Page 73 of Twisted Vows

Emma knows she’s pregnant with my baby and is running headlong into Seppi’s trap.

I can’t fault her, not when I know how deeply connected she is with her sister, and especially not when I’d do the same for any of the people I consider my family.

A gust of wind tries to steal the ultrasound from me, snapping me out of my shock. I read the next location to Giorgio and tuck the paper into my back pocket as I jump down the stairs four at a time.

The call cuts out on the train, but I hit redial as I step out onto the platform.

When I find another ultrasound tucked into the edge of a wall advertisement, my heart sinks into my toes.

“I know where he’s leading her,” I growl.

My fear and anxiety fade away as I jump on the next train with single-minded focus.

He’s taking her to the nearest private airstrip, which means he has his plane ready to whisk my wife, child, and sister-in-law away to San Francisco.

It’ll never happen.

Even though I know I’m walking into a trap, I slip my phone—which is still on the call—into my breast pocket and exit the train as though I own the platform.

Aurora cuts the lights, washing the entire tunnel in flashing red emergency lights.

I fire three shots, dropping all three goons waiting for me on the platform, and bury an extra bullet in each of their heads as I stalk past their squirming bodies. They lie gurgling their last breaths as I turn the corner to the stairwell.

Two men lean against the railing on the right. Their bullets pepper the ceiling over my head the moment my foot lands on the bottom step. I aim at the crotch of the closest man and pull the trigger.

Debris rains down on my face and shoulders, but I dart up the stairs, dodging the injured man as he tumbles down.

I yank my knife from my belt and punch it into the remaining man’s stomach before pressing my muzzle to his forehead. Hiswide-eyed surprise remains forever etched on his features as his brain splatters all over the upper stairs.

With a shove, I send him to meet his buddy at the bottom of the stairs and reload before continuing up into the city.

As his men open fire in the streets, I sense Seppi’s desperation. He’s way out of his territory, and by how he tries to cover his back, he knows I’m on his tail.

A bullet lodges in my hip, but I don’t feel the pain. I shoot the culprit in the throat and stalk through the spray of blood.

Before I can ask Giorgio if Nico Russo knows I’m on his turf, a dozen black SUVs speed into view.

When the front vehicle stops in front of me and the back door flings open to reveal familiar faces, I hop inside and slam the door closed. The driver peels out and heads toward the airstrip without a word.

The gate in the chain-link fence opens before we reach it. I scan the runway, but before I can locate my brother’s plane, the passenger calls out and points at the end of the nearest runway.

He’s wrong. The aircraft lining up to take off isn’t my brother’s, but the rising sun glares off every surface and makes it difficult to see.

A plane sits at the wrong end of the second runway. With the lights off but the rotors spinning, a rolling staircase pushed up to the open door, and a gaggle of people at the bottom, I know it’s my brother’s.

As the SUV turns in the opposite direction, I open my door and jump out, rolling to mitigate the impact, and pop onto my feet before sprinting toward the darkened plane.

My phone slips from my pocket and skitters across the road and into the grass. I leave it. Saving Emma and Katherine is my only concern.

The thudding of the plane’s engine signals the pilot’s readiness to take off. A woman screams milliseconds before a misshapen figure starts up the stairs.

When I realize it’s one of my brother’s men with Emma over his shoulder, I shove my emotions into tightly controlled boxes and become the heartless assassin my brother always wanted me to be, except instead of working for him, I’m his worst nightmare.

Five men stand with my brother at the bottom of the staircase. Katherine struggles against him, but her strength is nothing compared to his as he slaps her and pulls her into his arms.

Halfway up the stairs, Emma grabs the railing and bucks so hard the man loses his balance. Her heels flip over her head, and the snapshot of her midair in an uncontrolled backflip with her wrists and ankles bound is the most heart-stopping moment of my life, but she maintains her grip on the railing. As she bangs against the side of the staircase and hangs with her feet dangling high above the tarmac, the goon tumbles down the stairs and knocks three of the others over like they’re bowling pins.

I throw the knife in my left hand at the soldier furthest from the human bowling ball and dart underneath Emma as her fingers slip off the rung. Her squeak of fear ends in a grunt as I catch her. The jarring pain from my wounds doesn’t faze me as I twirl her in my arms and press her back against the underside of the staircase.

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