Page 40 of Twisted Vows

Even under guilt’s crushing weight, my traitorous thoughts circle back to him.

Enzo Ricci. That man terrifies me. Yet, only with him have I felt safe.

I hate how weak I am around him and that I can’t stop thinking about him. His hand brushing mine. His gaze pinning me. The heat that rises unbidden.

By the time sleep drags me down, my innocence feels fractured, like shards that cut from the inside. Nothing—family, choices, even the heart—remains untouched by darkness.

Somewhere in the swirl of dreams, Enzo’s shadow looms. Not an enemy. Not a savior. Something worse. Something in between.

Sleep shatters, sudden and unsatisfying. My eyes snap open to the same concrete walls, the same yellow bulb dangling like a dying star. But the atmosphere seems different this morning. The burn in my chest comes from determination, not grief. No one’s coming to rescue me, so I need to save myself.

Yesterday’s regret still presses heavy, those memories of government men and betrayal stitched into a hardened family history.

Twice before noon, I beg Gio to fetch Enzo.

The first time, he stammers about schedules and backs away.

The second time, I grab his sleeve. “Please. Just ask him.”

He wrings his hands and nods. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Relief washes through me, tangled with a feeling I refuse to name when I hear footsteps echo outside the cell by mid-afternoon.

I watch the lock turn. A second later, Enzo fills the doorway, first with shadow and then with his real form.

The silver at his temples catches the light, and that steady, unreadable gaze finds mine and lingers.

My knees start to shake, so I clench them together. “Finally,” I spit. “You owe me answers.”

He doesn’t move right away, just studies me like a hunter deciding whether prey is worth the effort. He speaks with a clipped calm, his voice devoid of wasted syllables. “Ask.”

I draw a tight breath. “What did my father do? Why am I here? Why won’t anyone stop circling me with half-truths?”

After a beat passes, his eyes narrow. “Vincent Martinelli was the Benedettis’ lawyer for years. Then he testified against them. His betrayal cost Padrino and one of his closest men their lives.”

Each word lands like a stone on my chest, and the air thins until my lungs burn. I keep my face still, though, because if he suspects…if he knows…

The memory of my hands pointing at photographs burns like acid, and waves of guilt claw inward.

“Then that’s why.” My voice trembles, but I stand firm. “Why me?”

He moves in. Too close. “Your father didn’t only betray. He stole. The Volkov Bratva’s missing millions of dollars. Did Vincent ever tell you where he hid it?”

I shake my head. “No. Never. I don’t know anything about Russian money.”

The flicker of barely present worry in his dark eyes chills my blood. If this man’s concerned, then the entire world should panic. “What?” I demand, sharper than I intend. “Why that look? What aren’t you saying?”

His gaze hardens again, his mask snapping back in place. “Nothing you need to know.”

Anger surges in my lower belly. “Don’t patronize me. I’m locked up like a…like a forgotten pet. Don’t you dare tell me I’m safer in your cage if there’s danger outside.”

His mouth twitches with…reluctant admiration, maybe?

“You think this is funny?” I snarl.

“Not funny,” he says, his voice low. “Respect. Fire in prey makes the hunt worth it.”

My face flushes. “I’m not prey.”