Page 47 of Broken Vows

"I'm going to get facts before I make decisions that could destroy everything we've built." I turn to Tony. "Double security on all our operations. If this was a test run, they'll hit again."

"And the doctor?" Tony asks carefully.

"She stays protected. Whatever's happening, she's not part of it."

"How can you be sure?" Marco demands, that familiar tightening of his pupils showing me he’s slipping into his own special type of mania. "She shows up after years in exile, fucks you once, claims she's pregnant, and suddenly we're under attack. Connect the fucking dots, Vincent."

"The dots don't connect," I snap. "Melinda's been under family protection for weeks. She hasn't had contact with Mastroni operations?—"

"That you know of," Marco interrupts, arms flung wide as if I’m the world’s biggest idiot. "Women like her, they're trained from birth to manipulate. To seduce and destroy. She's playing the long game, and you're too pussy-whipped to see it."

I want to break his neck. The only thing stopping me is the knowledge that family bloodshed will weaken us when we need unity most.

"Change of plans," I tell Tony. "I'm meeting Max now."

"Not alone," Tony protests. "Could be a trap."

"If Max wanted me dead, I'd already be bleeding out in an alley." I grab my jacket, checking that my Glock is secure in its shoulder holster. "But keep teams positioned around the pier. If this goes sideways, I want options."

Marco blocks my path to the door and hisses, "You're making a mistake, brother. The family won't forgive you for choosing pussy over blood."

"The family will forgive me for preventing a war that could destroy us all." I shoulder past him. "And Marco? If I find out you had anything to do with that warehouse hit..."

"What? You'll kill your own brother?"

"I'll do what's necessary for the family. Always."

The drive to Pier 47 gives me time to think, to plan. The attack was too clean, too professional for a random hit. Someone with resources, someone with access to our operations. The Mastroni pendant feels like misdirection—too obvious, too neat.

Marco's hatred burns behind my eyes. He's always resented my position, my relationship with our father. But would he sacrifice our men just to undermine me? The thought sits like acid in my stomach.

Pier 47 is exactly what you'd expect—rusted metal, abandoned containers, the smell of salt water and decay. Max Mastroni waits alone by a shipping container, hands visible, no weapons drawn. Professional courtesy among killers.

"Vincent." He nods as I approach. "Heard you had some excitement today."

"Your people's work?" I stop ten feet away, hand resting casually near my gun.

"My people don't leave calling cards." His dark eyes are steady, calculating. "We're not that fucking stupid."

"Then who?"

"Someone who wants us killing each other instead of making money." Max pulls out a cigarette, lights it with practicedefficiency. "Question is, who benefits from a Russo-Mastroni war?"

I consider this. "Russians have been pushing into our territory. Chinese are expanding their operations. Hell, could be the Irish trying to play us against each other."

"Or," Max says quietly, "it could be someone inside one of our families. Someone who doesn't like the idea of peace."

The thought I've been avoiding crystallizes. Marco. My own fucking brother, willing to spill blood to maintain his position.

"Your sister," I say carefully. "She been in contact with your operations since returning?"

Max's expression hardens. "Melinda's been under protection, not planning hits. She's a doctor, not a soldier."

"But she knows your security protocols. Your methods."

"So do a lot of people." He takes a long drag, studying me through the smoke. "Including people in your own family who might not approve of this alliance."

We stare at each other across ten feet of concrete and decades of bloodshed. Two killers trying to prevent a war while protecting what matters most.

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