Page 66 of Forbidden Vengeance

Because that rage? It’s not directed at me.

It’s aimed at the man foolish enough to threaten what Mario considers his.

“The FBI would be very interested in how deeply you’ve infiltrated our organization,” Anthony continues, satisfaction dripping from every word. “Corporate espionage, conspiracy, maybe even RICO charges. Imagine our child being born in prison.”

Mario shifts subtly, positioning himself between me and the Irish enforcers. Even with blood splattering his suit and rageburning in his eyes, his movements are calculated. Precise. “You wouldn’t risk exposing your own operation.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Anthony’s smile is anything but kind. “Everything leads back to Elena’s private investigations. Such a shame—an ambitious event planner getting in over her head, working alone to expose things she shouldn’t have seen. Nothing connecting to me or my legitimate businesses at all.”

“None of it connectsdirectlyto you,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady while my mind races through possibilities. “Just like Johnny’s operation didn’t connect to you. You’re very good at keeping your hands clean.”

“Whileyou’vebeen quite sloppy lately.” Anthony’s gaze drops pointedly to my stomach, making my skin crawl. “Hormones affecting your judgment, perhaps? The old Elena would never have left such an obvious trail. Coming to your office alone, carrying evidence that could destroy you…”

A gun appears in his hand—not pointed at us, just resting casually on the desk. A reminder of power rather than an immediate threat. The metal gleams in the afternoon light streaming through my office windows, and I catch Mario’s minute flinch.

Not from fear—Mario DeLuca has never feared guns—but from the effort of restraining himself from tearing Anthony apart with his bare hands.

“You really think I came alone?” I ask, stalling for time as I catch movement in the hallway behind Mario. More of Mario’s men, strategically positioned. “That pregnancy has made me stupid?”

Anthony just laughs. “I think you’ve been very stupid lately,cara. Sleeping with a dead man walking, carrying evidence that could destroy you…” His eyes gleam with cruel amusement. “Coming to an office my family has owned since before you started playing in our world.”

My breath hitches involuntarily. Of course. I’ve been so focused on maintaining my independence that I forgot the most basic rule—always know who really owns the ground you’re standing on.

“So here’s how this ends,” Anthony continues, ignoring my horror. “You come home. Play your part as my child’s motherandmy wife. All this evidence disappears, and you get to raise our son in luxury instead of from behind bars.”

“And Mario?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Mario’s look could incinerate me where I stand—furious that I’m even entertaining this conversation.

“Gets to live.” Anthony shrugs elegantly. Liar. “Isn’t that generous of me? He goes back to Boston, you stay where you belong, and everyone survives. Unless of course,” his smile turns cruel, “you’d prefer to test how maternal instincts develop in federal prison.”

I feel Mario coiling like a spring beside me, rage radiating off him in waves. The Irish enforcers respond instantly—O’Connor’s best men shifting their stances as weapons appear in practiced hands. The hallway crackles with lethal tension.

One wrong move and this becomes a bloodbath.

But Anthony has miscalculated. He’s so focused on Mario that he doesn’t see my hand sliding into my desk drawer, doesn’t notice how I’ve positioned myself during this conversation—angling my body so my movements are hidden by the desk while keeping his attention on my face.

“You’re right about one thing,” I say calmly, though my heart slams against my chest so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. “I have been sloppy lately. Pregnancy brain, probably.”

The flash drive arcs through the air before anyone can react. One of the Irish enforcers catches it reflexively—Sean Murphy, I realize with a flash of recognition. Tall and imposing in his tactical gear, but with cold blue eyes. I’ve seen him in enoughsurveillance photos, standing at Siobhan’s right hand while she builds her shadow empire.

The same Sean Murphy who’s been helping her modernize the Irish mob behind her father’s back.

The same Sean Murphy whose cryptocurrency wallets I’ve been tracking for weeks.

“That’s everything I have on the trafficking operation,” I continue as Anthony’s face transforms with pure rage. The sophisticated mask shatters, revealing something terrifying beneath—raw fury that makes my skin crawl. “Every manifest, every bank record, every connection. Insurance, you might say. And now it’s in Irish hands.”

“You stupid bitch,” Anthony snarls. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“I know exactly what I’ve done.” I keep my voice steady despite my pounding heart. “Your arrangement with the Irish was always fragile. How do you think Seamus will react when he sees proof that you’ve been running trafficking operations through his legitimate shipping routes?”

Something angry flashes in Anthony’s eyes. The gun lifts slightly—not quite pointed at me, but the threat is crystal clear.

“You’re bluffing,” he says softly, that dangerous calm more frightening than his rage. “That drive is empty. You wouldn’t risk?—”

“Risk what? My life?” I laugh, though I feel Mario coiling tighter beside me, ready to explode into violence. “You’ve already threatened that. My freedom? Also threatened. My child’s future? Let’s add that to the list. Seems I have nothing left to lose.”

Sean Murphy examines the drive with careful interest, his Irish lilt deceptively casual. “Interesting insurance policy you’ve got here, lass.”

“Kill them both,” Anthony orders sharply, control completely abandoned. “Get that drive?—”

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