Page 41 of Brutal Vows

“It will be hard to land several planes there without drawing attention to ourselves,” I point out. “We need at least two, if not three, jets to carry all of us plus reinforcements.”

Matthias shifts slightly, his lips parting as if he’s about to speak, but he remains silent. Instead, he takes a deep breath and steers the conversation forward.

“We’ll be going after your father first, Gia,” he tells her, his voice steady and unwavering. “We need to know everything you can tell us about his reinforcements.”

The room falls into a heavy silence as Matthias locks eyes with Gia, scrutinizing her expression for any hint of reaction. He’s indirectly informing her that they intend to eliminate her father.

Gia hesitates, her brow furrowing as a myriad of emotions flicker across her face—uncertainty, moral conflict, and the burden of her own conscience. This momentary pause speaks volumes to Matthias, revealing where her true allegiance lies. If she intended to betray us, she wouldn’t think twice about divulging everything she knew; such information would be worthless if given too freely. But Gia’s hesitation indicates an internal struggle over the implications of Matthias’s statement.

No one faults her for the pause. After all, this is her father—her own flesh and blood—the man who, despite his intentions of auctioning her virginity to settle his debts, once cradled her in his arms as his beloved daughter. I watch her throat bob as tears spring to her eyes, no doubt lost in the memories of the times before he treated her as more than a pawn in his schemes. But then, her expressionhardens, her jaw setting with a steely resolve, and it’s clear where her thoughts have led her.

“His home is a fortress,” she declares, her voice carrying a resolute confidence that leaves no room for doubt. “Unlike the De Luca estate, his house is on the edge of the city, but it is heavily guarded.”

Over the next half an hour she delves into the ins and outs of the topography of the estate sprawled through acres.

“We’re talking seven acres of manicured hell, beautiful on the outside but pure ice-cold dread on the inside. Every inch is covered with an intricate network of laser security systems and surveillance cameras,” she explains, trying to keep her voice steady. Her fingers dance nervously over the penciled blueprint she drew that is spread out on the table.

“The cameras report straight to father’s men. Giovanni and Giuseppe.” she shivers when she says their names. “Two vipers, dressed in Armani suits. Trust me when I tell you they possess an unnatural knack to sniff out anything out of place.”

She taps her finger where she’s drawn the front door. “It’s solid mahogany, but it is reinforced with steel. Fingerprint and retinal scanners are required to open it, and it will close on its own within a few minutes.”

She swallows hard, licking her dry lips before pointing out the next hurdle. “The perimeter fence is electrified with enough voltage to drop a full-grown bear, and three sets of guards sweep every inch of this property twenty-four-seven with more firepower than a small army. They don’t ask questions; they shoot first.”

“How the hell are we supposed to get past all of that shit?” Seamus exclaims as he stares down at the map. “Fuck, it would be better to just bomb it in a fucking air raid and level the sucker. He won’t survive that.”

“My father has a bomb shelter built beneath the structure, and he’ll get an alert the moment your plane maneuvers toward the mansion.” Gia bursts his bubble with a grimace.

“Fuck.”

“So getting in from the ground level is going to fucking impossible,” Matthias growls. “We can’t just drop a bomb, apparently.”

“What about underground tunnels?” Ava asks Gia. “Italy has thousands of underground tunnels leftover from invaders over the centuries. Especially in Rome.”

“They are all monitored. They would see us before we even open the hatch.”

“Unless we cause a distraction,” Matthias jumps in. “And someone on the inside to let them in.”

Gia gives the man a skeptical look. “And how would we do that?”

“By giving them somewhere else to be,” A deeply rich, accented voice cuts in from the doorway. “And giving your father something he wants desperately.”

“Andrei!” Ava smiles, pushing back her chair and running to greet her father-in-law. Matthias stands with his daughter nestled in his arms and strides over to his biological father with a broad grin on his face.

“Moya doch’.” Andrei lovingly calls Ava his daughter as he wraps her in a gentle hug before turning to Matthias. “Moy syn.” The bratva leader’s eyes widen when he takes in the small bundle in his son’s arms.

“Meet your granddaughter,” Ava whispers softly, her voice filled with warmth as she gazes lovingly between the two men. “Amalia Lilliana Dashkov.”

Andrei’s eyes glisten with emotion as Matthias gently hands him little Amalia. It’s no wonder he looks as if hemight cry. Amalia was the name of his late wife, a spirited American waitress who had captured his heart in his early twenties. Jealousy darkened their lives when his brother Kirill, driven by envy, cruelly kidnapped her along with the unborn child she carried, Matthias. In a merciless twist of fate, Kirill ensnared her in a world of addiction, eventually leading to a tragic overdose to hide his sins. Left alone, Matthias was cast out onto the streets, an innocent caught in the web of his uncle’s treachery.

Where he met Tomas Ivankov.

“I don’t understand,” Gia sighs, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes, filled with longing, gaze at the happy family, their laughter ringing out like a melody she can’t quite grasp. “What is he going to want that bad?”

“You,” a voice cuts through the room, firm and authoritative. “The one thing he needs the most is you, Gia Nardoni.”

Gia’s face drains of color, eyes widening as she recognizes the man who strides into the room with an air of possession—like he owns every corner of the space. Her throat visiblytightens , the muscles working hard as she tries to swallow the shock.

Her body jerks, propelled by a surge of adrenaline, and she pushes herself up from the chair with a sudden urgency. But her escape is short-lived. She barely manages a few stumbling steps before her legs buckle beneath her, sending her crashing down to her hands and knees on the cold, unforgiving floor. And then, in a moment that catches everyone off guard, she heaves forward, the contents of her stomach spilling out on the scuffed wooden floor.

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