Page 67 of Brutal Vows

If only we could guarantee everyone would come out of this alive. But life doesn’t work that way. One thing I know for sure, no matter how the day ends, if Vitali goes down, so do I. There is no living without him now, even if I try.

Because I have done the one thing I never thought possible.

I’ve given my heart to the mafia boss who stole me.

Sempre e per sempre.

Thirty-Seven

The air isthick with the scent of oil and metal. The weight of my gun feels natural in my grip, an extension of myself as I check the magazine for the third time. It’s full. It’s always full. But I check anyway.

Habit. Discipline. Readiness.

Around me, my men move in near silence. The only sounds are the soft clicks of safeties being checked, knives being adjusted, and magazines locking into place. There’s no wasted movement, no nervous chatter. Only focus. They know what’s coming.

The compound looms in the distance, dark and sprawling, a fortress built on my uncle’s paranoia. He knows I’m coming. He should. I want him to.

Dario crouches beside me, eyes sharp under the glow of the distant floodlights. “Scouts report minimal movement outside. Guards are posted, but not enough. Feels like a trap.”

“It is a trap.” My voice is calm. Because I don’t care.

I rise, slow and deliberate, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension winding through them. The adrenaline isalready thrumming beneath my skin, cold and steady. I welcome it.

“Positions,” I murmur, and my men move like shadows, melting into the darkness, ready to strike.

I take one last breath, the night air cool against my face. Then I give the order.

“Move.”

The silence is wrong. Too wrong.

I move through the front gates with my men flanking me, weapons drawn, shadows stretching long under the moon’s cold glow. The air is thick with the scent of dust and gun oil, the crunch of our boots the only sound in the empty courtyard. Too empty.

I signal for a sweep. Clear.

The bastard’s gone.

A slow, insidious heat crawls up my spine. This isn’t a retreat. This is a setup.

I exhale sharply through my nose, forcing down the spark of frustration. My uncle is a snake, but he’s predictable. He wouldn’t leave his stronghold without a reason, and that reason just became obvious.

We were never hunting him.

I turn just as a sharp whistle cuts through the air. The telltale snap of safeties being released echoes from the darkness beyond the walls. My gut tightens.

“We’re surrounded,” Matthias’s voice is flat, but his grip tightens on his rifle.

I taste iron as my jaw clenches. The shadows beyond the compound shift, bodies moving into position, the gleam of rifle barrels catching the dim light. Dozens. Maybe more.

A slow clap rings out.

And then—his voice.

Smooth, smug, soaked in amusement. My uncle.

“Ah, Vitali… I was wondering when you’d come knocking.”

His voice slithers through the darkness, curling around my spine like a vise. My grip tightens on my gun, the weight of it grounding me. I don’t turn immediately. I let the silence stretch, let the tension coil. Let him think I’m unshaken.

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