Page 107 of Twisted Vows

The Padrino demanding my presence doesn’t happen often. No one used to question the way I would disappear for days so I could operate alone.

Until now.

A part of me wants to remain where I am with Sophia, but a Benedetti summons is never a request.

I call Gio from the guesthouse.

“Hello, Gio.”

“Don. I heard what happened at the villa. The summons. I’m still with the mistress’s mother, and everything is okay here.”

“All right. I want you to let things settle and then come to the Hamptons. I’ve been summoned to the estate, and I need you to keep Sophia company. Full lockdown. Don’t move anywhere unless it’s an emergency.”

He hesitates. “If they’re calling you in, it’s bad, Enzo.”

“Then it’s bad.”

When I turn around to walk back toward my room in the main house, Sophia’s there. The morning light frames her silhouette, and she twists her fingers together at her waist, her shoulders drawn tight, her eyes searching my face like she’s bracing for a blow.

“What happened?” Her voice is small but steady. She’s getting used to fear.

I cross the space and cup her face. “I’ll fix it.”

She stills. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” I brush both thumbs across her cheek.

Her eyes flicker with uncertainty. “Don’t lie to me, Enzo.”

The truth sits heavy in my chest. So, I kiss her instead, claiming her mouth with desperation. I feel her soften, and it nearly breaks me. I pour everything I can’t say into the kiss, the fear that I might fail her, the need to protect what’s already carved into my bones, the feelings I don’t know how to keep safe.

When I pull back, my forehead rests against hers, like I’m stealing one more second before the world takes its due.

“Stay safe,” I whisper against her skin. Then I leave before the words start to feel like goodbye.

I climb behind the wheel and race back to the Benedetti estate. Every second of the two-hour drive feels like a slow execution. Every sign, every mile, blurs through my mind as I wonder if I’ll even make it back to Sophia.

The Benedetti villa rises from the horizon like a cold, ancient, and merciless stone god. Guards stand at the gate, their rifles gleaming in the sunlight. They nod but don’t meet my eyes. Smart men know when not to.

I venture into the house, recalling every drop of blood shed in these corners.

The great hall is full. Capos line up like vultures staring down the dead man walking. As expected, at the head of the table is a clean-cut, polished Gabi. He has me right where he’s wanted me for a year.

As I make my way into the hall, Marco steps in front of me and tells me the Padrino wants me to wait in the war room.

I go in and settle into a chair at the long table. Soon, Gabi, with his face grimmer than usual, walks in with the top five dons. As his consigliere, the one who whispers strategy in his ear and keeps the Capos in line, Izzy lounges to his right. She always has an unfazed look, but today, fear and worry are etched on her face.

No one says anything until Vito walks in a minute later and hands Gabi an envelope. Gabi opens it and pulls out photos and documents that probably contain names and maps. He slides one toward me. “Intel from our contact. Vincent’s in New York. He’s offered to speak with me.”

The photo shows Vincent stepping off a plane, wearing that same grin that used to charm cops and enemies alike.

“The Creepers in Miami are backing him,” Marco adds. “Men, money, weapons.”

The air grows heavier. My jaw locks. “He’s playing for blood.”

Gabi rises and leans over the table. He throws me another envelope, this one sealed with red wax. My stomach drops before I even open it.

The note inside features elegant, theatrical, almost showman-like handwriting. You want peace? Then release her. Or I’ll open every ledger your father tried to bury.