Page 5 of Forbidden Vengeance

My phone lights up again. Elena’s message makes my blood run cold:Anthony asked me to dinner. Told him I’d think about it. Could be useful.

“Going to check on your asset?” Seamus’s knowing smile sets my teeth on edge.

“The Vitelli situation needs attention,” I deflect, shuffling papers on my desk in a deliberate show of dismissal.

“Of course.” He rises with surprising grace for his size. “Give the pretty planner my regards. And Mario?” His voice hardens. “Remember our arrangement. The DeLuca empire falls, one way or another.”

He steps closer, and I catch the faint scent of blood beneath his expensive cologne. “Don’t let a pair of blue eyes distract you from that goal. I’d hate to have to handle this situation…personally.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air. I’ve seen what happens when Seamus handles things personally. The last person who betrayed his trust ended up as a message to others—pieces of him washing up along the Boston Harbor for weeks.

It had taken me months to earn the O’Connors’ trust after my exile, proving myself through increasingly violent tests of loyalty. I’d passed each one, knowing every brutal act was a step closer to my revenge against Matteo.

Siobhan lingers after her father leaves, studying me with those calculating eyes. “You should be careful,” she says finally. “Elena Santiago isn’t the simple pawn everyone assumes. She reminds me of myself at that age—seeing opportunities others miss, willing to do whatever it takes to claim them.”

“Is that a warning or a threat?” I ask quietly, dangerously.

Her smile is all predator. “Consider it…professional courtesy. After all, we’re not so different, you and I. Both of us, fighting for recognition in a world that prefers its old hierarchies.”

After she leaves, I pull up the most recent photo of Elena. She’s laughing at something Bella said, head thrown back, throat exposed. Beautiful and dangerous as a blade.

Another message follows her first:Unless you have objections?

I stare at her words, hearing the challenge beneath them. She’s testing me, seeing how I’ll react to Anthony’s interest. Playing her own game within our game. Just like I played the O’Connors at first, letting them think they were molding me into their perfect weapon against my brother, while I built my own network, my own power base.

The similarities aren’t lost on me. Elena’s doing exactly what I did—using everyone’s assumptions about her to hide her true agenda.

The question is whether she’s as willing to pay the price I did. Whether she understands that crossing the O’Connors isn’t like crossing the DeLucas. My brother might be cruel when crossed, but Seamus?

Seamus makes cruelty into an art form.

“Careful, little planner,” I murmur, already checking flights to New York. “Some games burn everyone who plays them.”

I trace the scar on my shoulder where Bella’s bullet struck six months ago. My brother’s wife showed mercy that day, proving once again that the DeLucas’ greatest weakness is their sentiment. Their belief that family means more than power.

Elena Santiago isn’t the simple pawn I’d assumed. She’s becoming a queen on this chessboard, moving through our world with deadly precision.

The question is: whose game is she really playing?

3

ELENA

Istudy my reflection in the floor-length mirror, adjusting the drape of my red Versace dress. The silk clings like a lover’s touch, the neckline revealing just enough to be enticing while maintaining sophistication. My Cartier diamonds catch the light—a birthday gift from Bella last year that sends another stab of guilt through me.

Anthony Calabrese doesn’t deserve this effort, but appearances matter in our world. Every dinner, every carefully orchestrated “chance” encounter is a move in a larger game. I’ve been sleeping with him for months, not because I feel anything when he touches me, but because his pillow talk reveals more than any surveillance ever could.

He’d asked me to dinner a few days ago. I’d texted Mario about it, testing him, wanting…something. A reaction. A sign that this thing between us is more than strategy. But Mario had remained frustratingly professional, so I’d initially declined Anthony’s invitation.

Then Anthony had been persistent, sending roses to my office, leaving messages that walked the line between charming and demanding. And Mario had gone radio silent for days.

So here I am, spending an obscene amount of time perfecting my smoky eye and ensuring every strand of my blonde hair falls exactly right.

My phone buzzes—the car service is here. I grab my Chanel clutch, checking that both phones are inside. The burner Mario gave me, and my regular iPhone that connects me to my legitimate life. Such as it is.

The elevator descends to the lobby of my Upper East Side apartment building, and I check my reflection one final time in its mirrored walls. There’s been a cold front in New York and I shiver. The doorman holds the door as biting wind whips down the street.

I pull my fur-trimmed Fendi coat tighter as I step into the waiting black SUV. The streets gleam wet from an earlier rainfall, reflecting the city lights like scattered diamonds. Through the tinted windows, I watch well-heeled couples hurrying into restaurants and theaters, living their normal lives, untouched by the darkness that flows beneath this city’s glittering surface.

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