Page 39 of Forbidden Vengeance

“I promise,” I whisper, the lie tasting like ash.

Matteo catches my arm as I pass. “Whatever game you’re playing,” he says softly, his blue eyes cold, “remember that my wife considers you family. If anything happens to her because of your…choices, there won’t be anywhere safe for you to hide.”

I meet his gaze steadily. “I’d never hurt Bella.”

“No?” His smile is cruel. “You already are.”

His words are like a knife to my chest, but I keep my face impassive, cold. Professional. I jerk my arm from his grip and walk away, refusing to let him see how deeply that cut.

The air slaps my face as we exit the hospital, making my eyes water. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I blink back tears. A sleek black SUV idles at the curb, its dark-tinted windows reflecting the hospital’s harsh fluorescent lights. A broad-shouldered man in tactical gear sits in the driver’s seat,his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings through mirrored sunglasses.

Jenna—or whoever she is—collapses into the leather seat beside me with a dramatic sigh. “Take us away, Manolo,” she says, and the car jerks slightly as it pulls away from the hospital.

The innocent, bubbly cousin act vanishes as she pulls out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen with fierce concentration.

The transformation is jarring.

“Cut the shit.” My patience snaps like a brittle twig. “Who are you and why did you just risk your life lying to Matteo DeLuca?”

She winks, those innocent doe eyes suddenly sharp with intelligence. “Sofia Renaldi. And Mario DeLuca sent me to get you to the safe house in Tribeca.”

My heart stops. “Mario?—”

“My brother Marco is one of his closest friends.” She grins, looking pleased with herself. “Pretty good act, right? Though I thought that DeLuca asshole was going to have me disappeared when I rolled my eyes at him.”

14

MARIO

Iwear a path in the safe house’s hardwood floors, my footsteps echoing off floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Manhattan’s glittering skyline. Marco Renaldi sprawls on the leather couch, looking infuriatingly calm as he scrolls through his phone. His dark curls—almost black in this light—fall across his forehead, and that perpetual stubble does nothing to hide his angular jaw.

Even after twenty-five years of friendship, he still looks like the scrappy kid who used to have my back in schoolyard fights.

We met when we were eight—both of us trying to steal the same car on Giuseppe’s orders. Instead of fighting over it, we’d worked together.

That kind of thing creates a bond that even exile can’t break. Marco was there the night I held a gun to Bianca’s head. He and Dante helped me land in Boston afterward. His father might run a smaller operation, but the Renaldis have always understood loyalty better than the DeLucas.

“Relax,” he drawls, not looking up. “Sofia’s got this.”

“If your sister gets caught?—”

“She won’t.” He finally meets my gaze, those dark eyes holding the same sharp intelligence that got us both out of countless situations. “Sofia’s better at this shit than both of us combined.”

He’s not wrong. His sister started running cons when she was ten, proving herself more valuable to their father’s organization than half of his made men. By fifteen, she was the one handling their more delicate extraction operations.

Now at nineteen, she’s developed a reputation for getting people out of impossible situations—usually while making their enemies look like idiots in the process.

I resume pacing. The moment Siobhan told me about Elena, I knew I couldn’t go to the hospital myself. Matteo would have men crawling all over it—probably already did.

Going there would be suicide, and I couldn’t help Elena if I was dead.

“Your sister’s really up for this?” I’d asked Marco three hours ago while I was on the jet, after calling in a twenty-year favor.

“Sofia?” He’d laughed. “That girl could convince the Pope he’s Jewish. Besides…” His expression had darkened. “After O’Connor’s men tried to take over our Brooklyn territory last month, she’s been looking for ways to stick it to the old guard. Getting one over on Matteo DeLuca? That’s just bonus points.”

It had been Marco’s idea to use his sister. “Think about it,” he’d said. “Matteo’s looking for threats. He’s watching for rival families, the Calabreses, for my father’s people, for you. But a teenage girl claiming to be Elena’s long-lost cousin? That’s so far out of left field it might work.”

He’d been right. Marco’s always been the strategic one—probably why his father thought I should have led the DeLuca family instead of Matteo. Old man Renaldi had seen something in me that Giuseppe never did. Had even offered to back myclaim after Giuseppe’s death, but by then I was already deep into my revenge against Matteo. Already sealed my fate.

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