Page 8 of Silent Vows

Meeting tonight. The other families want assurances about the transition of power.

Another buzz, this one from my head of security.

Johnny Calabrese spotted near Miss Russo’s studio building.

Final buzz, from an unknown number.

You can’t protect her like you couldn’t protect Sophia.

The laptop screen cracks under my grip, spiderwebbing out from where my fingers press too hard. Rage and fear war in my chest, making it hard to breathe. They’re coming at us from all sides—the Calabrese family, the other dons, whoever sent that anonymous message.

And Isabella sits in her studio, painting her darkness, completely unaware of how many shadows are gathering around her.

I pick up my phone, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Antonio, send a car for Isabella. Bring her to the compound immediately.” A pause, remembering Johnny’s proximity to her studio. “And if Johnny Calabrese comes within fifty feet of her, kill him.”

My feet carry me to the private safe almost unconsciously. The combination is muscle memory—Sophia’s birthday, because I’m a masochist apparently.

Inside, beside stacks of cash and important documents, sits a small velvet box. Even after a decade, I still hesitate before touching it.

The ring had been my grandmother’s—a flawless emerald surrounded by diamonds. A symbol of DeLuca power, passed down through generations. I’d given it to Sophia once, watching her eyes light up as I slid it onto her finger. Those same eyes had been empty and lifeless when they found her body, her blood staining the stone a darker shade of green.

I’ve had it cleaned and reset, but sometimes I swear I can still see the stains. Still feel the sticky warmth of her blood as I cradled her broken body. The emerald gleams up at me now, innocent as a serpent in the garden.

Will it bring the same curse to Isabella’s finger?

My office door crashes open, interrupting my dark thoughts. Bianca storms in, my seventeen-year-old daughter radiating fury in designer jeans and a cropped leather jacket. She’s so much my daughter it hurts sometimes—the same black hair, the same blue-gray eyes, the same inability to hide her emotions.

“Tell me it’s not true,” she demands, her voice cracking. “Tell me you’re not marrying BellaRusso.”

“Bianca—”

“She’s barely older than me!” The hurt in her voice is like knives in my gut. “What is she—twenty-two? Are you serious right now? You bitched me out for talking to a college freshman at Juliana’s party, but you can marry one?”

“That’s different?—”

“How?” She paces the office like a caged animal. “How is it different? Because it’s about power? Because you need to control the Russo territory now that Giovanni’s dead?”

“Watch your tone.” My warning comes out sharper than intended as my temper frays. “You don’t understand the complexities of?—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” Her laugh is bitter, cutting. “I understand that less than two days after her father dies, you’re forcing some girl nearly my age to marry you. Real classy, Dad. Really living up to the DeLuca name there.”

“This isn’t about?—”

“Does she know about Mom?” The question hits like a bullet and Bianca knows it. Her eyes gleam at the hit. “Does she know what happened to her? Or are you going to keep Bella in the dark like you keep everyone else?”

“Enough!” My voice thunders through the office, making even my fierce daughter step back. The guilt is immediate—I hate using my “don” voice on her. More quietly, I add, “What’s done is done. Isabella will be your stepmother, and you will treat her with respect.”

“Mystepmother?” Now she’s shouting, all pretense of control gone. “She’s only five years older than me, Dad! We are literally part of the same generation! But sure, let’s pretend this is normal. Let’s pretend you’re not just using her like you use everyone else.”

“I said that’s enough.” My voice drops low, dangerous. Bianca is crossing the line and I will not tolerate it. “You have no idea what I’ve done to keep this family safe. What I’m still doing.”

“Family?” Her voice cracks on the word, her eyes flashing with hurt and fury. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just repeating history. Another young wife, another power play?—”

“Your mother made her choices,” I cut in, my control hanging by a thread. Speaking of Sophia still feels like swallowing glass, even after all these years. “Isabella’s situation is different.”

Bianca scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at me. “Right. Because this time you’re forcing her into it.” Her words drip with venom. “At least Mom loved you. I’m not stupid. Bella’s probably terrified of you. But I guess that doesn’t matter as long as you get your precious territory, right?”

The accusation hits like a physical blow. Because she’s right—Isabella is afraid of me. But fear might keep her alive when love couldn’t save Sophia.

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