Page 55 of Broken Vows

I release him and step back, hand moving toward my weapon. "Dad's going to want to hear this."

"Dad's not going to do shit." Marco straightens his tie, arrogance replacing fear. "You think he'll choose his Mastroni-fucking son over family tradition? Over everything he taught us about loyalty?"

"I think he'll choose the future of this family over your fucking ego."

"We'll see."

The office door opens, and Antonio steps inside. He moves with the controlled power of a man who's killed more people than most soldiers, expensive suit doing nothing to hide the predator underneath.

"Vincent. Marco." His voice is flat, giving nothing away. "I understand we have a family matter to discuss."

I gesture to the evidence spread across the desk. "Marco's been financing Perezzi operations against us. He compromised Melinda's medical records, orchestrated the attacks on her, and admitted to targeting my child."

Antonio's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his dark eyes—a coldness that's made grown men piss themselves in terror.

"Is this true, Marco?"

My brother lifts his chin, defiant even in the face of certain death. "I protected this family from a threat you were too blind to see."

"By attacking the mother of my grandchild."

"By preventing a mistake that would have destroyed us."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of three generations of violence. When Antonio speaks again, his voice carries the authority of absolute power.

"You will cease all operations against Melinda Mastroni immediately. You will provide Vincent with completeintelligence on Perezzi movements and capabilities. You will make restitution for the financial damages you've caused."

Marco's face goes white. "Dad?—"

"You will do this, or you will face the consequences of betraying family."

"She's not family!"

"She carries Russo blood. That makes her untouchable." Antonio's smile is sharp as a blade. "I suggest you remember that, before I forget you're my son."

Marco looks between us, calculating odds, measuring loyalties. Finally, his shoulders slump in defeat.

"Fine. I'll provide the intelligence. But don't come crying to me when this alliance destroys everything we've built."

He storms out, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne and family betrayal.

Antonio turns to me, expression unreadable. "How is Melinda?"

"Angry. Scared. Ready to start her own war if necessary."

"Smart woman. She'll need to be, to survive what's coming." He moves to the window overlooking the city, hands clasped behind his back. "Marriage, Vincent. Make it official. Give the child legitimacy and her the protection of our name."

"She might not agree."

"Then convince her. Use whatever leverage you have."

I think about Melinda's fierce independence, her refusal to be controlled by either family. "She's not the type to be leveraged."

"No," Antonio agrees. "But she's the type to protect her child above all else. Use that."

The suggestion sits like poison in my chest, but I nod anyway. In our world, love is a luxury few can afford.

I return to the penthouse to find Melinda pacing the living room like a caged predator, phone pressed to her ear. She's speaking rapid Italian to someone—probably Maya—her voice carrying that sharp edge that means she's planning something dangerous.

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