Page 16 of Vows in Sin
The two of them are young but wise beyond their years. They secured us a truce, a shaky one, but enough to give us some peace.
But now, with the Morettis encroaching on our territory, that hard-won peace feels like nothing but a trap, an excuse for us to lower our guard so they can strike when we’re not looking. The time for allies has passed, and our plan to share the city seems like a fantasy meant for another world.
“Tell me everything you know,” I say, my voice barely above the roar of the fire and the din of our brothers. “I want to be ready, Blaze.”
He looks at me, the flicker of hesitation in his eyes revealing more than I expected. I wonder if he's still loyal to the Moretti family or if he’s torn now that it's come down to breaking ties completely.
“The Morettis have something new going on, opening a club,” Blaze says, hunching closer to me as if the fire might be listening in. “Right outside Manhattan. They’re putting everything into it. To make a statement.” His eyes dart to the pack of brothers, then back to me. “I am holding onto hope that something would grow from our truce.” He shakes his head sadly. “But I found out about the club through someone else.”
“Your inside man’s gone quiet,” I say.
“Yeah.” His tone goes tight with the pain of failed loyalty. “Yeah.”
I nod, absorbing the weight of the situation. The news settles heavily on my shoulders. The Morettis’ opening a club withoutconsidering us is a bold move, a direct challenge to our authority on the Westside. It feels like a declaration of war, cloaked in neon lights and thumping bass.
“They underestimate us if they think we will cower in the shadows while they make their power play,” I finally say.
Blaze stares at the fire, flames casting shadows on his face. His voice is low. Decided. “We need to find a way to use that to our advantage.”
“Let them think they’re invincible in their new club.” I turn to Blaze, locking eyes with him. “We need to strike first, catch them off guard before they solidify their hold on the territory.”
Blaze nods in agreement, a flicker of determination crossing his face. He understands what’s at stake, as do I.
Our Village.
Bachmans began buying up the land in the late 1800s. Once the entire block was procured, they gradually built the businesses along the streets. Strong, proud brownstones now house the family’s legitimate businesses. Bachman’s Jewelers, Daughtry’s clothing store, cafes, and the list goes on.
Those storefronts create a barrier, functioning as an exterior wall similar to a castle's fortress.
Creating a protected area behind.
The rows of homes were built in the early nineteen hundreds.
The homes are tall, beautiful row homes, three stories apiece. Seven homes to a street.
Seven streets.
All filled with people I love.
As the night wears on, the bonfire dies down to glowing embers. Blaze and I sit on the edge of a fallen tree, our shoulders pressed together, plotting our next move in hushed tones. The air is thick with tension, anticipation crackling like electricity between us. Our brothers stumble around in varying stages of drunkenness, their voices fading into a distant murmur as we focus on the task at hand.
The Morettis may have their new club, attempting to stake a claim on the west side of Manhattan. We have decades old connections. Our deep-rooted loyalty binds us stronger than family.
Our family has been around for a century, whereas they’ve only been organized for a decade or so.
I run a hand over my beard. “I can’t believe we still haven’t found out where they’re operating from.”
“No luck with the traps you set?” he asks.
“No.” I think of the prey I did catch.
The curly-haired spitfire in a silver dress and hot-pink heels.
I need to protect our turf, our land, our homes. I owe these men better than locking myself in the office. Kissing a girl who was searching for a brother.
It’s my responsibility to sniff out the Morrettis’ den. And I will.
“Leave that to me,” I say.
