Page 33 of Vows Made in Silence
“You mean Adriano Vescari?” he asks, voice like a loaded gun.
I nod once. “That’s him. He disappeared from the city years ago. Reemerged as a ‘consultant’ for silent investors. But he still signs off on restoration permits. He still has clearance codes.”
Luca’s expression sharpens to something feral.
“I meet his eyes.” “Looks like he’s back. And he’s not alone.”
Turk steps into the room then, his face pale. “Sir, we traced a partial signal from Giuliana’s burner. It bounced off a satellite repeater—on the outskirts of Red Rock.”
Luca’s fists clench at his sides.
“They’re taking her there,” I whisper. “That’s where the collection was stored. The one no one was supposed to touch.”
Luca turns to Turk. “Get every man we have. Vescari dies tonight.”
—
The room clears in seconds. Orders explode across comms, men moving like shadows with purpose. I’m left in silence again—except this time, it feels different.
I stare at the door, still open a crack. Somewhere out there, Giuliana is bleeding because of me. Because I thought I could survive both sides of this world.
Turk reappears, tossing a black bag onto the bench beside me.
“Get dressed. You’re coming with us.”
I blink. “Why?”
“Because you know the drop points. The patterns. You’re our map now.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. Just leaves.
My fingers shake as I unzip the bag—tactical black, everything nondescript. No name, no identity. It fits. I change into the armor like I was always meant to wear it.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the one-way mirror—eyes hard, shoulders squared.
And for the first time, I don’t look like a traitor.
I look like someone ready to make it right.
—
The convoy rolls out at midnight. Three black SUVs, headlights off, slicing through the backroads toward Red Rock like a silent storm.
I ride in the second vehicle, wedged between two of Turk’s enforcers—men built like executioners with eyes that have seen too much. No one speaks.
Turk rides up front with Luca. From where I sit, I can see just the edge of his jaw—stone-carved and merciless. Every mile we cross, I see his knuckles tighten around the grip of his pistol.
I stare out the tinted glass as the lights of Vegas fade behind us. The desert takes over. Somewhere ahead, inside an old Moretti-funded storage compound, the woman I betrayed is being held.
The first checkpoint comes into view—an old service road gate. Luca’s SUV doesn’t stop. It plows through the barrier like it’s paper, splinters of wood raining down. Seconds later, we’re on the inner road.
Turk barks into the comms. “Go dark. Get positions.”
The men disperse like shadows spilling into the earth.
I’m yanked from the SUV and guided into the night. The wind cuts across my cheeks, dry and sharp. In the distance, I see a dim structure—low, square, and silent.
“Vescari’s inside,” Turk mutters, gun raised. “And if Giuliana’s not in there, we take the whole damn place apart.”
