Page 45 of Broken Vows

I study her notations, each one revealing vulnerabilities I missed. My architects are good, but they think like builders, not killers. Melinda thinks like both.

"The nursery," she continues, voice softening slightly, "needs to be in the center of the house. Armored walls, independent ventilation system, panic room access. If someone comes for our daughter, they'll have to go through everything else first."

Our daughter. The words hit differently now, more real than the ultrasound photos tucked in my wallet. I reach for her hand, thumb tracing the engagement ring. "You're full of surprises."

"I'm full of secrets," she corrects. "There's a difference."

My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Marco's name flashes on the screen, and my jaw tightens automatically. "I need to take this."

"Vincent." Marco's voice is sugar-sweet venom. "We need to talk. Now."

"I'm busy."

"Too busy for family? That's interesting, considering the rumors floating around." His tone sharpens. "Meet me at the office. One hour."

The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, already anticipating threats and responses. Marco only calls when he wants blood.

"Trouble?" Melinda asks.

"My brother." I drain my coffee, already moving toward the bedroom to get dressed. "He's obviously heard about us."

"And?"

I pause in the doorway, taking in the sight of her surrounded by tactical plans, wedding ring catching the light, my shirt hanging off her shoulders like a claim. "And Marco doesn't approve of the family mixing with Mastronis."

"Fuck what he approves of." Fire flashes in her amber eyes. "You're not his property."

"No," I agree, pulling on a charcoal suit. "But family politics are complicated. Marco's been gunning for my position since we were teenagers. This gives him ammunition."

She stands, crossing to me with that assertive grace I'm learning to recognize. Her hands smooth my tie, fingers lingering at my throat. "Be careful. Men like Marco—they escalate when they feel threatened."

"I can handle my brother."

"Can you?" She looks up at me, expression serious. "Because from what I know about him, Marco doesn't handle rejection well. And he definitely doesn't handle being upstaged."

I cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Worried about me, Dr. Mason?"

"Worried about our daughter." But her eyes say something different. "If something happens to you, Vincent..."

"Nothing's going to happen to me." I kiss her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with morning coffee. "Stay here. One of the guys will be outside if you need anything."

"I'm not helpless."

"I know. But humor me."

The Russo Enterprises building buzzes with its usual controlled chaos—legitimate business masking the real operations running beneath. I take the private elevator to the executive floor, my security team flanking me like shadows. Whatever Marco wants, it won't be pleasant.

I find him in my office, feet propped on my desk, smoking a cigarette despite the no-smoking policy. He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit that can't quite hide the violence coiled beneath his skin.

"Brother." He doesn't stand when I enter. "Congratulations on your engagement. Though I have to say, your taste in women is... questionable."

"Get your feet off my desk."

He grins, slow and dangerous. "Touchy. Must be the pregnancy hormones. Tell me, does she puke when she sucks your cock, or is that just when she thinks about what kind of family she's marrying into?"

The insult hits like a physical blow. I move before conscious thought takes over, crossing the room in three strides, hauling Marco out of my chair by his lapels. The cigarette falls to the expensive carpet, smoldering.

"Watch your fucking mouth," I growl, slamming him against the floor-to-ceiling window.

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