Page 13 of Broken Vows

A knock at the door. Probably Maya, ready to drag me home for more posturing and plotting.

It’s not. It’s Vincent. He doesn’t come in—he stands just beyond the threshold, arms folded, face a storm under perfect lighting. Even in a crowd, he makes everything else disappear. Well-cut suit, a watcher’s eyes, jaw clenched like he could snap a neck with his teeth. I’d almost admire it if he wasn’t a Russo.

“Melinda.” He uses my name like a weapon, quiet but sharp. All control and danger.

I am so tired of men trying to own me. I grab my clutch, straighten my posture, and meet his gaze. I don’t let him see my fear, not even when my knees go weak. “I said I’d talk, didn’t I? Let's get this over with before Maya comes in, knives blazing.”

He doesn’t move. For a moment, he just looks at me, searching my face, my hands, like he’s memorizing me for war. “Is it mine?” he asks. Simple. Brutal.

Of course he’d go there. “Yours?” My voice goes flat, icy. “You think I gave out samples? You think this was a setup?”

He steps closer and I feel every inch of distance shrink. “You left before I could even get your name. Didn’t think I’d see you again. Now I find out you’re Mastroni’s blood and carrying a child. Forgive me if I like clarity.”

He’s not threatening, not exactly. Just—watching. Waiting.

I feel my fists curl around the clutch. “That night I wanted to forget who I was. So did you, I think. All we had were secrets and bare skin and—” I cut off, pulse racing. “I am not a pawn or a plot. I didn’t want this, but I’m fucking living it.”

There’s silence, a beat where I can hear both our hearts pounding. “I counted the months,” I say. “The math doesn’t lie. You’re the only possibility.” I spit it out, bitter enough to make myself flinch. “Now you can run off and send hit squads after me, or send flowers. Doesn’t fucking matter. I’m not looking for a handout from my sperm donor, Russo.”

He laughs, but it’s a broken sound. “You grew up like I did. You know what comes next. There’s not a Don alive who’ll let this go without a fight.”

Heat flushes through my chest—rage and fear mating in my gut. “Let them try. I’m not going down for this and I’m not giving up my child.” Even if a pawn is exactly what I am, standing here under his shadow.

Another voice interrupts. Maya—my wild, beautiful sister. She’s leaning against the doorframe, nails tapping out a warning. She’s got that gleam in her eyes, smile edged with violence. “You okay, doc?” she asks, a trill of threat in every syllable.

Vincent tenses, already bracing for a scene, but I step between them. I have to. “I’ve got it, Maya.” I slide into Italian, harsh and fast.

She smirks. “If you say so, sister. But I’ll be watching.” Her gaze lingers on Vincent—sizing him up like a cut of meat she might just carve. Then she’s gone, dress swirling, a storm barely contained.

Vincent grinds his teeth. “She’s got talent.”

“Don’t.” God, I’m exhausted. I sag back against the marble counter, looking at him. “The whole world will see this coming. Mastroni meets Russo, a bastard in the middle—nobody’s going to care about us. It’s always about power, always about fucking stakes.”

He softens, only a fraction, but I see the regret flicker in those dead-calm eyes. He steps just close enough that I can smell his cologne—clean, sharp, expensive.

“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “I didn’t see this coming either.”

I swallow hard. I remember his hands on my hips, the sound he made when he came inside me, the softness afterward—not something I think a man like Vincent gives to many people. I shake myself free of the memory. I have to.

“I don’t want your protection,” I say, but my voice is small. I hate it. “Just leave me the hell alone.”

But his eyes narrow, like he’s considering something bigger. “That’s not how this works. You’re family now. Our kid is blood to both. You can’t run, and I won’t let you try.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “You think I haven’t tried leaving before? Ask my family how well that worked.”

He reaches for me, stops himself. His hand hovers midair, then forms a fist. “I’m not your enemy, Melinda.”

Beneath the anger, there's exhaustion. Something almost gentle. I wish it would burn me, but instead it kind of stitches up what’s left of me.

Heavy footsteps echo down the corridor—a warning. Any time now, Max’s men will be swarming to collect me. This won’t be a secret much longer.

“We’ll talk again,” Vincent rumbles, but this time it’s a promise not a threat.

I shoulder past him, walk back into the noise and the lights, feeling a room full of eyes and whispers shredding me to pieces. Maya catches my gaze from across the hall—reassures me with a flick of her wrist. She’s already texting Max, I know it. I hate how much comfort that brings, even now.

The air in the main room chokes me. I make it to a side alcove, press my back to cold stone, close my eyes. My heart is jackhammering. Carrying a secret baby whose father is unknown was hard enough.

Knowing who that father is? Worse than my darkest nightmare.

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