Page 7 of Dangerous Vows

If a fortress qualifies as such, the car rolls to a stop outside the estate. Gio parks the Hummer. I look out the window and can’t suppress my chuckle. The driveway looks like a who’s who of the top ten billionaires. And considering the price tag of the cars sitting here, we’d have a difficult time denying our extreme wealth.

Matteo’s is a fortress dressed as a castle. It’s made of stone and marble, guarded by men who would die for our family. I step out, inhaling deeply, letting the cool country air fill my lungs. I spent too much time away from my brothers, but it’s been a busy year. It felt weird living in Sicily without them. I suppose our father’s death changed the course of our lives forever.

“Is Bianca going to be here for the wedding?” I ask. Our sister is impeccably dressed and always poised. She moves like a woman who knows the power of beauty and how to weaponize it.

Fashion isn’t just her passion; it’s her armor.

Beneath the designer heels and flawless eyeliner is a mind trained to calculate exits, assess threats, and, if necessary, eliminate them.

“Yes, she’s been in and out of the city,” Matteo volunteers. Bianca and I used to be thick as thieves—closest in age, closest in everything.

But after she left home, she started drifting. She showed up less and less.

The bird was out of the cage, I guess.

She’s always been the type to stay in touch and is always quick to call or text to check in, which is why her silence now concerns me.

“How is the club progressing?” I ask, knowing that Alena, Matteo’s wife, has been designing the interior for the grand re-opening. I’m the money man who knows how to launder money and handle our investments.

I let the family think I was a monk while I lived in the vineyard. It’s mostly because I’m an introvert by nature. I enjoyed my time nestled away in the Sicilian vineyard, but I’ve since grown tired of it. Every day has turned into a clone of the one before. So, when the club came up, I volunteered to manage it.

The women I encounter fall at my feet; honestly, it’s monotonous. They all blur together with flawless smiles, curated curves, and Botoxed faces—right down to the designer perfume that clings like desperation.

They laugh a little too loudly, touch a little too quickly, and offer themselves up like gifts wrapped in expectation.

They don’t wantme—not really.

They want the fantasy. The money. The name.

The man in the suit, not the scars underneath it.

Now that I have a niece and two nephews, it’s time to help my brothers keep their families safe. This made my decision to move to New York the logical next step. Besides, with me taking over the club, Matteo and Niccoló will have more time to spend with their families.

“The club is incredible. You’ll love it. The interior features a dark purple and black color scheme. We also created a lounge area. We also have rooms for events. Alena’s doing great, even if Lorenzos runs her ragged. He’s a terror even as a toddler.”

I’m picturing Studio 54 when Matteo speaks. Far be it from him to do anything low-key.

I follow my brothers inside the fortress with gargoyle statues on the towers as the weight of my new responsibilities settles onto my shoulderslike an old friend. Soon, we’ll be decked out in tuxedos, with a plethora of expensive champagne flowing amongst the whispers of promises to last forever.

But tonight?

Tonight, we will discuss how these potential threats may impact us. I get the feeling that we’re on the brink of a war with the Italians or the Serbs, and if so, there will be many casualties. The loss of life is one, and the financial aspect is another.

And something tells me I arrived just in time to help my family navigate the brewing storm.

AMARA

DRESS TO DEFY

True to Sarah’s words, we’re having a girls’ night out. And, I do something I haven’t done in a long time—I dress like I don’t give a damn.

The mirror in our tiny apartment barely fits my reflection, but it does the job. A sleek black dress clings to my body like it was made for me, the hem just short enough to be dangerous but long enough to avoid unwanted assumptions—maybe. My red bottom heels, one of the few splurges I took with me when I left, add inches to my frame. The deep red lipstick Sarah forced on me makes my lips look like a warning sign. My jet-black hair is sleek, falling in waves down my back, and for the first time in forever, I almost don’t recognize myself.

Sarah whistles from the doorway. “Damn, Moretti. If your father could see you now, he’d have a stroke.”

“Good,” I say, adjusting one of my earrings. “If he dies, I’m off the hook.” If he were dead, he couldn’t knock me around anymore, silver lining and all that jazz.

But the recent death of my uncle Vincenzu changed my life overnight. My father was forced to take over the family business, and now my older brother is the heir apparent.

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