Page 43 of Vows Made in Silence
“Make the call,” I tell Turk.
He nods. “Breach in sixty.”
As we spread out, a new voice crackles over the comms. A voice that turns my blood to ice.
"Luca... it's been a long time."
Anthony Gallo.
My father’s consigliere. The man who taught me how to shoot before I could spell. "Welcome to the end of your empire, Luca. Let’s see how far you’ll go for blood."
Shock slams into my gut—followed swiftly by hatred so sharp I taste metal.
Turk mutters, “We’ve got a location trace coming in—he’s nearby.”
“Then let’s finish this,” I growl.”
—
"Where is he?" My voice is low, but it’s loaded.
No answer.
Instead, my screen lights up with a single photo.
Daniel.
Tied. Bloodied. His eyes are swollen from crying. His lips moving—barely—but I know exactly what he’s saying. Mommy. I can see it in the shape of his mouth, in the terror on his face. And I know Giuliana can see it too, right now, on the screens in the safe house.
She’s watching this same image with me.
The line clicks back on.
"No promises, Luca," Gallo drawls. His voice slinks through the phone like poison. "You get one shot. No tricks. One drop point. You come alone, or I send your boy back to you in pieces."
My jaw locks. Blood roars in my ears.
We round the last bend before the ridge when the first shot cracks the silence.
A bullet punches through the side panel of the lead SUV, sending sparks into the brush. The convoy brakes hard. I’m outof the vehicle before it’s even stopped, gun drawn, crouched low behind the hood.
“Contact,” Turk snarls through the comms. “Snipers. North tree line.”
I scan the darkness, eyes adjusting to movement no civilian would catch. Two flashes—scope reflections. I raise my pistol and squeeze off two controlled shots. One body drops. The second vanishes into the trees.
“They’re flanking,” I bark. “Push through the ridge. We don’t stop. We drive through.”
The convoy surges forward. Another SUV takes a hit to the rear axle, fishtails but recovers. I jump back into the driver’s seat, tires kicking up dust and fury.
“They’re trying to stall us,” Turk growls. “ To buy time to vanish with him.”
“They’re out of time.
Turk yells into the comms, issuing tactical orders. “Sweep left. Secure the blind corners. I want two sharps on elevation—now.”
My SUV is the last to crest the ridge, and from here, the compound sprawls like a tomb. Motion-activated lights flicker on, catching movement—three guards scrambling toward the loading bay.
“Eyes on tangoes,” someone shouts. Muzzle flashes light up the distance. A bullet pings off the hood of the nearest truck.
