Page 86 of Tormented Oath

My fingers trace the wedding ring. Stefano's claim. His protection. His prison.

I pull the hairpin from my hair, examining it carefully. A gift from my mother years ago, ornate, deadly. Disguised as something beautiful. Just like me.

"Time to work," I murmur.

The Fiori brothers aren't stupid. They'll be watching every move, looking for any sign of deception.

Which means my performance needs to be flawless.

I take a deep breath. Center myself. Become exactly who they expect me to be.

The desperate wife. The betrayer. The woman willing to sell out her husband to save herself.

Just another role. Just another con.

Except this time, everything actually matters.

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Pale skin. Dark eyes. I look like someone who has nothing left to lose.

Perfect.

Time to go to war.

The gravel crunches beneath my shoes, each step deliberate. My hand nestles the hairpin deeper into my hair, a weapon hidden in plain sight.

Abandoned warehouses always smell the same, stale dust and rusted metal. This one breathes decay. Industrial grime coats every surface, telling stories of neglect and abandoned dreams. Just like mine.

I scan the perimeter instinctively. Three potential entry points. Two shadowy corners that are perfect for an ambush. A stack of old pallets that could provide temporary cover if things go sideways.

The massive metal doors look like they've weathered a hundred battles. Rust-eaten hinges. Faded graffiti. Paint peeling like old skin. I run my fingers along the edge, feeling the texture.

I'm not just walking into a trap. I'm walking into the most dangerous performance of my life.

Time to remind the Fiori brothers why they should never underestimate a woman with nothing left to lose.

I place my hand on the warehouse door.

And push.

The warehouse interior swallows me whole. Shadows stretch like hungry fingers across concrete floors stained with decades of industrial secrets. My eyes adjust quickly—another survival skill honed through years of practice, of always needing to read a room faster than anyone else.

Four men. No, five. Their positions are etched into my mind before they can fully register my presence.

Two are near the far wall, trying to look casual but hands too close to their waistbands. Classic concealed carry. One is by a rusted support column, and another is near what looks like an old office doorway. And Stefano.

God, Stefano.

He's barely recognizable. Beaten. Broken. A shadow of the powerful man who forced a wedding ring onto my finger just hours ago. The sight hits me like a physical blow, but I can't, won't, let it show.

My face becomes a mask. Cold. Calculating. Exactly what the Fiori brothers expect from a woman about to betray her husband.

The Fiori brothers, Carlo and Marco, watch me with predatory intensity. Their expensive shoes stand out in stark contrast to the warehouse's decay. They are vultures in thousand-dollar suits, waiting to pick apart what remains of Stefano's empire.

I've been underestimated my entire life. By my own parents. By marks. By entire criminal networks.

Today I hope it is the same. Today the Fioris mistake will cost them everything.

"Gentlemen," I say, my voice cutting through the silence.

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