Page 49 of Broken Vows

Just like his father, but without the polish.

"So, Melinda," he drawls, my name sliding from his mouth like it tastes bad.

"How’s it feel jumping back into the family business after all that time playing doctor?"

"I wasn't playing anything," I reply evenly. "I was working twelve-hour shifts while you were playing executioner in a tailored suit."

His smile sharpens. "Right. You stitched up strangers while your family left bodies in dumpsters. Playing the saint must’ve been nice, thinking your hands were clean.."

Vincent's grip tightens on my hand. "Marco."

“What?” Marco lifts his glass, with all his faux charm. “Just wondering how our newest recruit weighs her Hippocratic Oath against the Mastroni playbook.”

He sips, slow and smug, eyes locked on mine.

“‘Do no harm,’ right? Bit of a gray area when your family specializes in body bags.”Heat flashes through my chest, but I keep my voice steady. "I've seen enough harm to know when…” I find the right words, “keeping order is necessary and when it's just sadistic indulgence. The difference usually comes down to brains."

Antonio's fork pauses mid-air. "Interesting perspective. And what's your assessment of our current... medical needs?"

It sounds innocent. It’s not.

I know a test when I hear one.

"Depends what you're asking. If you mean trauma care, your family's security detail could use better first aid training. Most gunshot fatalities happen from blood loss before medical help arrives."

"And if I mean something else entirely?"

I meet his stare without flinching. "Then you'd need to be more specific about your symptoms, Mr. Russo."

Vincent shifts beside me, probably wondering if I've lost my mind challenging his father. But Antonio laughs—a genuine sound that transforms his face completely.

"She's got steel, Vincent. I'll give you that." He turns back to me. "We've been having distribution problems. Pharmaceutical supplies, specifically. Shipments delayed, security compromised, profit margins affected."

"Hospital purchasing systems are notoriously vulnerable," I say, surprising myself with how easily the words come. "Most medical centers use centralized ordering through automated systems. If someone had access to shipping schedules, inventory databases, security protocols..." I shrug. "It wouldn't be difficult to disrupt operations or redirect supplies."

Marco's casual demeanor evaporates. "You seem awfully knowledgeable about that for someone who's supposedly been out of the game."

"I work in a hospital, Marco. I know how these systems function because I use them every day. Unlike some people, I actually understand the businesses I'm involved in."

Vincent's hand squeezes mine again, but this time it feels like approval rather than warning.

"The security gaps are everywhere," I say, weighing my words with care, wanting to give common industry knowledge without sounding like I’m deep in my family’s business. "Delivery schedules shared over unsecured networks, warehouses run on outdated keycards, pharmaceutical manifests processed by minimum-wage clerks who aren't exactly vetted for loyalty."

Antonio leans forward slightly. "And how might one address such vulnerabilities?"

"Hypothetically? Diversify supply chains. Use multiple smaller distributors instead of relying on major medical conglomerates. Implement end-to-end encryption for all communications. Most importantly, cultivate relationships with people who actually work in the system—nurses, pharmacy techs, logistics coordinators. They see everything and rarely get paid enough to stay quiet about irregularities."

The room falls silent except for the soft ticking of an antique clock. I can feel Vincent's eyes on me, probably wondering when I became an expert in medical supply chain security.

"Fascinating," Antonio murmurs. "You've given this considerable thought."

"Professional hazard. When you're trying to save lives, you notice what makes systems fail."

Marco sets down his wine glass—hard..

“Funny,” he says. “You sound more like someone gathering intel than someone trying to save lives..

Vincent goes rigid beside me, his hand moving away from mine toward something under his jacket.

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