Page 29 of Vows Made in Silence
The vehicle jerks into a sharp turn, tires screaming across asphalt.
As they approach the scene, Luca’s eyes lock on the black sedan. The car sits crooked at the curb, door open, hazards still flashing like a pulse that never flatlined.
But there’s no sign of Giuliana.
Luca turns to Daniel, his voice is firm, commanding. “I need you to stay here, in this seat. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens—you don’t move. You don’t open this door unless Turk or I come back for you. Understand?”
Daniel nods slowly.
His small hands grip the seatbelt as Luca shuts the door, locking it behind him.
Inside, Daniel watches through the window. Silent. Trembling.
Luca steps into the chaos with his men flanking him, guns drawn but held low. The street is eerily silent.
Only shattered glass—scattered like broken promises. A drop of blood streaks down the driver-side door, dark against the silver paint. Her burner phone lies cracked and discarded, on the asphalt.
Turk signals to the perimeter team, who fan out. “Sniper positions secured. No heat signatures yet.”
Luca crouches by the broken window, fingertips brushing the edge of a bullet hole. Clean entry. Professional.
“This wasn’t a hit,” he murmurs. “It was a retrieval.”
Another soldier finds drag marks near the curb. Boots scuffed the pavement. A struggle. A second vehicle parked here just long enough to take her—and vanish.
Luca’s eyes darken. “They came for her. And they knew exactly when to strike.”
Luca picks up the phone and sees the last outgoing call—his number. The screen still reads: call failed.
—
“She tried to reach me,” he mutters. “Seconds before they hit.”
Turk kneels by the curb, studying the tire marks. “Two vehicles boxed her in. They dragged her out. We’ve got footage from a gas station camera across the street. Sending it now.”
Luca’s jaw locks as the video pops up on Turk’s tablet. Grainy footage. Two black SUVs. Men in tactical gear. Giuliana fighting before they force her into the back seat.
“Activate Code Black,” he tells Turk. “Every contact. Every soldier. Lock down the Strip and hunt the bastards.”
Turk’s phone buzzes with a ping. A grainy still frame appears: Giuliana, unconscious, her wrist bloodied. The message beneath it is short.
We have what belongs to us.
—
Luca’s grip tightens on the phone until the plastic casing creaks.
Turk steps closer, face grim. “They’re baiting you.”
Luca’s voice drops to a growl. “Then we give them what they want.”
He turns to the nearest soldier. “Bring me Ricci. Now. He’s got contacts with the New York families. One of them sold this intel. I want names.”
Turk’s phone lights up again. “Street cam two blocks down caught plates on one of the black SUVs.”
“Run it.”
“Already did,” Turk says. “It’s clean. Government registered. Ghost protocol.”
