Page 94 of Tormented Oath

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The hairpin sits heavy against my scalp, tucked securely in place. My only weapon. My only chance.

"Trust me,"I whispered to him moments ago.

Now I need to earn that trust.

"You actually thought I loved you?" I force a laugh, making it sound as cruel as I can while I stalk toward Stefano's prone form. Every word feels like swallowing glass, but I make myself continue.

"You thought that I cared about your pathetic empire? Your precious legacy?" I circle him like a predator. "You were just a job. A mark. The biggest con of my career."

His one good eye follows me, understanding flickering behind the pain. He's playing along, making himself look defeated despite the monster I know lives inside him.

The monster that would tear this place apart to protect what's his if he weren't bound and broken.

I raise my hand and slap him hard across the face, the sound echoing through the warehouse. His head snaps to the side, fresh blood blossoming on his already split lip.

"I'm sorry," I mouth silently when the Fiori brothers can't see my face, my heart breaking at the pain I'm causing.

Carlo Fiori laughs—that rich, entitled sound I've always hated.

"Look at the mighty Stefano Rega now," he taunts, stepping closer to kick Stefano's side. I flinch as Stefano grunts in pain, but I can't show weakness. Not now.

"The Monster of Chicago," I continue, grabbing Stefano's hair and yanking his head back. "That's what they call you, right? Not so monstrous now." My voice drips with contempt, but I let my thumb brush gently against his scalp—a hidden caress, a silent apology. I feel him lean almost imperceptibly into my touch despite everything.

Marco Fiori steps forward, a smirk playing across his features. "You played him beautifully, Ava. Your parents would have been proud."

The mention of my parents makes something twist inside me. They raised me to be this—a liar, a thief, someone who could slip into any role necessary to survive. But they never taught me how to handle falling in love with a mark.

They never warned me that I might find myself standing in a warehouse with a hairpin weapon, desperate to save the father of my child.

"My parents knew that power is the only thing that matters in this world," I say, letting genuine bitterness flavor my words. "And thanks to Stefano, I'm about to have plenty of it."

I turn to the Fiori brothers, stepping away from Stefano with deliberate confidence. "He's given me everything I need to take over. Accounts. Passcodes. The names of his suppliers." I rest a hand on my still-flat stomach. "Plus his heir. The perfect leverage to control everyone loyal to the Rega name."

Carlo studies me. "And why should we trust you? The D'Amatos were never known for their loyalty."

I laugh, the sound sharp and cold. "Loyalty? To what—the family that used me as a tool since I was a child? That got my parents killed?" I step closer to him, letting him see the hardness I've cultivated over years of survival. "I'm loyal to power. To security. To making sure my child never lives the life I did." Another step. "You offered me a chance to take what Stefano has. I'm just improving the terms."

Behind me, I hear Stefano growl something in Italian—a curse, a threat. Good. The more he fights, the more convincing this will seem.

"She's lying," he spits, voice rough with pain. "She'll betray you just like she betrayed me."

I whirl on him, letting real anger fuel my performance. Anger at the Fioris. At my parents. At the whole fucked-up world that brought us to this moment.

"Shut up," I hiss, slapping him again. This time, I let my nails rake across his cheek, leaving red welts in their wake. His eye meets mine—a flash of understanding, then back to rage. We're dancing this deadly dance together now.

The slap echoes through the cavernous space, punctuating the silence that follows. I can feel everyone watching—the Fiori brothers with their prying stares, the guards with their dead eyes, Stefano with his desperate, knowing gaze.

The air feels thick with tension, with the weight of decisions that can't be undone.

I force myself to breathe evenly, to maintain the cold mask of betrayal despite the fear clawing at my insides. One wrong move, one misplaced word, and we're both dead.

"I'd like to finish him myself," I state again, turning back to the Fiori brothers. I let my lips curve into a smile I've practiced since childhood—cold, calculating, heartless.

Marco exchanges a look with Carlo. Something passes between them—a silent communication born of lifelong connection. My stomach tightens with anticipation, with the certainty that this is the moment everything changes.

"By all means," Marco finally says, reaching for the gun at his waist. "I think you've earned the privilege."

He extends the weapon toward me, grip first. The black metal gleams under the harsh warehouse lights. My heart hammers against my ribs as I reach for it, maintaining the mask of calm cruelty I've perfected over years of running cons.

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