Page 31 of Broken Vows

"No." There's something in his tone that makes me sit up straighter. "The Mastroni situation is more complicated than we thought. Their eldest daughter is back in the city."

My blood chills. "Melinda?"

"You know her?" The question is sharp, probing.

"I know of her. Medical degree, worked overseas. Thought she'd cut ties with the family." My words are careful, almost a lie but not quite.

"Nobody cuts ties with families like ours, Vincent. You should know that by now." Antonio's voice carries decades of bitter experience. "Intelligence suggests she's back under Max's protection. Someone tried to end her life two weeks ago."

I keep my voice neutral. "Any idea who?"

"Working theory is the Colombians, maybe the Russians. Someone who sees leverage in hurting Max through his sister." He pauses. "I want you to look into it. See if there's an opportunity there."

"What kind of opportunity?"

"The kind that gives us access to Mastroni pharmaceutical operations. The kind that puts us in position to negotiate from strength instead of constantly reacting to their expansion."

My father wants me to use Melinda as a weapon against her own family. The irony would be amusing if it weren't so dangerous. "I'll look into it."

"Good. And Vincent? Be careful. The Mastronis protect their own, especially their women. Any move we make has to be clean, untraceable."

After he hangs up, I sit in the darkness of my office, bourbon burning in my throat. My father wants to exploit the woman carrying his grandchild. He wants to turn my future wife into a tactical advantage against her own blood.

The situation is spiraling beyond my control, and control is everything in this business.

I check the guest room—Melinda is still sleeping, curled on her side with one hand resting on her stomach. Even in sleep, she'sprotecting our child. The ring on her finger catches moonlight from the window, my mother's diamond marking her as mine.

Back in my office, I review the surveillance footage Adrian sent over. Three days of Melinda's routine at the hospital—arriving at seven, leaving between six and eight, always alone, always careful but not paranoid. Someone with patience could have mapped her entire schedule.

Yet, there remains something else in the footage that makes my blood run cold. A black sedan, same one from tonight, parked across from the hospital entrance for the past week. Someone's been watching her long before our lunch meeting.

My secure line rings. Adrian again.

"Boss, you need to see this. I pulled traffic camera footage from the attack site." His voice is tight with concern. "The shooters weren't just targeting the doctor. They had clean shots at her for twenty minutes before you showed up. They waited for her to get there…to bewith you."

"They wanted both of us?"

"Looks that way. This wasn't about hurting the Mastronis. This was about taking out a specific combination—you and her, together."

I close my eyes, pieces clicking into place. Someone knows about the baby. Someone knows about our connection. Someone wants to eliminate both parents before the child can be born and change the balance of power in New York.

"Keep digging," I tell Adrian. "Find me everything—financials, communications, travel records. Someone's orchestrating this, and I want to know who."

I pour another bourbon and walk to the windows overlooking the city. Somewhere out there, people are planning my death and Melinda's. They're planning to kill our unborn child before it can draw its first breath.

They have no idea what they've started.

The guest room door opens quietly. Melinda appears in the hallway, wearing one of my shirts over silk pajama pants. Her hair is mussed from sleep, but her eyes are alert, calculating.

"Can't sleep?" she asks.

"Too much to process." I gesture toward the chair across from my desk. "You should be resting."

"Hard to rest when people are trying to kill me." She settles into the leather chair, tucking her legs under her. "What have you found out?"

I could lie, give her sanitized information designed to keep her calm. But Melinda Mastroni wasn't raised to be sheltered from harsh realities. She was raised to face them head-on.

"The attackers were Perezzi family soldiers. Professional grade operation, well-funded, carefully planned." I turn my laptop screen toward her, showing the surveillance footage. "They've been watching you for at least a week, learning your patterns."

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