Page 5 of Sinner's Vows

“Let the butcher deal with it,” he says as he stifles a yawn and picks up his phone.

“Fine.” I don’t relish the prospect of any of this, but I’m loyal if nothing else. I lean back in my chair, nursing a whiskey as I scroll on my phone. “I see they’ve identified Randazzo’s body. His death has finally hit mainstream news in Europe.”

“Took them long enough.”

I glance up. “You’re worried about it?”

This could be bugging him. He might have eliminated Randazzo, but that doesn’t mean the police aren’t going to hunt down the assassin.

“Should I be? The mole assured me that all video footage of that day or any other evidence got destroyed. We’ve covered our tracks. Nobody involved in that operation will talk, not even the Trapanis.”

The Trapanis aren’t my biggest worry. Don Trapani wanted Randazzo dead. But we’ve put an enormous amount of trust in one man. The mole better live up to the promises he made. If he doesn’t, we’ll move to the defense. I’m not worried. Not for now, at least. There’s a reason why I started a security company: my brothers will always be protected by every layer of modern security out there.

I’ve been on the giving side of interrogations. There was only one time where I got caught on the receiving end, and it was a lesson I only needed to learn once. By instinct, I reach formy left-hand pinkie and rub the scar ringing the digit. All the physiotherapy in the world and the little fucker is still as stiff as a corpse.

I made a vow that day: no kin of mine will ever end up in such a situation. None of them would be subjected to what I’ve been subjected to. Over my dead body we’ll get into a situation that can break us.

In our brotherhood, there is no weakest link.

3

ARIANA

Where the hell is Lorenzo? I’ve been in this hole of a room for more than five hours, and there’s been no sign of him. With no windows, there’s only one exit, and two bulky bodyguards have been blocking the narrow door—in itself hard to navigate—ever since we got shoved in here to prepare for the night.

I know my strengths and limitations. Without a weapon, there’s no way I can take out two men, not without backup lined up or having a plan to get out of this fucking deathtrap warren.

There was an unexpected guard change a minute ago. I haven’t been on the job long enough to establish their routines, and now, I could kick myself. It was the perfect moment for me to get the hell out of here because this wasn’t the plan.Fuck, Lorenzo.

For all I know, it was the only opportunity to get the hell out of here.

I’ve lost all contact with my team. I keep raking my mind to understand how it happened, but it was so subtle. First, my makeup case and my clothes—both replaced with their standard-edition fare. There went all my tracking devices. I’ve never had a phone or a gun with me as I had to be in character.That was Lorenzo’s job. My partner was supposed to have my ass covered while I’m undercover in this God-forsaken ring.

Fuck.

“Ten days,” one of the new bodyguards says. “Ten fucking days since his compound got burned to the ground. That’s how long it took them to identify his body.”

I glance surreptitiously at them. Useful gossip is coming my way.

“Randazzo? They really found his body? You’ve got to be kidding me. Don Emilio Randazzo dead?” The other bodyguard is stunned. “How can they be so sure?”

What the actual fuck? Randazzo dead?He’s the most notorious Capo Crimini and head of this ring we’ve been trying to crack for years.

I swallow and blink, homing in on the two bodyguards’ muttered discussion to catch more words. I steady myself by leaning with my hip against the desk, needing to be so freaking careful not to show how this news affects me. But already, tremors run through me. Premonition tightens my already cramping gut. Is this why they moved us two extra times in the past twelve hours?

“They found his body, eighty percent charred,” the bodyguard says. “No eyes, no ears, and missing a finger. And his ring, apparently. That fucking insignia on which every capo has sworn alliance to for decades.”

“Where have you had all this intel?” the other bodyguard asks.

“My friend in thesbirri. The one that likes to talk.”

Both bodyguards chuckle, and I close my eyes with an inward scream. The Italian police talking to Mafia bodyguards. This corruption is why we’ve been so careful, so slow to go undercover, and why it’s almost impossible to get ahead. My plans for Franco Fiore—Randazzo’s henchman and my littlesteppingstone to the man himself—would be much further along if it weren’t for the police holding hands where they choose to with organized crime.

Fury engulfs me, and with a steel grip, I suppress my rage and frustration at being so stymied, keeping my facial expression blank and focused on the girl in front of me.

Someone got to Randazzo first.

Fuck.

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