Page 58 of Silent Vows

I look up at him from where I kneel beside Elena, my designer suit ruined with blood and gunpowder residue. Johnny’s body lies a few feet away, his handsome features forever frozen in that final moment of surprise. My hands should shake after taking a life, but they remain steady as I hold my best friend. “Tell my husband the threat’s been eliminated. Permanently.”

“And you?” A careful question.

I touch the graze on my arm where his last bullet found home. The wound stings, but the adrenaline still coursing through my system dulls the pain to background noise. “Tell him I’m bringing his wife and our friend home. Where we belong.”

Rising carefully, I take in the full scope of destruction around us as Antonio relays the message. Blood—some Johnny’s, some his men’s, some mine—stains the Swedish furniture and Italian marble. This was her sanctuary, her escape from our world, and now it’s just another casualty of the life I was born into. The life I finally stopped running from.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her hair as I help her stand. My body aches from the fight, but I push the pain aside. “This is all my fault.”

She pulls back enough to look at me, and despite her split lip and mascara-stained cheeks, despite having watched me kill a man in her living room, I see resolve in her eyes. “Don’t you dare apologize. You came for me. Yousavedme.”

“Always.” My voice breaks slightly as I steady her on shaky legs. “That’s what family does.”

Because that’s what this was always about—belonging. Finding my place not just in Matteo’s world, but in myself. Becoming not who I was forced to be, but who I chose to be. Learning that sometimes the most beautiful art comes from destruction. Sometimes the most important choices are made in moments of violence.

Sirens wail in the distance as Antonio’s team begins cleanup. By the time the police arrive, they’ll find nothing but an unfortunate break-in, no suspects to be found. Elena will be safely hidden away at the compound until we’re sure no other threats remain. And I…

I choose this. This family, this life, this love. The weight of the gun at my shoulder, the knife retrieved from Johnny’s corpse, the wedding ring that means more now than it did a week ago.

I choose to be both artist and donna, creator and destroyer, wife and warrior.

For better or worse, till death do us part.

As we leave Elena’s ruined apartment, I send one text to my husband:Coming home. All of us.

His response is immediate:Hurry. Some of us are terrible at waiting.

I smile despite everything, because I hear what he’s not saying. He loves me. He trusts me. He’s proud of me.

And that’s worth every drop of blood, every hard choice, every step into this dangerous new life we’re building together.

One bullet at a time.

25

MATTEO

Ipace my study like a caged predator, each step sending fresh waves of pain through my injured shoulder. The security feed shows three black SUVs approaching the mansion’s gates, but I won’t breathe properly until I see her. Until I can touch her, hold her, make sure she’s real and whole and alive.

“She did it,” Bianca says from her perch on my desk, watching the feed with forced casualness. But I see how her fingers grip the edge, betraying her own tension. “Of course she did it.”

“Of course,” I echo, but my hands clench as memories assault me—Sophia’s broken body, Giovanni’s closed casket, Cher Russo’s crime scene photos. I’ve lost too much, buried too many, to trust in certainty. The thought of Bella facing Johnny alone, even with Antonio’s team in position, makes something primal rage in my chest.

The study door opens and suddenly she’s there, alive and fierce and mine. But the sight of her makes my blood boil—her elegant suit is spattered with blood and gunpowder residue, her jaw darkening with what will become an impressive bruise. Acut above her eyebrow still seeps blood, and the way she holds herself speaks of other injuries she’s trying to hide.

She’s helped Elena to the mansion’s medical suite, briefed security, handled the cleanup—every inch a donna. But when her eyes meet mine, she’s simply my wife, my salvation, my heart walking around outside my body.

“Johnny?” I ask, though Antonio’s already reported. I need to hear it from her.

“Dead.” She moves to me, and I pull her close with my good arm, breathing in her scent beneath the gunpowder and blood. Jasmine and paint and life. “He won’t threaten our family again.”

Our family. The words still send something warm through my chest, especially when Bianca slides off my desk to join our embrace. My daughter, who once hated the idea of this marriage, now fits perfectly into our unlikely circle.

“Elena’s resting,” Bella continues, one arm around each of us. Her voice is steady, but I feel fine tremors running through her body—adrenaline crash setting in. “The doctor says she’ll be fine—mostly bruises and shock. She wants to help with the other Families, prove her loyalty.”

“She already did,” Bianca points out, and I hear admiration in my daughter’s voice. “By surviving. By not breaking under Johnny’s torture.”

I feel Bella tense at the word “torture,” but she merely nods. “She’ll need protection. The Calabrese family won’t take Johnny’s death lightly.”

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