Page 31 of Sinner's Vows

I walk, demurely, like I do this every day, to the next house’s picket fence that has a nice gate for me to go through. I open it and walk into the yard as if I own it, clenching my hospital gown all the way to keep myself decent.

There are only three steps onto the porch and then I’m at the back door, feeling the doorknob. I softly turn it, and the latch slips as the door opens. Then I’m inside, close the door, and for a moment lean against it to catch my breath with my eyes closed.

Two soft bangs and the almost eerie brush of air by my legs arrest me. And then, I’m almost electrocuted in shock as the silencer’s tell-tale muffled ‘pip’ sound registers in my mind. My eyes fly open.

Fuck. Someone justshotat me. I blink into the ill-lit foyer, frozen.

“Just warning shots,cara. Don’t move,” a female voice delivers, calm but clear. “And please don’t test me. I’d hate to really immobilize you.”

I exhale a shattered breath as I look down to where two bullets have pierced holes in the wooden floor, mere inches from my feet.

Holy fucking shit.

I glance up. Two meters from me, in the dark shadows of the corridor, stands an older woman with an apron on, her thick, curly hair streaked with grey. She smiles. I don’t know what she sees, but I bet it’s disbelief and horror on my face.

“What? If Christian Grey’s housekeeper can wash butt plugs, you better believe that a Mafia Don’s housekeeper knows how to shoot a gun.”

I swallow, no clue what she’s referring to, but I’ve lost. Again. A whiff of gunpowder and hot metal swirls up to me as I take in her stance. This one shoots and asks questions later. She won’t hesitate. She won’t miss. She’d take out my kneecap without flinching. Now, she has her phone to her ear, her gun never shifting from its target, her eyes never leaving my face as she watches me.

“Nicky,” she says as the other person answers. “She’s here now. I’m holding her. Be quick. She didn’t hold back, and poor Marco looks dead from what I can see on the cameras.”

Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.

I didn’t notice a single camera in that whole clinic, and it wasn’t as if I wasn’t looking for them.

Hidden cameras, withherkeeping watch.Right next door.

“Come now,cara. You can’t run around in that. It’s a dead giveaway that you’re inIl Consiglio’sclinic, if you were wondering.”

I look down at my gown, which has a pretty pattern of light blue flowers printed on the white fabric. It looks custom-made. I thought nothing of it, but this woman?—

“Who are you?” I ask, out of breath with shock.

“I’m Portia. Come with me, and we’ll see what I have that fits you. Dominic will be here soon. He was heading this way in any case.” She doesn’t lower the gun but takes two steps back and nods in the direction of a bedroom.

I have no choice but to follow her instructions, my eye warily on the gun with its silencer. It must have at least ten more rounds, and with defeat, I walk through the door. I take in the homey bedroom, which is clearly for guests, and sink onto the neatly made bed as exhaustion floods over me.

Portia is the real deal, and I’d be dead before I know it.

As if any of that is even news.

17

DOMINIC

Nice.

Now we have a fugitive. Or rather, Ariana Morelli just proved she’s a flight risk. I get it, but in the same breath, I don’t. Why?

I clamber out of the car and make quick work of the stretch between the picket-fence gate and Portia’s porch. Already, Gus and Stan are heading into the clinic to assess the damage she’s done to Marco as two more cars with our team arrive on the scene.

Ariana’s a feisty little one, too, and gutsy to take a man Marco’s size out with a fire extinguisher. Noted. Let’s see what she does with this welcome party.

At least Portia was on top of things and almost immediately called me to deliver real-time feedback of what she could see happening on her screens feeding from the hidden security cameras next door. This is honestly one of our strengths: keep the circle tight and the rest of them guessing. There’s a reason we installed Portia here after her retirement as housekeeper for the Don—she could keep an eye on things when we needed her.

I knock briefly and let myself in.

“Here, Nicky,” she calls out, and I follow her voice to one of the bedrooms.

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