Page 32 of Broken Vows

She studies the images with detachment, the same way she probably examines X-rays. "They had opportunities to take me alone. Why wait for you?"

"Because this isn't about hurting your family or mine separately. Someone wants both of us dead."

Her hand moves automatically to her stomach. "Someone knows about the baby."

"That's my working theory. A Russo-Mastroni heir represents a shift in power dynamics. Some people would rather eliminate the threat than adapt to it."

Melinda is quiet for a long moment, processing implications. When she looks up, her eyes are hard as amber glass. "Who else knows about us?"

"My security team. Your family, I’m sure. The restaurant staff, but they're paid to forget what they see and hear."

"Some hospital staff saw us together at the gala."

"But they wouldn't necessarily connect that to pregnancy." I lean back in my chair, studying her face. "Someone had inside information, Melinda. Someone who knew we'd be meeting today."

She freezes. "You think there's a leak in my family?"

"I think there's a leak somewhere. Could be mine, could be yours, could be someone else entirely. But the timing is too perfect to be coincidental."

My phone vibrates with a text from Tony: Package secured at warehouse. Ready for your questions.

I show Melinda the message. "One of the shooters survived. I'm going to have a conversation with him."

"I'm coming with you."

"Absolutely not."

She stands, moving to the window.

"Someone tried to destroy my child tonight, Vincent. I want to look him in the eye."

"It's not safe?—"

"Nothing is safe anymore." She turns back to me, and for a moment, I see past the doctor to the Mastroni underneath. The woman who grew up watching her father conduct business in blood and fear. "Besides, I might be able to get information you can't."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a trauma surgeon. I know exactly how much pain a body can take before it shuts down permanently." Her voice is calm, professional, terrifying. "I know how to keep someone conscious and talking for a very long time."

I should be horrified.

But fuck, it turns me on.

She’s exactly the kind of dangerous I want in my bed—and at my side.

And the thing that keeps circling in my mind isn’t the shooters.

It’s her.

Her hand on her stomach. The tremor in her voice.

And the one thing I know for fucking certain:

I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine. Not ever again.

My phone rings again. Tony's number.

"The package is getting restless," he says.

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