Page 50 of Broken Vows

He’s one second from snapping. I can feel it.

"Careful, Marco," Vincent's voice carries deadly quiet.

"What? We're all family here, right?" Marco's smile turns vicious. "I'm just wondering out loud how convenient it is that our supposed ‘family-by-proxy’ here happens to be an expert on exactly the problems we've been having."

I push back from the table and stand, letting them see the steel in my spine. "If you have something to say to me—say it. I’m right here."."

Marco's eyes flash. "I'm saying maybe your family sent you to fuck my brother and spy. Maybe this pregnancy is just another play."

Vincent explodes from his chair, hand closing around Marco's throat before I can blink. "I warned you."

"Enough." Antonio's voice cuts through the violence like a blade. "Vincent. Sit down. Marco, apologize."

"For what? Speaking the truth?"

"For insulting the mother of my grandchild in my house." Antonio's tone could freeze blood. "Now."

Marco looks like he wants to argue, but even he isn't stupid enough to defy his father directly. "My apologies, Melinda. I misspoke."

It's not an apology—it's a grudging retreat. But I’ll take it. For now.

Vincent releases his brother and returns to his seat, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. I remain standing, letting them all see that I won't be intimidated.

"For the record," I say quietly, "I didn't seduce Vincent for intelligence. I fucked him because I wanted to forget who I was for one night. The pregnancy was an accident. Everything else—including sitting here pretending to enjoy your company—is me making the best of a fucked-up situation."

Antonio's eyebrows rise at my language, but his smile suggests approval. "Refreshingly honest."

Before anyone can respond, Vincent's phone buzzes with an urgent vibration. He glances at the screen, face going pale.

"What is it?" Antonio demands.

"Tommaso Benedetti is dead."

The name hits the room like a physical blow. Tommaso Benedetti—one of Antonio's most trusted captains, a man who's been with the family for over fifteen years. I watch the transformation happen in real time: Antonio's cultured dinner host persona evaporates, replaced by the cold killer underneath.

"How?" His voice is flat, deadly.

"Three bullets to the head, execution style. Found in his car outside Marcello's in Little Italy." Vincent's jaw tightens as he reads. "There's more. Mastroni family crest carved into his forehead."

My blood turns to ice. Someone's going all out trying to frame my family, to start a war between our families while I'm sitting here pregnant with Vincent's child.

"Fucking animals," Marco snarls, already reaching for his phone. "I'll mobilize our crews?—"

"No." Antonio's command cuts through the air like a whip. "Not yet."

"Dad, they just executed one of our made men?—"

"I said not yet." Antonio's eyes never leave Vincent's face. "This is too clean. Too obvious."

Vincent nods slowly. "The timing's suspicious. Someone wants us at each other's throats."

"Or maybe the Mastronis are sending a message about the terms of this alliance," Marco suggests, his gaze sliding to me with open hostility, a hint of wildness starting to form behind his pupils. "Maybe they want us to know exactly what they think of this arrangement."

I feel my temper flare. "My family doesn't operate through messages carved in flesh, Marco. When we want someone dead, we kill them. We don't leave calling cards like some comic book villain."

"Really? Because that's exactly what this looks like?—"

"Enough." Antonio stands, his movement triggering an immediate response from security personnel I hadn't even noticed were in the room. Men in expensive suits materialize from shadows, hands resting casually near concealed weapons. The transition from family dinner to military operation happens so smoothly it's almost surreal

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