Page 76 of Dangerous Vows

The minutes move at a glacial pace, streetlights blur by in streaks of gold and white, and the city rushes by in slow motion—a chaotic smear as I lean forward in my seat. My knee bounces with impatience. My eyes are scanning the horizon before I twist in my seat to look out the back window.

“We’re good so far. But there might be a welcoming party at Amara’s apartment,” Joseph says as he cruises through streets that are open at this hour of night.

“Faster, Joseph.” My voice is tight. My throat is raw with something I don’t want to name.

Fear.

I watch his hands tighten around the wheel. He slams the gas, and we’re thrown back in our seats. His expression hardens, silent fury etched into every line of his face as his jaw tightens. He weaves around slow-moving cars in traffic like a bullet slicing through flesh.

“You want to end up wrapped around a pole?” he growls.

“I want to get to Amara as quickly as possible.” I also don’t wanttime to think of what might have happened to her and what might still occur before I reach her. Sarah’s message was cryptic.

He exhales sharply but pushes the gas harder. The tires screech as we take a turn too fast, and the back end of the SUV skids before catching the road again.

And that’s when the sky opens, and a freak freezing rain pelts us. The roads might have black ice, as if nature is working against me, against us.

The whoosh of the wipers is a comforting sound, methodical and steady. I take a deep breath.

My phone vibrates in my hand. My pulse races as I glance down, and I see Matteo’s name.

Where are you?

I don’t waste time with formalities.

I was shot at. Heading to pick up Amara at her apartment. Need men to extract us and take us to the safe house. Sara needs protection, too.

Three dots appear instantly, and I hold my breath as my brother is typing.

I have men in the area. I’ll meet you at the safe house in Long Island. I’ll put more guards on you.

Good. We’ll need them.

My relief is short-lived. I know Matteo—he’ll take care of things. But this isn’t just about me anymore.

Amara. The baby.

I squeeze my eyes shut as my mind slips over the edge, and worry consumes me. Is she okay? Is the baby okay?

What the hell happened to her? I can’t go down the rabbit hole of what my life would be without her in it.

I know her father. I know the kind of man he is—the kind whowould rather break his daughter than let her defy him. My stomach clenches as I picture his hands on her, the same hands that have dealt violence to men who dared to cross him.

I swear, if he hurt her—if hetouchedher?—

The roar in my head is deafening.

This is more than a hit. The gunfire was meant for me, but this is a part of a larger picture, and I’m clueless as to why. The Serbs are warring with the Moretti’s. How did we get into the mix?

Sure, I’m with Moretti’s daughter.

And then it dawns on me. The Serbs must want her, and if they know about the baby, we’re doomed. Whoever has control of my baby will have the key to the city.

Because our baby means the Morettis and Borrellis have to make peace. And if we don’t have Amara and the baby, those who do will call the shots. We’d be helpless to retaliate as they chip away at our territories and supply chains. We’d be picked apart like vultures picking at roadkill.

Why did I not think of this before all hell broke out?

Before I can contemplate the enormity of my thoughts, Joseph’s voice cuts through the storm that’s raging in my head.

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