Page 77 of Forbidden Vengeance

Giuseppe always said love was weakness. That it would get me killed faster than any bullet.

Looking at Elena now, I finally understand—he was wrong about that too.

Love isn’t weakness. It’s armor. It’s a weapon. It’s everything I never knew I needed until she crashed into my life with her perfect masks and calculating mind.

And I’ll be damned if I let Anthony Calabrese take it from me.

24

ELENA

Ican’t sleep. Beside me, Mario sprawls across the bed, one muscled arm flung wide. Moonlight streams through bulletproof glass, bathing him in silver that catches on old scars and new bruises. Even in sleep, he looks ready to move at the slightest threat.

I study the man everyone sneers at. The sharp cut of his jaw, softened slightly in sleep. The scar that curves along his collarbone—a souvenir from some long-ago violence. His face holds none of its usual careful control, making him look younger, almost peaceful. It’s hard to reconcile this version of him with the deadly precision I witnessed in the church.

But that’s who he is—both the man who kills without hesitation and the one who traces my growing belly with reverent hands. The exile who would burn the world to protect what’s his.

Anthony’s words echo in my head:“Ask your friend Bella what happens when someone crosses me. Ask her about her father’s last moments.”That cold smile before he disappeared into the smoke—he knows something. Something that makes him certain of victory despite tonight’s chaos.

I slip from bed, pulling on some leggings and a long-sleeved shirt. The soft material comfortingly settles around me as I move to the window. One hand finds my stomach, hoping beyond hope that today would be the day I feel our daughter move.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I whisper to her. “I promise you’ll grow up knowing how fiercely you’re loved.”

Manhattan sprawls before me, a glittering maze of light and shadow. But something feels wrong—an instinct screaming that we’ve missed something vital.

My phone buzzes and my heart nearly stops. It’s almost 1 a.m. No one should be messaging me at this time.

With shaking hands, I grab my phone and look to see who it is.

It’s a message from Siobhan through our secure channel:Anthony just left a meeting with my father. Somehow he found your safe house location. They’re moving tonight. Father wants Mario delivered alive—says he has “unfinished business” with him. Anthony has permission to handle you however he sees fit—Calabrese’s exact words were “retrieve what’s mine by any means necessary.” They’re already positioning men around the building.

Another message follows quickly:This isn’t just about territory anymore, Elena. Father wants to make an example of Mario’s betrayal. And Anthony…the way he smiled when discussing his plans for you…Be careful.

Horror solidifies in my gut as my mind races through possibilities. The garage exit would be watched. The service entrance is too obvious. But the building next door shares a maintenance tunnel—if we can reach it before they close the gap…

My hand tightens protectively over my stomach as I move to wake Mario. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before they breach the perimeter.

Before I can get to him, the first shots shatter the windows, sending glass raining across my bare feet as I scramble towards the bed.

By the time I reach the bed, Mario is already dressed and armed, yanking me behind cover in seconds. “Down!” he barks, his body shielding mine as more bullets tear through the safe house. “Stay low and move!”

The hardwood floor is cold against my knees as I army crawl toward the panic room, my growing belly making the movement awkward but manageable. “Anthony met with O’Connor,” I gasp out between breaths. “They found us somehow. O’Connor wants you alive—something about unfinished business. Anthony has permission to take me by any means necessary.”

“Fucking hell.” Mario’s phone lights up with security alerts, his face hardening with fury. “They’ve got all exits covered. Multiple teams, coordinated assault.” He grabs my arm. “Follow me. Stay close.”

We move through the safe house as windows explode inward, glass crunching under our feet. The beautiful apartment we’ve called home becomes a tactical nightmare of broken furniture and bullet holes.

The elevator shaft looms before us—our best chance at reaching the basement exit. Mario secures the harness around me with practiced hands, double-checking every strap. “Hold onto me,” he orders. “Let me take your weight.”

The descent is terrifying. Mario keeps me pressed against him, one arm secure around my waist while the other holds his weapon ready. Each floor we pass brings new threats—voices echoing through the darkness.

“Check the north stairwell!”

“Nothing on twelve!”

“They’re moving down, lads!” The Irish accent carries clearly. “Don’t let them reach the garage!”

We’re three floors from the basement when I spot movement below—flashlight beams sweeping the shaft. My mind races as I pull up building schematics on my phone, already calculating alternatives. Always have an escape route—the first lesson Mario taught me.

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