Page 110 of Dangerous Vows

“You think I want this chaos?” Vukan says suddenly, leaning forward, as if he had read my thoughts, effectively diffusing the situation. “You think I want the feds crawling through every shipping lane, every dock, every damn alley? My brother burns down the city, and what happens? They come for all of us.”

“You’re concerned,” Matteo says flatly.

Vukan doesn’t deny it. “I’m realistic. My brother’s ego is bigger than his common sense. There is no room for inflated importance in our world,” he turns to Matteo. “You know that. Besides, I have men in Serbia to answer to, and if you think these streets are unforgiving, you have no idea what my country is like. We rule by guns, and I’ve seen enough war to last a lifetime,” he says as he grounds out his cigarette on the table and tosses the butt like it’s a bad idea.

“There’s enough to go around,” I say. “Plenty of product. Plenty of profit. The only thing we don’t have isstability.”

He nods slowly. “Agreed. But I need assurances. If I give you Miloš, but I need assurances Moretti won’t retaliate.”

“Easy,” Matteo says, smiling for the first time. “I have a plan to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

And just like that?—

We all lean in.

I’ve never believedin hope.

Not in the way most people do.

Hope is a weakness when you're born into blood and taught that power is survival. But lately… I can taste it because we’ve got a solid plan.

Matteo and I had a private meeting with Vukan. He’s been briefed on our plan. We either seize today, or we perish in it.

Vukan’s playing his part, whether he knows it or not. Julia’s watching every move he and Miloš make like a hawk circling its prey. Renalto and Niccolò are locking down supply chains, and hitting Moretti assets with precision, effectively cutting all the power and resources he has in his reach—slowly, and methodically.

Every move we make draws our enemies closer to the end, making Miloš beg for a meeting. We have to squeeze him to make our plan work.

I’m confident we will, because we’re not playing with checkers here. This is chess, and for once, we’re two moves ahead.

We need everyone to play their role.

There’s no room for hesitation and no margin for error.

If we hit hard, hit fast, and do it right, this war ends before Amara even shows that she’s pregnant with my child growing inside her, and before Amara has to see any more of the dark shit I’ve tried to shield her from.

I picture her smiling in the kitchen with that record player spinningsoft Italian music, barefoot, and dancing around in one of my shirts. Later, she’d feed me bites of some ridiculous dessert, which she insists is better than her grandmother’s.

I want that.

God,I want that.

For the first time, I can see something past the next hit or the subsequent betrayal.

I can seenormal.

Not quiet. Not boring. Not soft. But ours.

A future.

Her hand in mine.

The coos and cries of a child in our home.

Peace—whatever version of it we can steal in a world like ours.

We’re so close I can feel it in my bones.

Now we have to finish what others started.

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