Page 18 of Broken Vows

"The families are already at war," Maya points out. "Have been for decades. This just adds a new wrinkle."

I think about Vincent's face at the gala—the shock, then the quick calculation. He'd looked at me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve, not an enemy to eliminate. There had been something else too, something that reminded me of that night in his penthouse when his guard had dropped completely.

"Maybe," I say. "Or maybe it's an opportunity to end it."

Maya laughs. "Jesus, Mel. You sound like some peace-loving hippie. This is the real world. Our world. Peace gets you buried."

"So does endless war."

Max's voice cuts through our argument. "Here's what's going to happen. Melinda meets with Vincent tomorrow. I'll have discreet surveillance, but no interference unless things go sideways. We find out what he wants, what his family knows, and how they plan to handle this."

He moves to his desk, pulls out a secure phone. "Maya, I want you coordinating with our Boston contacts. If we need to move Dad's timeline up, I want options ready."

Maya nods, the prospect of action replacing her earlier frustration. "What about the Russians? They've been sniffing around our pharmaceutical routes. If they catch wind of this..."

"One crisis at a time," Max says. "Right now, our priority is keeping Melinda alive and figuring out whether Vincent Russo plans to become an ally or a threat."

"Both," I say quietly. "He's going to be both."

They look at me expectantly, waiting for explanation.

"Vincent's not his father or his psychotic brother. He's strategic, controlled. But he's still a Russo. Family comes first, always. If protecting me serves his interests, he will. If it doesn't..." I shrug. "Well, I'm not planning to find out the hard way."

Max studies me for a long moment. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"I've had a little time to think about it, fast. This pregnancy changes everything. I know that."

“You’re actively choosing to work with him instead of use him, it seems,” Maya observes. "Why?"

The question hits deeper than I want to admit. "Because I initially hoped I could handle this alone. Keep the baby’s paternity a secret and never tell Vince or anyone, finish my residency, build a life far away from both families." I laugh bitterly. "Stupid, right? Like either of our family names would ever let me go."

"Not stupid," Max says softly. "Naive, maybe. But not stupid."

The gentleness in his voice nearly undoes me. Despite everything—the violence, the betrayals, the years of mutual resentment—we're still siblings. We still love each other, even when that love feels like a chain around our necks.

"I should go," I say, standing. "Long day tomorrow."

Maya catches my arm as I pass. "Mel. Whatever happens with Vincent, remember—you're a Mastroni first. Blood before everything else."

I nod, but don't trust myself to speak. Blood before everything else. The family motto that's destroyed more lives than it's saved.

In my childhood bedroom, I strip off the gala dress and slip into old pajamas that smell like fabric softener instead of gunpowder. The contrast feels surreal—silk and diamonds replaced by cotton and reality.

I sit on the edge of my bed and pull up the ultrasound photo on my phone. Thirteen weeks. The baby is the size of a peach, according to my medical textbooks. Tiny hands, developing features, a heartbeat that shows up as a flutter on the monitor.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to the grainy image. "I'm so fucking sorry you're going to be born into this."

But even as I apologize, I'm making plans. The meeting with Vincent is just the beginning. I need to know what he wants, what his family expects, what kind of deal might keep us all alive.

I reach into my bedside drawer and pull out the Beretta I've kept with me during medical school. A habit I couldn't break, despite my attempts to leave family ways behind.

Tomorrow, I'll sit across from Vincent Russo and pretend to negotiate like civilized people. But if things go wrong, if he tries to use this pregnancy as leverage against my family, I'll remind him that Mastroni women don't break easily.

I check the gun's magazine, verify the safety, then slide it into my purse.

Just in case.

7

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