Page 73 of Forbidden Vengeance

I pace the safe house, muscles coiled tight with anticipation. Elena watches me from the couch where she reviews intelligence reports, one hand absently stroking her growing belly. The sight still hits me in ways I can’t quite name—this fierce, brilliant woman carrying new life while helping me navigate a war.

My phone buzzes—Sofia’s name lighting up the screen. The message makes my blood run cold:Anthony has my brother. Meeting at the old St. Patrick’s church in one hour or Marco dies. Come alone.

“No.” My voice cuts through the quiet room. “It’s obviously a trap.”

“Marco helped us escape Anthony at my office,” Elena says, already reaching for her coat after she quickly scanned the text. “He’s given us intelligence, protection, support. We can’t just?—”

“Wearen’t doing anything.” I move to block her path, panic clawing at my throat. Not her. Not again. “You’re staying here while I handle this.”

“Like hell I am.” Her blue eyes flash with that dangerous fire that first drew me to her—that perfect blend of calculation and courage. “Marco and Sofia risked everything to help us. I won’t abandon them now.”

“You’re four months pregnant!” The words come out harsher than intended, fear making my voice sharp.

“Which is exactly why Anthony won’t risk harming me.” She meets my gaze steadily, that brilliant mind already working through angles. “He wants his heir too badly. We can use that.”

I study her face—the determination in those blue eyes, the slight lift of her chin that means she’s already decided. My little planner, always three steps ahead, always willing to risk everything for what matters.

Giuseppe would call it weakness. This need to protect people who’ve helped us, this refusal to sacrifice pawns for tactical advantage.

But I’m not Giuseppe. And Elena isn’t some pawn to be sacrificed.

“Fine,” I growl, already calculating exit routes and backup plans. “But we do this my way.”

The smile she gives me is pure danger—a reminder that she’s as dangerous as anyone. God help me, but I love her for it.

Even if she’s probably going to get us both killed.

The abandonedchurch looms like a gothic nightmare against Manhattan’s skyline. Crumbling gargoyles peer down from weathered stone, their grotesque faces casting monstrousshadows in the streetlights. The rose window above the entrance is broken, jagged glass teeth catching moonlight like an open wound.

Through surveillance cameras, I watch Elena approach those massive wooden doors. Her black dress can’t hide her growing belly, but she moves with that purposeful elegance that’s become second nature. Even now, walking into danger, she maintains the image we’ve crafted—the ambitious society planner caught between powerful men.

She plays her role perfectly as she enters the church. That precise mix of fear and defiance as she surveys the space, one hand resting protectively over our child—Anthony’s child, I correct myself bitterly. Every gesture calculated to draw attention exactly where she wants it.

Then Anthony emerges from the shadows like a demon from hell, and my blood runs cold.

“Such a clever little thing,” he muses, circling Elena like a shark scenting blood. Marco kneels nearby, his face a mess of bruises and dried blood. His left eye is swollen shut, but his good eye meets mine through the camera with steady determination. Two of Anthony’s men hold guns to his head with practiced ease.

“Playing both sides so beautifully,” Anthony continues. “But did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

More of his men materialize from the darkness between stone pillars, their weapons glinting in the dim light filtering through broken stained glass. “Did you enjoy it?” Anthony asks Elena. “Using my bed to steal our secrets? Carrying my child while plotting with the DeLuca bastard?”

“Actually,” Elena says with deadly calm that makes my chest tight with pride and terror, “I did enjoy it. Every moment I spent gathering evidence of your trafficking operation. Every piece of intelligence I fed to Mario. Watching you think you were so clever while I dismantled everything piece by piece.”

Anthony’s hand flashes out, catching her chin. Every muscle in my body screams to move, to tear him apart for daring to touch her. “Careful,cara. You seem to have forgotten who holds the power here.”

“No.” Elena’s smile is cruel. “Youhave.”

Sofia appears from behind an ornate confessional, her gun trained on Anthony’s head with rock-steady aim. “Let my brother go,” she says pleasantly, as if discussing the weather, “or I paint these lovely stained glass windows with your brains.”

My finger tightens on my own trigger as I watch through my scope. One signal from Elena, and this becomes a bloodbath.

But Anthony just laughs—a cruel sound that makes the hairs on my neck rise. It’s the same laugh Johnny used before destroying things he considered his property. “Did youreallythink I’d come without insurance?”

He pulls out his phone, showing them a video feed. “That’s your father’s house, isn’t it Sofia? Such a shame about the gas leak they haven’t discovered yet. One phone call and?—”

The explosion of stained glass sends rainbow shards raining down as my team breaches through the windows. Fury ignites through my veins at his threat to Marco and Sofia’s father. I move with the lethal precision Giuseppe beat into me, each movement calculated for maximum damage.

The first man goes down before he can raise his weapon—my elbow crushing his windpipe as I use his body as a shield. Two more rush me with knives, but years of training make their movements seem slow. I redirect one blade into his partner’s chest while snapping the other’s knee with a precise kick.

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