Page 66 of Tormented Oath

"Let her. She can hate me all she wants as long as she's alive to do it."

Alive and mine. Forever.

The security feed shows her huddled in the back of Matteo's car, one hand pressed protectively over her still-flat stomach. The sight makes something unfurl in my chest.

My child. My heir. My Ava.

"Send word to the Fioris." I shoulder my bag, already moving toward the door. "Let them know I will be coming for the boy soon. And Tomasso?"

"Sir?"

"Make sure they understand exactly what happens to people who touch what's mine."

He nods, already typing on his phone. We both know what comes next: violence and blood and all the darkness I've tried to keep separate from Ava.

But she made her choice when she ran. When she lied. When she tried to take my child and disappear into the night like smoke.

Now she'll learn what it means to belong to the Monster of Chicago.

"Time to go." I check my weapons one final time, each movement automatic after years of practice. "Let's get my bride."

The word tastes like victory and violence on my tongue. Like possession and punishment and everything I've become.

Everything I'll gladly do to keep her safe.

To keep her.

Forever.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

Ava

A black SUVstops next to my car. Tinted windows, a slight suspension lift that marks it as armored—It’s Matteo’s preferred vehicle for ‘special’ situations.

He steps out like a shadow coming to life, all efficient movement and contained purpose. His eyes scan the area before landing on me, and while the usual warmth is gone, there's still respect in his gaze. He offers me professional courtesy, even now.

"Ms. D'Amato." He gestures toward the SUV. "If you would, please."

I appreciate that he's maintaining civility, even though we both know it's not really a request. My training catches more details as I move: his stance, his sight lines, the way his jacket sits. Armed, obviously. Ready for trouble.

Ready for me.

"Matteo…" I start, but he shakes his head slightly.

"Please." Just one word, but it carries weight. "Let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Fair enough. I let him guide me toward the SUV, his hand on my elbow firm but not rough. Meanwhile, my mind notes which of his men are positioned where.

Three vehicles, I count automatically. Eight men minimum, by the shadows I can make out. Heavy response for one pregnant woman.

Unless they know about the Fioris. Unless they're expecting company.

"My brother…" I try again as he opens the passenger door.

"Will be taken care of," he assures me, and there's genuine sympathy in his voice now. "But first, we need to move."

The door closes with quiet finality, and I catch my reflection in the tinted window—pale face, dark eyes huge with fear I can't quite hide. I look exactly like what I am: a con artist whose game just went terribly wrong.

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