Page 15 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

Imagine if Kira then decides that she likes Sal. My right-hand man and my father’s ward spending time together will bring Addy another step closer to me.

How long before I take that inevitable leap at what’s mine and let the shrapnel fall where they may?

I drawl, “I can’t say for sure if you’ll catch one or not, Salvatore. Why don’t you try it first and see?”

Sal only laughs off my warning.

Before we can say more, an alarm blares from the building we’ve been watching, shattering the brief interlude.

“Here we go,” I mutter, leaning back in my seat. My blood thrums with anticipation, every nerve ending coming alive. I live for this: the thrill of the job, the adrenaline rush.

We watch as people pour out of the place like ants from a disturbed nest. And then a curl of black smoke rises from behind the building, adding to the mayhem.

“You sick bastard,” I say, shooting Sal a glance. “I told you to create an excuse to get the fire guys here, not to burn the place down.”

He chuckles, completely unfazed. “Relax, it’s just a desk. It won’t cause too much damage before our men arrive.”

I grunt in acknowledgment but keep my eyes trained on the unfolding scene. And then the sound of sirens pierces the air, growing louder by the second.

“And we’re in business.” Sal’s smirk widens as fire trucks pull up to the curb, lights flashing like some twisted Christmas display.

A reluctant smile lifts the corner of my lips. The plan so far is going even better than I anticipated.

People mill around outside, talking hurriedly and casting nervous glances back at the building.

And then I spot him—Pietro, the man who went in for the sample in the thick of the distraction.

His black trench coat and hat, big stocky frame, and average looks blend him into the backdrop of aimless bystanders. But to the trained eye, his deliberate, unhurried gait, the tense set of his shoulders, and the watchful eyes scanning the area stand him out as a man with a purpose.

Which is why the street cameras have been disabled.

Pietro joins the crowd, acting every bit the concerned bystander. After a few moments, he saunters away from the assembly point, hands casually in his pockets as if he’s just taking a leisurely stroll.

Then the car radio crackles to life with Pietro’s voice, calm and composed. “It’s done.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

I focus on Pietro’s retreating figure until he disappears around a corner, and the tension in my shoulders eases completely.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

Sal nods and starts the engine again, pulling us away from the scene as smoothly as we arrived.

As we drive off into Chicago’s urban sprawl, my phone buzzes in my pocket, a jarring interruption to the satisfaction of a job well done. I fish it out, glancing at the screen. It’s my brother, Nico.

“Fratello,” I answer.

“What’s your location?” Nico’s voice crackles through the speaker, a hint of tension lacing his words.

I glance out the window at the passing cityscape. “Heading to Urban Elixir to see Martelli’s lawyer. And then it’s to the docks at midnight with the Senator’s people.”

There’s a pause, then, “Great job with Ecolab. Now, forget Urban Elixir. You need to go home, you and Sal, there’s something—”

I interrupt him. “How do you know the Ecolab job is done?”

Nico huffs out a laugh. “You’re not as unpredictable as you like to think, Dante. You never fail to deliver where it counts. If only you’ll stop juggling five things at once.”

I suppose I should be flattered for being such a forgone conclusion. “You’re catching on to how awesome I am,” I smirk, “I dare say Sophie is finally rubbing off on you. How are she and the twins, by the way?”

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