glass, Bianca laughs again at something Bella says, and my chest tightens at the sound. For so long, this house has been filled with shadows and silence. Now, somehow, these two women have brought light back into it.

“Sir?” Antonio clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. We found this in Father Romano’s office at the monastery.”

He hands over a thick manila envelope that feels like it contains secrets and gunpowder. Inside, I find photos that make my blood run cold—surveillance shots of Bella. Her at art shows,dark hair wild as she gestures at her paintings. At college, head bent over sketchbooks in the campus coffee shop. With Elena at their favorite bistro, both of them laughing at something now lost to time. All dated before Giovanni’s death.

“They’ve been watching her for years,” Antonio explains quietly. “Planning to use her against you even before her father died. Romano’s notes suggest they knew you’d been keeping tabs on her too.”

I thank Antonio with a nod as he leaves. My hands clench around the photos, crinkling their edges. I had been watching her, though I’d never admitted it to anyone. Monthly reports on her progress at college, her art showings, her life. Telling myself it was for Giovanni’s sake, to protect my friend’s daughter. But the truth was far more dangerous, far more selfish.

“You loved her then, didn’t you?”

My head snaps up at my daughter’s voice. Bianca stands in the doorway, Bella a few steps behind her. Both women watch me with eerily similar expressions—part challenge, part understanding. When did they start moving in sync like that?

“Bianca—” I don’t want a fight. Not now.

“It’s okay.” My daughter moves closer, taking the photos from my hands. Her fingers trace Bella’s face in one shot—carefree, paint splattered, beautiful. “You were waiting for her. To finish college.”

“I wasn’t—” But the denial dies on my lips as Bella enters the room. Because my daughter’s right. I’d been waiting, watching, protecting from afar. Never intending to act, but unable to look away. Like a moth drawn to flame, knowing it would burn me but flying closer anyway.

“That’s why you agreed to the marriage so quickly,” Bella says softly, and something in her voice makes my heart stutter. “Not just because of your promise to my father.”

“Your father knew.” The admission costs me, but they deserve the truth. Everything in me wants to reach for her, to pull her close, to make her understand. “He knew how I felt about you. It’s why he asked me specifically to protect you if anything happened to him.”

The memory hits me with sudden clarity—that last evening with Giovanni on my terrace, just days before everything changed.

“If anything happens to me, Matteo,” he’d said, staring into the gathering darkness, “protect her. Isabella…she’s everything good I ever did in this life. Don’t let our world destroy that.”

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