Page 5 of Dangerous Vows

A sleek black Hummer idles near the curb outside of JFK, and its tinted windows mask whoever waits inside. But I already know. Matteo doesn’t trust anyone, not even when we own the city. And if I know him, he is even less trusting because we’re the most powerful family, and others long to weaken us.

And because of that, this vehicle is bulletproof. Matteo is thoughtful and cautious. He’s a man with a vision and he’s a great negotiator. Perhaps that's why we’re all still standing.

It’s been no small feat. The Borrelli curse hangs over us, along with enemies waiting for a weakness to surface. Even if we don’t see them, we know they’re there, under the surface, waiting for us to drop our guard.

I'm counting the days until Renalto’s wedding. It’s a time to celebrate together and bring Abigail into the fold. Unfortunately, a wedding is a perfect time for enemies to strike. The first red wedding happened well before its shocking portrayal inGame of Thrones.

Marriage entails increased responsibilities and inherent trepidation.

The unspoken presence of our enemies, some known, some unknown, hangs in the air as a reminder of our past. Our past was marked by the tragic death of our mother, our father’s murder, and a long-standing vendetta with the Moretti’s.

I’m about to open the back door when it swings open, and I’m met with my oldest brother’s cold stare.

“Welcome home,” Matteo says, his voice a rough rasp—like he’s smoked too many cigars today. He reaches out, grips my shoulder tightly, and hugs me. We share a moment of brotherly love before I slide in beside him, tossing my duffle bag onto the floorboard.

Gio, his right-hand man, is in the driver’s seat, his fingers tapping the steering wheel and his eyes scanning the mirrors like a man who’s seen too much.

Niccoló leans forward and hugs me, slapping my back. And Renalto, the groom-to-be, lounges in the front passenger seat, looking too goddamn relaxed considering he’s about to put a wedding band on his woman’s finger.

“Long flight?” Niccolò asks, finally sitting back in the plush seat.

I stretch my legs, letting the stiffness seep from my muscles. “It felt longer than it was.”

Matteo smirks. “That’s what happens when you spend too much time in Sicily. You forget how fast the world moves.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Nothing moves fast in our world,Fratello. It just waits… shifting beneath the surface, biding its time—until it strikes when you're least prepared.”

Matteo nods once. “Speaking of striking, we have a problem.”

“Of course we do,” I smirk.

Damn. I didn’t expect to be thrown into the thick of it so soon.

It’s like the whole damn world is looking me dead in the eye and saying, “Fuck you.”

All I wanted was one week of family fun and festivities without the darkness of our life shitting on it. I mean,really. I just breezed into town, and I’m digging the fact that I get to head up the next family business, and wham! We have a problem. It’s the story of my life. When in the hell will we be able to live like normal people?

But that’s a rote question. We aren’tnormal.

Gio pulls the massive vehicle into traffic and merges onto the expressway. I see city lights through the windshield, like an endless sprawl of fireflies stretching in the distance. The low hum of the engine vibrates beneath me as we glide over the concrete highway. This armored vehicle is the epitome of luxury, making the rest of the world feel like a distant world.

Rock music plays softly in the background, but it does nothing to calm the unease in my chest.

“You know, I should’ve stayed in Italy. I can live without all this excitement,” I scoff. But curiosity’s a bitch, and before I can stop myself, I add, “So… what gives?”

I doubt I had to ask because Matteo likes to keep us in the loop. We’re tight. I guess growing up without our mother made us rely on each other. Granted, we had some wicked fights growing up, but Matteo made sure we always patched things up.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. There must be some truth in it—if not, all this pain would be for nothing.

I settle back into the leather seat, confident that I’ll be bombarded with sordid details of another grizzly murder. I don’t know a single man in the mafia who got lucky enough to die of natural causes.

In our world, death doesn't knock—it kicks the door in.

Renato twists in his seat, and his sharp blue eyes lock onto mine. “You remember Trey? Abigail’s ex-fiancé?”

How could I forget? Miloš Petrovic, the leader of the Serbian transatlantic human trafficking ring.

Abigail was with Renaltowhen he took down the Petrovic/Moretti flesh trade. His goal was to bring Moretti down, but it also hurt the ringleader, Petrovic. It then evolved into a shitshow of blood, betrayal, and bodies—it was all there.

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