Page 52 of Broken Vows

Vincent looks up from his phone call. "What?"

"I need to call my sister. I need access to Mastroni resources you don't control."

"Melinda, whatever you're thinking?—"

"I'm thinking someone made the mistake of threatening my baby." I meet his eyes, letting him see the steel beneath my carefully maintained composure. "I'm thinking it's time they learned what a Mastroni woman does to people who threaten her family."

I dial Maya's number, my hands perfectly steady now. The fear has crystallized into something harder, colder, infinitely more dangerous.

"Maya? It's me. I need your help."

"Mel? What's wrong?"

"Someone accessed my medical records. Someone threatened the baby." My voice is calm, the tone I use when delivering terminal diagnoses. "I need you to find them."

A pause. Then Maya's voice, soft and deadly: "Consider it done, sister. What do you want left?"

"Nothing." The word comes out flat, final. "I want nothing left."

They picked the wrong woman.

And now I get to show them what a mother’s wrath really looks like.

I know how to keep someone alive.

Which means I know exactly how to end them.

16

Vincent

The war room in my penthouse has never seen this kind of coordination.

Maps spread across every surface, encrypted phones buzzing with constant updates, and for the first time in three generations, Russo and Mastroni soldiers working together.

The sight should be historic. Instead, it feels like a fucking necessity.

I stand over the central table, studying surveillance photos while Tony coordinates with Maya's team through secure channels.

The alliance is fragile—decades of bloodshed don't disappear overnight—but mutual survival makes strange bedfellows.

"Perezzi movements confirmed in three locations," Tony reports, hanging up his encrypted line. "They're mobilizing hard, but it's not random. Someone's coordinating their operations."

Maya leans against the wall, arms crossed, that predatory smile playing at her lips. "My sources say Perezzi's been flush withcash lately. New cars, upgraded weapons, recruiting heavily from the docks."

"Someone's bankrolling them," I conclude, though the implications make my stomach turn. "The question is who has that kind of money and motivation."

"Could be the Russians," Tony suggests. "They've been pushing into pharmaceutical distribution."

"Or the Chinese. They want our port access."

Maya shakes her head. "Neither of those bastards would use the Perezzis as proxies. Too unreliable. This feels personal."

Personal. The word sits like poison in my mouth because I know she's right. Someone close enough to know our operations, our security protocols, our fucking family dynamics. Someone who understands that targeting Melinda would create maximum chaos between our families.

My phone buzzes with a message from Davide, my private investigator:Financial records attached. You need to see this.

I open the encrypted files, scanning bank transfers and shell company documentation. The pattern becomes clear immediately—money flowing from a Russo account to various Perezzi operations over the past six months. Small amounts, careful transfers, but consistent.

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