Page 64 of Forbidden Vengeance

My chest caves in. My best friend wouldn’t be doing this if I hadn’t betrayed her.

My office feels like stepping into another life. Everything is exactly as I left it—the wall of windows overlooking Madison Avenue, fresh flowers on my desk (probably Kate trying to maintain normalcy), the framed photo of Bella and me at her wedding.

I have to turn it face down, unable to bear her radiant smile.

The space reflects my carefully crafted image—sophisticated but approachable, everything chosen to make wealthy clients feel comfortable writing large checks for good causes. Abstract art in soothing colors, comfortable seating arranged for intimate conversations, awards for fundraising excellence displayed with calculated modesty.

A half-finished painting leans against one wall—Bella’s work. She’d been so excited to surprise me with it, showing up one afternoon with her easel and determination to “add some soul to this corporate maze.”

Now it sits abandoned, another casualty of my choices.

I sink into my chair, muscle memory taking over as I begin sorting through urgent emails. But my eyes keep drifting to the empty cream leather sofa where Bella used to curl up with her sketchbook, planning artwork for charity auctions while I worked.

So many lazy afternoons spent like that—me arranging seating charts while she filled canvas after canvas with color and life.

I miss her. God, I miss her so much it feels like bleeding.

My phone buzzes with encrypted intelligence from Boston, pulling me back to my current reality. I focus on analyzing Siobhan’s latest power plays, letting the familiar work of gathering intel distract me from memories I can’t afford to dwell on.

I’m so absorbed in piecing together the patterns of Irish money movement that I don’t hear him approach.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Anthony’s voice carries from my office doorway, making my blood run cold.

I gasp and look up, my heart nearly stopping. Anthony Calabrese fills the doorway like a predator, so much like his uncle Johnny it makes my skin crawl. The same danger, the same cold eyes that catalog every detail while revealing nothing. His Armani suit is immaculate, not a dark hair out of place, but there’s something sinister in his perfect polish now. Something that reminds me why the Calabrese name inspires terror.

He moves toward me with lethal fluidity as I reach for my phone, but he’s faster. His fingers close around my wrist, the touch gentle but immovable as he takes the phone from my trembling hand. The gesture is almost tender, which makes it infinitely more frightening.

“You’re not calling him,” he says softly, placing my phone in his jacket pocket. “Your DeLuca exile can’t help you now.”

“This was never about you,” I try, my mind racing through escape scenarios even as my hand instinctively covers my stomach. “The baby?—”

“Is a Calabrese.” Anthony’s smile shows too many teeth as he perches on my desk, close enough that his cologne—sharp andexpensive—makes my head spin. “Just like you’ll be, once we handle this…unfortunate situation with Mario.”

He straightens his already perfect cuffs, the gesture casual but somehow menacing. “The Irish arequiteinterested in helping me secure what’s mine. So is Matteo DeLuca. Why, I have them fighting over who gets to deal with the exile first.”

My throat goes dry at the calculated pleasure in his voice. This isn’t the polished society heir I’ve been playing all these months. This is Johnny Calabrese’s true successor—someone who enjoys the game of breaking things.

The threat hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. My pulse thunders against my ribs as I realize how thoroughly I’ve been outplayed. Every calculated risk, every careful move, leading to this moment.

Stupid, stupid,stupid. God, what was I thinking? One moment of rebellion, of wanting to feel normal, and I’ve endangered everyone. Mario warned me. He fuckingwarnedme and I was too proud, too frustrated, too goddamn selfish to listen.

My skin crawls with self-loathing as I remember how easily I slipped past the security meant to protect me. Protect our baby.

Our baby. The thought sends fresh panic through me. I won’t let Anthony anywhere near her. I won’t let that monster—that creature wearing expensive suits and a practiced smile—taint the most pure thing in my life. I’d rather die.

“You really think I’ll just go along with this?” I keep my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my throat. My hands curl into fists beneath the desk where he can’t see them shaking. “That I’ll let you?—”

“Let me?” His laugh holds no warmth as he pulls out his phone. “You don’t have a choice,cara.” He turns the screen toward me—surveillance photos of Sofia Renaldi entering our safe house with supplies, then Marco coordinating with Mario’ssecurity team. “The Renaldis have been very helpful to you and Mario, haven’t they? Sweet little Sofia, playing the perfect undercover agent. It would be a shame if something happened to her. Or perhaps her brother? I hear their niece just started kindergarten.”

My heart plummets to my feet. The Renaldis are one of Mario’s only real allies—the only people who’ve helped us survive this long. Sofia with her brilliant schemes and unfailing loyalty. Marco who’s stood by Mario through everything.

Their innocent niece who has nothing to do with any of this.

I’ve endangered them all because I couldn’t stand being confined for a few more weeks. Because my pride was more important than their safety.

The realization makes me want to vomit.

“What do you want from me?” My voice comes out steady, surprising me.

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