Page 15 of Sinner's Vows

As soon as we’re sure the coast is clear, we pull down our masks and clamber out of the truck. We head for the fire escape connecting a set of offices attached to the warehouse bordering the street. From the top of the staircase, it is easy to clamber to the roof and make our way to the structure in the middle.

None of us has been here for ages, but nothing much has changed. The flat roof only has the slightest incline to guide rain to the gutters, but it’s rusted and pock-marked with holes. It’s basically a deathtrap of its own, but it will hold. It must hold, one last time.

We crouch down and soft-foot it along one of the bolted metal beams that offers sturdy support, and when we reach the edge of the middle warehouse, lower down to a leopard crawl until we spot holes big enough to look down into the empty space. What a dump. Farther along the roof, it gets even worse as much wider gaps have peeled open where the bolts have rusted away.

I signal to Benedict to stay behind me as I make my way forward until we both have opportunity to look down at the same time. My breathing stalls. Inside the warehouse, Gigi Trapani—Steph’swife—is on her knees, mouth taped and hands tied, legs bound. Her sister, Carla, is lying on the floor, motionless.Fuck.

A good twenty feet away, Franco has jerked the other woman to his side. Her hands are tied, and she has duct tape coveringher mouth, but now, he’s doing something with the contents of an open case…Is that cotton wool? What the fuck, dude?

Franco clearly has no idea we’re here.

I shift my focus from the crazy to the two other men in the warehouse. One is picking Carla up and carrying her across to where some barrels are stacked in a corner. Well, that isn’t going to happen now, is it?

The other man leans against their van. Probably the driver. I signal to Benedict. We don’t need words. We take half a minute to position ourselves and our weapons, and in seconds, take out the two men.

Chaos doesn’t erupt. It’s even quieter now than it was before. Franco glances up, but he is slow in his disbelief as this new reality sinks in. He reaches for his gun, unsure where to shoot. The garage door starts to rattle open, and he homes in on it. We need one last distraction.

I pull my handgun from its holster and nod to Benedict. I aim, knowing the distance between everybody down there is far enough if I shoot with precision. As I fire several shots in a row, Benedict runs across the roof. We repeat the action, but this time, he shoots, and I run.

I kneel down, peering through a hole. Franco is frazzled, unsure which side the bullets came from, and those three seconds cost him. Benedict is back in position already, his sniper rifle pointing to our target as Stephano, Matteo, and Luca walk in, coordinated, with bodyguards flanking them. So many guns are pointed at Franco, he stands no chance.

I don’t look at the others, though. I watch on in horror as the unknown woman slowly crumbles to the floor.

8

ARIANA

Everything flashes by me. The moment in the dark underground parking garage where Franco and his men ambushed Carla Trapani and her bodyguard, one of the henchmen coming from behind and killing the guard with a perfect stab in the back.

How Franco lured Gigi Trapani in with the simple threat of a mass shooting. I had to sit by, gagged and tied up, unable to do anything to stop her from getting into the van.

I’ve slumped to the cold cement floor and curl into myself as heat seeps out of my body. I knew from the start this is how it ends, but I underestimated Gigi Trapani. A whole gang of men has come for her, shooting to kill.

A sharp stab penetrated my body seconds ago, and now a throbbing pain has settled in my lower abdomen. I can hardly breathe with the duct tape covering my mouth, and a cold sweat sparks over my skin. I close my eyes, trying to zone out the shouts echoing in the warehouse so I can focus on my breathing.

A warm hand rests on my shoulder, and I startle. A man is crouching by my side. When he pulls a knife out, I flinch.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice calm and soft, measured. “I’m going to cut your ties and roll you onto your back so I can see how bad it is.”

He works quickly, gently shifts me, and my arms flay out to the sides, no energy left in my muscles. His fingers are on my stomach, lifting the thicker denim and slicing right through it to fold the fabric away.

Footsteps rush in our direction, and another man places something next to me.

“You’ll manage?” the newcomer asks.

“Yes,” my caretaker says as his hands still on my stomach, and it’s the most peace I’ve felt in years. Maybe this is the finally the end and I’ll gently slip away, his soft touch my final memory of a life not really lived.

“Get Gigi the hell out of here. Steph won’t want her to see him go at Franco.”

Tears seep from my eyes.Franco. He isn’t dead yet.

The other man walks off, and I open my eyes to look at the stranger. He’s staring back at me. God, he’s gorgeous. A high forehead and a regal nose, with the beginnings of a beard lining his jaw, but it’s his soft gaze that draws me in. Warm brown eyes that tell me everything. He’ll make the pain go away. He’ll never hurt me. His arms are strong. He is indeed the angel coming to carry me home to Heaven. I’ve sinned, but not so much that the only doors standing open for me are those leading to Hell.

“I’m taking off the tape,” he says, interrupting my hazed thoughts. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll breathe easier.”

I don’t respond, and his fingers are at the edge of the duct tape, working it loose, and then with care, inching it off. I gasp at the stings, but it’s more in relief than pain. In comparison to everything I’ve lived lately, this is nothing, and with Franco, I’ve learned long ago to be quiet.

His fingers brush along my temple to gather my hair from my face, and his thumb wipes at my wet cheek. I can’t stop the tears—they’re flowing of their own volition.

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