Page 37 of Brutal Vows

“I don’t need this right now.”

“You do look like you’ve been run over by a truck a few times.” I smirk. Dante huffs a laugh.

“Running an empire while also being a single father is harder than I anticipated,” he admits with a sigh. “I’m more appreciative of the burden my late wife carried with our children before.”

“Some things we can never truly appreciate until we walk in their shoes.”

Dante raises the glass in his hand in salute and downs the remaining contents. “Cheers to that.” He orders another round from the bartender and both of us wander back to the table to take our seats.

“Tomas asked we start without them,” Matthias tells us as he takes his seat next to Ava. “They’re going to be further behind than they thought. He said we can catch them up when they get here.” He frowns subtly, his brows knitting together, as he notices Gia stiffen at the mere mention of his adoptive father’s name. The fucker has the closest thing to a superpower as humans can get—the ability to read small, nearly indistinguishable body language. Fucking voodoo ifyou ask me. Right now, he’s zeroed in on Gia, his eyes flicking over every twitch of her muscles, every blink, every shallow breath, mentally filing each one away like a psycho.

It’s not that I haven’t seen how her shoulders tense or how her gaze darts away whenever Tomas Ivankov’s name comes up in conversation. I’ve just never made it a focal point. But watching Matthias dissect her discomfort with such intent precision makes me question if I should have been.

“Let’s start then.” Liam adjusts his sleeping granddaughter in his arms and nods his head at me. “The floor is yours Vitali.”

And so it begins.

Nineteen

If there isone thing I have learned from my life growing up with my father, it is to keep quiet and listen. The subtle art of silence is often underestimated, and when you blend into the background, people tend to speak more freely, revealing their true thoughts. This is how I survived his under his roof for so long.

I listened.

I learned.

The group of mafia men and Ava sit around the large oak table, their voices a low rumble as they delve into the consequences of going to war with Salvatore. Maps and documents are strewn across the table, and the flickering candlelight casts shadows on their pensive faces. They discuss the strategies needed to take on someone as formidable as Salvatore without sacrificing their own men. I sit quietly in the corner, my presence almost forgotten.

I absorb every word, every nuance.

No one at this table truly grasps what they are about to face. The fortified walls, the loyal soldiers who swear allegiance to my father, and those who desperately wish theycould. Men who would betray their own for a sliver of favor, eager to divulge secrets if given the slightest opportunity. “Guidoniais the perfect airport to land in,” the one they call Dante says. He’s the Don of the Romano family here in Seattle. “It’s only eighteen kilometers from Rome’s center.”

The men exchange glances and nod, their low voices rumbling in agreement. Yet, I am acutely aware their plan will fail. Salvatore’s iron grip on all of Rome is unyielding, and his loyal guards stationed atGuidoniaare heavily armed. They’ll be met with a hail of bullets before their feet can touch the tarmac.

“Ms. Nardoni doesn’t seem to agree with us.” My body tenses at Matthias Dashkov’s deep rumble. “It seems she knows something we don’t.”

All eyes are on me, and my eyes are fixed on the table. How is it that he knows my thoughts? Are they so easily displayed on my face?

“Gia.” Vitali’s voice cuts through the tension with a sharpness that sends my attention snapping toward him. His intense hazel eyes burn into my soul, fixing me in an unwavering stare that threatens to expose every hidden thought. Summoning the courage to suppress the surge of fear and uncertainty, I clear my throat and draw in a long, steady breath. What I am about to do is not only considered treason in my family, but it is practically a sacrilege—a deed deemedimperdonabile, unforgivable.

There is no turning back after this act, no chance to return home. My father will know that I am the one who leaked this dangerous information, and the mere thought of his wrath makes the prospect of torture seem like a torment far worse than anything hell could ever dream up.

“You can’t trust anyone inside of Rome,” I declare, my words full of cold resolve. My tongue darts out to moistenmy cracked, dry lips as if to wash away the dreadful reality that I am about to unfold. “Most of them are spies for Salvatore and my father, and those who aren’t will betray you for a comfortable seat at their tables.”

Everyone at the table exchange weary glances, but I pressed on, my voice steady as I lay the plan bare.

“You’ll need to land near Pienza, a quiet haven about two hours north of Rome,” I explain, my tone measured and clear. “This local area has no roots tainted by the mafia. Salvatore and my father attempted to establish themselves in that modest countryside village years ago, but they were forcefully expelled.”

As another round of exchanged glances ripple around the room, there is a hint of astonishment rather than suspicion in the air. Matthias leans forward, elbows resting confidently on the table, his hands clasp together as the gray storm clouds in his eyes fixate on me.

“How do you know this?” He tilts his head to the side in deliberate curiosity, studying me as though he intends to commit every nuance of my expression to memory. I realize then that he is not merely observing but meticulously reading me—scrutinizing each micro-expression and twitch in my face. This must be how he detected the anxiety bubbling beneath my calm façade at their plan.

“My father ranted about it for months,” I admit, thinking I might as well be honest. Lying won’t ingratiate me to these people. The revelation that my father might have deliberately sent my mother to her death steels my resolve. Working with Vitali is my best option. If I can provide him with the information he needs and assist him in any way possible, perhaps he won’t force me down the aisle like he has promised.

“He just ranted about it?” Dante’s voice slices throughthe room with piercing skepticism, his incredulous tone echoing off the walls. “Right in front of you?”

“When you’re a woman in the Italian mafia, you are invisible.” Those are the words I whisper, a harsh truth that I barely let slip because most men are too blinded by their privilege to ever grasp it. Males born into the Italian mafia are automatically gifted with an unearned advantage because their reproductive organs are on the outside instead of the inside.

Meanwhile, women become mere pawns shuffled around on an unseen chessboard, traded like precious commodities. Their bodies, and everything that comes with them, are bartered to the highest bidder—be it for alliances, debts, or simple greed.

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