Page 48 of Forbidden Vengeance

She hesitates for just a moment before nodding. I watch her disappear into the tunnel as I turn to face the approaching storm. Let them try to take her. I’ve spent a lifetime being the DeLuca son everyone underestimated.

Time to remind them why that was a mistake.

The moment Elena disappears into the tunnel, I let the mask slip. The careful control, the precision—all of it falls away.What emerges is the creature Giuseppe crafted through years of basement “lessons” and brutal punishments.

The beast that caught Seamus O’Connor’s eye, that held a gun to Bianca’s head and felt nothing.

Blood sings in my veins as I move. Two Calabrese men go down before they can blink, their necks snapped with mechanical efficiency. A third loses his eyes to my blade. I don’t bother with clean kills anymore—let them suffer. Let them carry the scars back to Anthony as a reminder of what happens when you try to take what’s mine.

Matteo’s men pour in from the west entrance, but they’ve forgotten what I’m capable of. They know the Mario who lost to Matteo, who went into exile. They don’t know this version—the one Giuseppereallycreated.

“You shouldn’t have come back.” Antonio’s voice cuts through the chaos. He emerges from the shadows like the ghost of my past sins, still moving with deadly grace despite his age. “Matteo knows you’re in New York.”

I laugh, the sound sharp as broken glass. “Come to put me down, old man?”

“Those are my orders.” He shifts his weight, and I recognize the stance—he taught it to me, after all. “Permanent this time.”

“Not fucking likely,” I sneer, cocking my gun.

He moves faster than a man his age should be able to, blade appearing from nowhere. I counter, muscle memory from a thousand training sessions guiding my response. But he’s always been craftier than most give him credit for. The blade is a feint—his real attack comes from the left, a strike that would have crushed my throat if I hadn’t seen it coming.

“You were always sloppy with your left side,” he growls, pressing the advantage.

“And you were always too confident in your tricks.” I drive my knee into his solar plexus, following with an elbow to histemple. But the old bastard rolls with it, coming up with his gun drawn.

Around us, my men engage with the mixed forces of Calabrese and DeLuca soldiers. The garage echoes with gunfire and breaking bones. Blood makes the concrete slick beneath our feet.

“Matteo should have killed you after what you did to Bianca,” Antonio snarls, circling me like the predator he is. “Or after you tried to kill the donna.”

“Matteo should have seen me for what I really am.” I match his movements, waiting for the tell in his left shoulder that always precedes his favorite combination. “The son Giuseppe really wanted.”

The words hit their mark. Antonio’s shoulder twitches and I’m already moving, flowing around his strike like water. My blade finds the nerve cluster in his arm—not a killing blow, but enough to drop him to his knees.

“Get up,” I growl, kicking his gun away. “You’re going to take a message back to my brother.”

I lean close to Antonio’s ear. “Tell my brother that if he wants me, he can come himself. And tell him that if anyone—Calabrese, DeLuca, or fucking O’Connor—tries to take Elena from me again, I’ll burn this whole city to the ground.”

The screech of tires announces my ride. The armored Mercedes slides to a stop, door flying open. I dive in just as bullets pepper the side panels, the reinforced metal absorbing impacts that would have turned me into Swiss cheese.

Elena’s hands find me immediately, pulling me fully inside. “Are you hit?” she asks anxiously.

“Take us to the Clinton house,” I order Vincent, the driver, ignoring her question as I check her for injuries. “Now.”

“Another safe house?” She sounds almost impressed. “How many do you have?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve got more houses than you have shoes.” I wink, but then Vincent’s voice cuts through from the driver’s seat.

“We’ve got company.”

I spin in my seat. Three black Escalades tear around the corner behind us—Calabrese cars, judging by the way they move in formation. “Fuck me.”

Elena’s eyes go wide as bullets spiderweb the rear window. That cool mask she’s worn all morning finally cracks. “Mario?—”

“Hold on.” I grab my Glock as Vincent takes a hard right, cutting off a delivery truck and sending us into oncoming traffic. Horns blare as he weaves between cars at speeds that would make professional drivers shit themselves. A bullet makes it through the back window.

Without thinking, I grab Elena and shove her down. “Stay low.”

Then I’m moving, rolling down the window and pulling myself halfway out. The wind hits me like a fist as I line up my shot. The first bullet takes out the lead Escalade’s front tire. It fishtails, forcing the second car to swerve.

---