Page 74 of Forbidden Vengeance

The crack of bone echoes off stone walls.

A fourth man gets his gun up, but I’m already inside his reach. My ceramic blade finds the soft spot beneath his jaw as I spin past, my other hand relieving him of his weapon. Threeshots take down the men trying to flank me—center mass, just like Giuseppe taught us. No wasted movement, no hesitation.

I find Elena backed against the altar, one hand protective over our child—no,Anthony’schild—while she holds a gun on her former lover with rock-steady aim. My little planner, dangerous to the end.

“Touch her again,” I say quietly as I approach, letting that deadly DeLuca tone fill the space, “and there won’t be enough left of you to bury.”

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Anthony spits blood onto consecrated ground. “She’s carrying my heir. My blood. You really think I’ll let a bastard son raise my child? That I’ll let my child grow up with Giuseppe DeLuca’s reject?”

The words hit their mark—I feel that old rage rising, that need to prove myself more than my father’s cast-off son. But then Elena’s hand finds mine, her touch anchoring me to the present.

“The baby is not your child,” Elena says softly. “This child is mine. And they’ll never know you existed.”

Rage twists Anthony’s handsome features into something monstrous. What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion.

I catch the slight shift of his weight, the telltale movement toward his jacket. My body moves on instinct, tackling Elena behind a carved wooden pew as steel glints in candlelight. The thunder of gunfire echoes off sacred walls, making angels weep from their perches above.

Sofia’s aim proves true—two rounds tearing through Anthony’s shoulder in a spray of red that stains his perfect suit. The impact spins him like a dancer, his own shot going wide to shatter the last intact window.

“Rather poetic,” Sofia muses as Anthony crumples, her gun still trained on him. “The mighty Calabrese heir, bleeding out in a house of God.”

But Anthony advances like a specter—rolling behind a pew as more of his security team pours in through the side doors. The sacred space erupts in chaos, bullets splintering wood and shattering what remains of the stained glass. Colored shards rain down like deadly jewels as gunfire echoes off stone walls.

“You really think I came alone?” Anthony’s laugh carries over the mayhem as I shove Elena behind a stone pillar, my body covering hers. “My family built this power while you were playing dress-up with society wives, Elena. Did you forget who taught you about contingency plans?”

An explosion rocks the church’s foundation, the blast making my teeth rattle. Through the thickening smoke, I watch Sofia dragging her injured brother toward cover. Marco leaves a trail of blood across hardwood floors as Anthony’s men advance from multiple directions, their movements precise and coordinated.

My mind races through scenarios, calculating odds and exits. We’re outnumbered, but I’ve survived worse. Giuseppe made sure of that, drilling tactics into us until they became instinct.

“This isn’t over,” Anthony calls out, his voice carrying that deadly calm that reminds me too much of his uncle Johnny. “You’ve just ensured I’ll take everything from you piece by piece. Starting with our child.”

The threat makes something primitive rise in my chest—pure rage mixing with a protectiveness I’ve never felt before. Elena presses against me, one hand on her stomach where Anthony’s child grows.

But in this moment, watching her face set with determination even as death closes in, I know the truth.

This baby is ours. And I’ll die before I let Anthony Calabrese near either of them.

Through the smoke, I count at least fifteen of his men moving into position. We’re surrounded, outgunned, with nowhere left to run.

Time to remind them why the DeLuca name used to make men tremble.

I return fire, each shot finding its mark with the precision Giuseppe drilled into us. Two of Anthony’s men drop before they can reach new cover, my bullets catching them in the soft spots their tactical gear doesn’t protect. But more keep coming, pushing us back toward the altar with coordinated precision.

I feel Elena behind me, her breath steady despite the chaos. One hand holds her gun with practiced ease while the other shields her stomach. The sight makes something primal rise in my chest—a need to protect that burns hotter than any rage Giuseppe ever beat into me.

“When I find you again,” Anthony promises as he backs toward an exit, blood staining his body but his composure never wavering, “and Iwillfind you—you’re going to find out what happens to people who betray the Calabrese name. Ask your friend Bella what happens when someone crosses me. Ask her about her father’s last moments.”

I feel Elena flinch against my back. But there’s no time to process the implications as the church’s rear wall explodes inward, showering us with centuries-old stone and mortar. Anthony’s extraction team moves with military precision, covering his retreat with synchronized efficiency.

The last thing we see through the thickening smoke is his smile—cold and promising, exactly like Johnny’s. A reminder that this isn’t over.

Later,back at the safe house in the safety of our bedroom, my hands shake as I check Elena for injuries, needing the physical reassurance that she’s truly unharmed. The confrontation withAnthony left us both raw, emotions too close to the surface. Every shadow of a bruise, every slight wince as she moves, sends rage coursing through me.

“I’m fine,” she insists, but lets me continue my inspection, removing her clothes piece by piece until she’s only in her underwear. Her own fingers trace the cuts on my face from the exploding stained glass, her touch gentle despite the tremor I pretend not to notice.

The adrenaline crash hits us both hard. Every near miss, every bullet that could have found its mark, every threat Anthony made—it all catches up at once. I pull her closer, needing to feel her heartbeat against mine, to know she’s really here. Safe. Alive.

Elena leans in, seeking my lips. It’s clear she needs this connection, this moment of feeling something other than guilt and fear. I hesitate for a moment, my eyes searching hers.

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