Page 112 of Dangerous Vows

“Which is why we can’t let them,” Matteo replies. “We need to keep the pressure on—hard.”

Renalto taps the table, thinking aloud. “We hit their port connections next. Miloš has been funneling shipments through Red Hook. Quiet. Off-grid. Julia’s watching it.”

“And we stay away from anything that looks like overreach,” Niccoló adds. “The last thing we need is to gain the Feds’ attention. They see us bulldozing our enemy’s territory too fast, and they’ll think we’re looking to crown ourselves king of the East Coast. They’ll be worried if we absorb two families.”

“We’re not,” Matteo says, deadly calm. “We just want to survive the fucking storm Miloš started.”

“Then we do it clean,” I say. “Precise hits. No mess. No blood we can’t justify.”

Matteo’s eyes lock with mine. “Exactly. We keep winning battles like today’s, and we can string them together until the only ones standing are us.”

I nod. “So, what’s the next play?”

Matteo smirks, the edge of it cold. “Red Hook. We take their port, we cut off their cash. And that’ll be the beginning of the end. Then we plan for the end game.”

He leans forward, my hands clasped on the table.

“We’re making progress. But don’t forget, one wrong move can send an empire reeling.”

I sit back, the weight of the war settling into my chest again.

We’re close.

But close doesn’t count in ourworld.

Only wins.

By now, Miloš and Stefano will be hell bent on revenge. They’re bleeding men and products. It’s the perfect time to enter the final phase. They’ll be seeing red until the blood stops flowing.

PIETRO

WE END THIS OR IT ENDS US

The pressure’s a steady throb in the back of my skull, like it’s been for days.

I can’t eat. Can’t sleep.

I can barely think with the weight of what’s coming pressing down on me like a loaded gun to my head.

The plan is in motion. One wrong move, one delayed step, and everything goes to hell.

And I can’t tell her.

I watch Amara from the hallway, her silhouette bathed in soft light as she moves through the living room, barefoot, humming something under her breath. She’s in one of my old T-shirts, her hair pulled into a loose knot, and she looks… safe.

Andfuck,that’s what ruins me.

Because I know the moment safety becomes real, it disappears.

Follow her like a bloodhound on a scent. Room to room. Step by step. Like I’m memorizing every second—like this might be the last day I get to watch her move, breathe,live.

She catches me leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes tracking her every move.

“What?” she asks, setting down her book. “You’ve been staring at me all afternoon.”

I shrug, keeping my voice steady. “Can’t I look at my woman without retribution?”

She arches a brow. “That’s not just a look. That’s the kind of stare you give before delivering bad news or dragging me into a war room.”

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