Page 31 of Cruelest Vow

But as soon as I turned away, agony wrapped around my brain, the pain so severe than I folded to my knees, holding my head. This was the way it used to be, visions so terrifying that I lost all control. I also lost hours, blacking out only to awaken covered in blood.

No. Not now. I couldn’t lose control. Not around her.

I fisted my eyes, trying to control my breathing but I couldn’t stop them.

“D’Artagnan!”

The roar of the fire couldn’t mask Emma’s terror-filled cry.

My eyes stung from the acrid smoke, my lungs burning as I slammed against the door, finally breaking through. Flames licked at my arms as I jumped through, but I didn’t care. Debris was everywhere, the fire consuming almost everything. Why hadn’t they gotten out?

“Emma! Mama! Papa! Edoardo?” No one replied.

I rushed to a window, my lungs starving for air. They were locked, but from the outside. What? Who’d done that? Frantic, I grabbed a chair, smashing it against it against the glass. Gasping, I did it again, the window shattering. Then I heard a faint cry. I scrambled away, the stench of charred skin assaulting my senses.

Nothing was going to stop me from saving my family. I burst through another wall of flames, tripping over something. Gasping, I crawled toward it. And I knew she was gone. My baby sister was gone.

CHAPTER11

Lucia

“Members of a suspected mafia organization were gunned down in a local warehouse. Police have yet to determine a suspect.”

There was nothing unusual about the photographs flashing across the television screen. New York continued to have a consistently high frequency of murders, especially involving organized crime. For all those people denying syndicates still existed, they had no understanding of the deep, violent underbelly of the Big Apple. Mafia leaders ran the city and the politics, whether people wanted to accept the ugly facts or not.

I should know.

After finishing my coffee, placing the cup into the dishwasher, I threw a quick glance at the screen. Dead men had been pulled from the warehouse. Turf wars were ongoing. The players changed, but the leaders remained constant. Bratva. Cosa Nostra. Cartels. Armenians. No one was more brutal than the other.

I wiped the counter, glancing at the clock. The jewelry store should already be busy. I hadn’t frequented the establishment as often as I should, my faith placed in the manager that had taken me weeks to hire. However, with my brother being in town, I felt it prudent to pay an unexpected visit.

Just before I turned off the television, another bulletin flashed onto the screen. I was surprised given there was a single victim that it had received any attention at all. As the images unfolded, I realized the body had been found in a dumpster just outside my building. A slight shiver coursed down my spine. I’d taken great pains in selecting the location of my apartment, the single time I’d used my family’s influence to allow a jump to the head of the line.

The area was usually free of violent crimes, although petty ones and domestic violence weren’t immune to an address in an upscale part of the city. To know someone had been killed so close to my home was a reminder that I was all alone in a city where people ignored crimes being committed in broad daylight. I’d seen it myself, innocent bystanders walking past or over victims as they lay bleeding on the sidewalk.

Sometimes I longed for the sanctity of my parents’ estate in Italy. But nothing, including vicious murders would ever allow me to consider returning home. This was my home, and I intended on keeping it that way.

After flicking it off, I smoothed down my skirt and grabbed my jacket. I had a feeling the cool morning breeze would cut right through me after hearing the news. I checked my purse, ensuring my weapon was loaded, then left my apartment.

But not before standing in the doorway, scanning the perimeter. The feeling that my private space had been invaded remained. I’d stood by the window in my bedroom, peering out at the city I loved so much, wondering if I’d find a way to avoid the ugliness of responsibilities. A laugh bubbled to the surface. Maybe my besties were right and I should find a husband. That would stop my father in his tracks.

Before I closed the door, the special candle I’d purchased so long ago caught my eye. There was no reason for it. I no longer sat in front of it as I once had, asking the Mother of God for guidance in easing the pain. I’d been raised a devout Catholic, but after the tragedy, the loss had been so significant I’d lost faith.

Especially after never receiving any relief from the pain. As I searched for the tiny flicker, I realized it was time to change the batteries. Only once had the candle been allowed to go dark.

The day of the funeral.

As I headed for the elevator, the wretched visions of the murder were replaced with sultry ones of my delicious one-night stand. It had been a huge mistake not to suggest we get together again.

If only for raw, rough, and passionate sex.

My mood brightened as I headed for my car in the garage. In a city where the population was almost nine million people, what were the odds I’d find my hunk of a man again? Somewhere lower than the possibility of me winning a lottery. Still, a girl could hope.

Even if he didn’t belong to me.

Yet.

My laugh continued as I jumped into my car. Maybe I’d take Joy up on her suggestion we go shopping. That could keep my mood bright.

---