Page 108 of Twisted Vows

“The bastard just threatened me directly,” Gabi wheezes through gritted teeth.

I read the warning twice. Every line is a blade. Vincent knows how to cut where it hurts and threatening to expose the family’s former Padrino’s actions is a surefire way to kick the hornet’s nest.

The meeting reconvenes quickly, panic mounting with every don that trudges in. They argue over what the ledgers could be, how Vincent could’ve found out the mafia’s secret dealings, and how to handle this to ensure the famiglia’s survival.

Throughout all of this, I sit in a corner, my recent demotion still hanging over me. Any talk from me will probably lead to one of them reminding me of that, so I listen instead.

Don Caruso, the scarred, gray-haired one, snarls from the end of the table. “Kill him. Before he talks.”

“Kill him, and Miami burns the city.” Don Falcone’s icy tone brooks no arguments.

Don Greco, a younger Capo with calculating eyes, slams his palm on the table. “Expose us, and we lose everything legitimate.”

That triggers a shouting match as some of the men shoot to their feet, their chairs scraping against marble as the room descends into chaos, their voices overlapping and old grudges bubbling to the surface as they rip into each other.

I remain seated, reading the faces, noting the ones who flinch or sweat too profusely or hide their fear behind noise. If Vincent has a copy of the ledgers, someone in this room leaked them, but proving who will be difficult.

Just before the fighting becomes physical, Gabi throws his glass into the wall and storms off. The men take that as a sign of him finally adjourning the meeting, so they hurry out of the room as well.

The reality of the event isn’t lost on me. The family is splintering. In a war of wolves, they feed the weakest to the fire first. Which means Sophia.

Nope. Not on my watch.

With no more business to attend to at the Benedetti villa, Marco and I venture back to the Hamptons. I’ll need to return with the kind of plan they expect from me.

We’re now at the precipice where blood will soon be shed.

And blood’s never scared me.

But I’d prefer none of it to be Sophia’s. This means I need to prepare her for what’s to come before we return to this nest of vipers.

Enzo

A week crawls by in the safe house at the Hamptons.

This safe house was Dante’s little project. For him, the property represented life away from the mafia. A place to escape to. We spent years fortifying it before his death. After I lost him, I couldn’t finish.

Four days since Gabi’s meeting, and I still don’t have a plan to handle Vincent and protect Sophia. I’ve sent Gio back to watch over Elena, so at least I’ve got that base covered.

Sophia’s taken to rearranging the furniture, and I wonder how much she senses about what’s happening. Not much seems to faze this barefoot, wild-haired woman in front of me who’s clenching her fists in front of her face in a kickboxing pose.

Over these last couple days, the beach has become our battleground. Training her is hard as hell, but she handles it well.

Sand sticks all over her, salt and sweat creating weird abstract art on her skin. She’s got the angle of her fist all wrong, but hey…she’s also finally got that attentive gleam in her eyes.

“Again.” I step close enough to smell her, though I resist the urge to touch her.

She swipes the sweat from her forehead. “You’ve said that five times in a row.”

“Then do it right this time.”

Her glare could peel paint. “You’re impossible.”

“Good. The men coming for you will be worse.”

She flinches, tightens her grip, and sets her jaw, her eyes practically shooting lightning. Her motions become sharper. Her punch hits closer to right, her legs doing what they’re supposed to. Fear’s a hell of a motivator.

She throws a roundhouse kick and slips on the landing. I catch her before she face-plants. When I do, her big wide eyes stare at me, and her mouth hangs open, breathless.