Page 2 of Dangerous Vows

He gets neither. He deserves nothing. There’s no mercy to be had.

I grab him by the collar, hauling him up as I stare into his eyes. “I don’t give a shit who you work for.”

He spits crimson blood onto the pavement before he glares back at me. “You don’t?—”

I slam my fist into his ribs, and I hear a sickening crack.

He collapses, gasping his hands to his chest before his body folds in on itself like a puppet with its strings cut.

I squat down, gripping his hair, and force him to look at me—his breath reeks of liquor and regret.

“Go home,” I tell him, my voice even calm. “Sleep it off. And next time, show some respect, or I won’t stop with just a few punches.”

His nod is weak, but it’s there.

I let him drop and wipe my hands on my slacks before returning to the bar.

Inside, nothing has changed. Conversations resume. Drinks are poured.

I walk to the woman. “There’s a shelter for women in town, next tothe church. I sponsor it. Go there. Speak to Gabby. She’ll make sure you get what you need for a fresh start.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles, but her hooded eyes stare at the floor.

I grab my jacket, tossing a few bills on the table before stepping out into the humidity again. The man is propped against the wall, groaning softly.

I don’t look twice.

By the time I return to my home in the country, the weight of the night settles in my bones. I kick off my shoes, moving toward the old wooden bookshelf near the window. A worn copy ofThe Godfathersits there, pages dog-eared from years of use. I pick it up, flipping through a few pages before shaking my head.

“Puzo, you don’t know the half of it,” I mutter, tossing it onto the bed.

I move toward the record player, pulling out an old vinyl. The needle drops, and an Italian opera’s rich, aching notes fill the space within seconds. Verdi, Rigoletto, a classic.

The melody seeps into my skin as I walk to the closet, pulling out the suitcase waiting for me.

Tomorrow, I leave for New York.

A wedding. A reunion. And I’m sure there will be trouble waiting in the shadows.

I begin to pack, wondering what this new chapter will bring.

AMARA

BETWEEN THE STEPS AND SHADOWS

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”

I stop, turning just enough to see Eric standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he’s been working up the nerve to say something. He’s cute in a boyish way—messy blond hair that never stays put, an easy smile, and a little too eager sometimes. His brown eyes flicker with something I recognize too well—concern, maybe something more. But not my type.

“I’m good,” I say, adjusting the strap on my handbag. “It’s just a couple of blocks.”

His hesitation lingers, thick as the scent of spilled beer on his apron, but he nods. “All right. Be safe, Amara.”

“You, too.” I don’t wait for him to say anything else.

I step out of the tavern, and the heavy wooden door swings shut behind me with a dull thud. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of rain on the pavement and the distant tang of cigarette smoke trailing behind me. I exhale, roll my shoulders, and shift my bag to my other arm.

It’s late. Again.

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