Page 136 of Twisted Vows

Each word cuts deeper than the last.

Izzy’s gaze softens, becoming mockingly tender. “He’s hunting now. The dons stripped your protection. If Enzo doesn’t finish it, someone else will.”

I freeze. “He wouldn’t.” I shake my head. “Not me.”

Her quiet laugh is almost cruel. “You really believe that? He’s not just hurt, Sophia. He’s feral.”

The silence—heavy enough to crush bone—settles. Izzy’s heels click once more as she heads for the door. “You should run, little teacher. Before the wolf finds you.”

“Why are you helping me?” The question escapes before I can stop myself.

She stops at the door, pivots, and smiles again. “I don’t know myself. I’m still trying to decide if I like you or not.”

With that, she leaves her perfume behind and strolls out. I lock the door again, the click echoing in the small space like a heartbeat out of rhythm.

The bed creaks as I sit, my palms flat against my thighs. My body trembles, but inside, a strange, hollow calm blooms.

Relentless rain patters against the window. Below, the city hums, unaware that somewhere, a man bleeds for love and a woman counts the seconds before he finds her. My ring finger feels bare, like a wound that won’t heal.

His name leaves my lips unbidden. “Enzo.” Half prayer. Half curse.

Outside, low, distant thunder murmurs over the skyline. He’s out there, wreaking havoc with his pain.

And me? I’m just the ghost of the girl he once promised to protect, sitting in the dark, trying to decide who this woman I’ve become really is.

Chapter 28

Enzo

“Sunsets are beautiful.”

Those were Dante’s words every time we watched one together.

In the first few years following our parents’ deaths, witnessing the day break and the sun set became a ritual between us.

Tonight, the pale sun drags itself over the city, its weak gray light slowly creeping through the haze, giving the skyline the appearance of smoke.

Down below, the Benedetti compound buzzes with the activity of men changing shifts and cars waiting at the gate, the world still acting as if it’s in order.

A cigarette burns down between my fingers. The frigid wind from the balcony carries her scent… wildflowers, warm and faint. She’s been gone for a week, yet her fragrance still lingers.

Lately, I’ve found sleep impossible. That empty bed feels wrong, like an intruder in a cherished memory. The moment the pillow gets creased, I smell her hair. Every time I shut my eyes, her voice slips in between thought and prayer. The silence that follows is like a scalpel to my chest.

The phone’s off because every ping sends me rushing over to check if she’s calling or texting. I’m done with the disease of hope.

An hour after sunset, Marco strides in during a phone call with our young hacker. I’m still in my underwear, a gun on the desk next to a half-empty whiskey glass. Billy’s trembling voice is loud through the speaker, reminiscent of someone who’s just had a lot of coffee and isn’t quite himself. “Red Hook’s quiet. Staten Island’s moving products again, though when I looked into it to find out who’s working, I found ledger trails leading to an offshore shell in Belize owned by Vincent Martinelli.”

My jaw clenches. “Volkovs?”

“Definitely. And somebody’s paying for silence. Big money. Fresh transfers.”

The ache in my chest sharpens into rage. “Then we stop whispering.”

Marco exhales slowly, his eyes narrowing. He knows the tone. “You want a hit.”

“No. Two.” I stub the cigarette out and stand. “Midnight. Staten Island and Brooklyn both. They won’t expect a double strike.”

Marco doesn’t argue right away. He studies me with that same calculation that’s kept us alive this long. “Enzo, if you burn everything now, we can’t pull back later.”