Page 61 of Broken Vows

But it's what I don't see that makes my blood run cold. No evidence of the investigation Maya described. No comprehensive case against Marco. Just the controlled chaos of a man trying to manage a crisis without decisive action.

I find the surveillance photos tucked into a folder marked "Family Business"—images of Marco meeting with Perezzi operatives, financial transfers, evidence of the betrayal Vincent's been tracking. But the timestamps show this information was only compiled in the last few hours. Still, it’s not enough—and Vincent hasn’t acted on it.

"Find what you're looking for?"

I turn to find Vincent standing in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, exhaustion written in the lines around his eyes. He looks like a man carrying the weight of impossible choices.

"You've known about Marco for days," I say, holding up the photos. "Why haven't you acted on this?"

"It's complicated."

"Bullshit." I set the folder down with deliberate force. "Your brother is financing operations against me, against our child, and you're protecting him."

"I'm not protecting him. I'm trying to handle this without starting a war that destroys both our families."

"While he destroys us first?" My voice rises, months of fear and frustration finally boiling over. "He accessed my medicalrecords, Vincent. He sent me pictures of our baby as a threat. How much more escalation are you waiting for?"

Vincent moves closer, hands reaching for me, but I step back. The distance between us feels like a chasm filled with secrets and divided loyalties.

"Marco is family," he says quietly. "Blood. You understand what that means."

"I understand that family doesn't threaten innocent children." My hand moves automatically to my stomach, protective and fierce. "I understand that blood can be poison when it's twisted by jealousy and ambition."

"If I move against him, it needs to be final. Permanent. There's no coming back from that kind of decision."

"And if you don't move against him?" I challenge. "What happens to us? To our child? How many more people get hurt while you wrestle with family loyalty?"

The question hits him like a physical blow. I see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his jaw clenches, the flicker of pain in his dark eyes.

"I've killed for this family," he says, voice rough with emotion I've never heard before. "I've buried bodies, eliminated threats, done things that should have damned my soul years ago. But this... this is different."

"Why?"

"Because it's Marco." The admission comes out broken, vulnerable in a way that transforms him from dangerous crime lord to grieving brother. "Because we used to be close. Because Iremember when we were kids, before power-lust corrupted him, before he started seeing me as competition instead of family."

For the first time since I've known him, Vincent Russo looks lost. The man who controls everything, who plans for every contingency, who moves through the world with absolute confidence—reduced to a brother struggling with an impossible choice.

"Vincent," I say softly, moving closer. "I'm sorry. I know this is killing you."

"I can't save him," he whispers. "I've tried. God knows I've tried. But he's too far gone, too consumed by hatred and resentment."

"Then save us instead."

19

Melinda

I move to Vincent's study and open my laptop, accessing the medical databases I still have clearance for.

It takes twenty minutes to compile a list of pharmaceuticals that would cause cardiac arrest in the right combination—drugs that occur naturally in the body that would be virtually undetectable in a standard autopsy.

As I scroll through dosage calculations, my laptop chimes with an encrypted message.

Maya, sending me something through the secure channel we established years ago.

The message is brief: "Found something you need to see. Check the attached surveillance footage. That face look familiar?"

I download the file, my heart racing like crazy. The timestamp shows last week—security cameras from the hospital parking garage. I watch myself walking to my car after a double shift, exhaustion weighing down my shoulders. Then a figure emerges from behind a concrete pillar.

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