Page 99 of Twisted Vows

I don’t hesitate. I drive the butt of the gun into the leader’s temple. He drops, slumping against the table as the laptop clatters to the floor. The sirens swallow Vincent’s shouting.

I don’t stay to listen.

Outside, Miami bakes under the afternoon sun. I pass quickly through alleys and across rooftops, my lungs burning. Every sound is a potential death call, and when I finally hit the street, the ocean wind tastes like salt and blood.

I’ve been in Vincent’s custody for a whole fucking day. The boys have got to be nervous. And Sophia must be worried sick.

I pull out my phone and call Marco on the encrypted line.

“Shit.” I can hear his panic. “You’re alive.”

“Barely.” I blow out a long-held breath. “Pull extraction. Airport in one hour. Hop on the first flight back.”

“What happened?”

“Vincent’s with the Miami mob. He’s building something big.”

“War?”

“Worse.” I shake my head at the thought. “Business.”

The line goes dead.

The flight north is a ghost ride with blurry lights and coffee that tastes like metal. My body still aches, humming with unfinished fury.

Marco and Gio took an earlier flight, a standard protocol when things go sideways. Never travel together after a blown op.

Several hours later, New York greets me with cold air that smells like rain and danger. Marco waits by the curb, his eyes scanning every shadow.

“Did they see your face?”

“Enough to remember it.”

We drive in silence, weaving through the traffic as the city’s skyline cuts through the night. When the car rolls onto the estate, I see Izzy standing near the villa’s fountain, light slicing across her cheekbones. She’s pacing along the marble walkway like a clock counting down to disaster.

I signal for Marco to stop the car so I can step out to greet her. “Am I getting a hero’s welcome for coming back from the dead?”

She closes the distance, her voice dripping with sugar and poison. “You coming back from the dead might not last.”

No greeting, no pretense. Just the game, already in play.

She pulls out her phone, flicks the screen, and hits play. The sound is grainy, but I can still hear Vincent shouting as a man’s dragged across concrete.

Me.

Bloodied, semiconscious, caught like an animal. The clip lasts only seconds but feels like hours, and after watching, the taste of copper floods my mouth again.

A mix of steady and scalding rage and humiliation flows through me. “Where’d you get that?” My words are too quiet.

Her smile doesn’t falter. “News travels fast when you bleed, Enzo. Your little Miami adventure was…instructive. The Capos held a meeting this morning. Some of them are wondering whether you’re still worth the trouble.”

My jaw tightens. “And you?”

“Oh, I’ve always thought you were trouble.” Her gaze cuts sharp. “But now you’re the kind that costs money.”

Her eyes glow bright with a kind of fear-fueled anger. She hates watching me cornered.

“You think you’re the first person to underestimate me?” I stride closer.