Page 75 of Silent Vows

“Running me out of town again, brother?” Mario’s voice drips with mockery, but something vulnerable flashes beneath the bravado. For a moment, I see the younger brother Matteo must have once protected, before Giuseppe’s games turned them against each other.

“No.” Matteo’s voice is pure ice. “Giving you one last chance to live. Bella’s mercy, not mine. Remember that the next time you think about coming near my family.”

Mario’s laugh follows us as we leave the medical wing, Matteo’s men entering to secure him for transport. But it’s his last words that echo in my mind: “Family is such a fragile thing, isn’t it? So easily…broken.”

In the elevator, Matteo pulls me close. His clothes are still damp from the rain, but his body radiates heat against mine. “He’s trying to get in your head. Don’t let him.”

“I know.” I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The steady rhythm grounds me, reminds me what we’re fighting for. “But he’s right about one thing—family is fragile. Precious.”

“Which is why we protect it.” He kisses my temple, his lips warm against my skin. “Together.”

The elevator opens to reveal Elena waiting in the foyer. She starts toward me but freezes as commotion erupts behind us—Mario being escorted out, flanked by guards. Despite his bound shoulder and disheveled appearance, he moves with that lethal DeLuca grace.

Recognition flashes across Elena’s face as she realizes this is the charming stranger who’d stopped her outside her office building last week. His eyes meet hers, and a slow, knowingsmile spreads across his face—the kind of smile that has probably charmed countless women to their doom.

“What the hell?” Elena’s voice shakes as she looks between us. “How do you know him? Why is he here?” Her eyes fix on Mario’s bound shoulder, the blood staining his expensive suit.

“Surprised to see me?” Mario’s voice carries that dangerous charm that clearly had made her stop and talk to him that day, despite her better judgment. “I suppose I should have introduced myself properly outside your office. Mario DeLuca, at your service.” His smile widens as understanding dawns in her expression. “But then, the DeLuca name tends to complicate simple conversations.”

The color drains from Elena’s face as she looks between the brothers. “DeLuca? You’re…” Her voice trails off as she finally sees what I’ve been noticing all night—the similar profiles, the shared mannerisms, the way they unconsciously mirror each other’s stance.

“My brother,” Matteo says flatly, and something in his tone makes Elena take a step back. But there’s something else in her expression that makes my blood run cold—not just fear, but fascination. She’s always been drawn to power, to danger—it’s what makes her so good at navigating our world. But this? This pull toward Mario? It could destroy everything.

“Beauty and danger,” Mario continues, his gaze caressing her like a physical touch. “A DeLuca weakness, wouldn’t you say, brother?”

Matteo’s eyes are cold. “Get him out of here.”

As Matteo’s men lead Mario away, he pauses at the threshold. Both brothers’ gazes are drawn to the same spot—where Giuseppe DeLuca’s portrait once hung, now conspicuously empty. In the glass reflection of the frame, I catch how similar their profiles are, how they unconsciously mirror each other’s stance. That same proud lift of the chin, that samecoiled tension ready to explode into violence. Bianca stands just in front of Matteo, and the resemblance between all three of them makes something click in my mind—some puzzle piece I can’t quite place.

“Some things never change,” Mario says softly, his voice carrying decades of pain beneath its smooth surface. “The chosen son, the cast-off son. Though I suppose some choices were made long before either of us understood what they meant.”

“We make our own choices now,” Matteo responds, his hand protective on Bianca’s shoulder.

“Do we?” Mario’s smile is knowing, almost pitying. “Or are we still playing the roles he assigned us? Still protecting secrets that aren’t even ours to keep?”

Mario is shoved out into the rain, but his words linger like smoke in the air. Once he’s gone, Elena lets out a breath. “I don’t understand. He seemed so…when he stopped me outside my office, he was…” Her voice carries a note of wonder that makes Matteo’s head snap toward her with lethal precision.

“He seemed charming? Trustworthy?” Matteo’s voice could cut glass. The sudden shift from protective husband to dangerous don makes Elena step back. “That’s how he works. How he destroys people. First Sophia. Then using my twelve-year-old daughter as bait. Now trying to draw you in?” His eyes go cold in a way I’ve rarely seen directed at family. “Let me be very clear. Mario DeLuca is more dangerous than Johnny Calabrese ever dreamed of being. If I see you within fifty feet of him again, you’ll be on the first plane out of New York. Permanently. Are we clear?”

The dismissal in his tone makes Elena flinch. I catch the flash of hurt in her eyes, quickly replaced by something harder—almost defiant. But before she can respond, Matteo dismisses her and Bianca with a curt nod that brooks no argument.

His hand finds my lower back as he guides me toward our rooms, but I can’t shake the image of Elena’s expression. Or the way Mario looked at her—like a man who’d just found another piece to play in his game.

Matteo’s hand steady at my lower back as we climb the stairs towards our room. The familiar scent of our bedroom—sandalwood and leather and us—helps ease some of the tension from my shoulders, but I can’t stop thinking about Elena’s face. About how quickly fascination can turn to obsession in our world. About how Mario seemed to recognize that weakness instantly.

The adrenaline finally starts to fade, leaving me shaky. I can still feel the rifle’s weight in my hands, still see Mario’s blood blooming across his suit through my scope. Still hear the calculation in his voice when he spoke about family secrets. When he looked at Elena like she was a gift he hadn’t expected.

Matteo’s arms circle me before the spiral can pull me deeper. I fall into his embrace, my body sagging against his solid frame. His lips find mine, the kiss frantic, demanding, all teeth and tongue and the unspoken need to remind each other that we’re alive, that we’re here, that we’re together.

“I could have killed him,” I whisper against his mouth, the words trembling between us. “If I’d moved the scope two inches left…”

“But you didn’t.” His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t realize I was shedding. “You chose mercy. Chose to protect this family without becoming like him. Like Giuseppe.”

I nod, but the words don’t settle the ache in my chest. Matteo must see it in my eyes because his expression softens, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost pleading.

I nod again, and he kisses me once more, slower this time, but no less intense. His hands slip under my blouse, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my waist. The touch sends a shiver through me, and I gasp against his mouth. Matteo takes his time, peeling away my blouse and then my bra, exposing me to the light spilling through the windows.

He steps back, his gaze sweeping over me. “Beautiful,” he breathes, his voice rough.

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