Page 65 of Broken Vows

"When?" he asks. "Where was the body found?"

I watch dread settle in my stomach like lead weights. Someone's dead—someone important enough to warrant a secure line at seven in the morning.

"Understood. Secure the scene. No media, no police interference." He hangs up, turning to me with eyes like winter. "Tommy Castellano is dead."

The name hits me like a physical blow. Tommy—one of my most trusted lieutenants, a man who'd taken bullets for this family, who'd been with us since he was sixteen years old.

"How?"

"Execution style. Three bullets to the head. Found in his car outside a Mastroni-owned restaurant in Little Italy." Antonio's voice carries deadly quiet. "With a Mastroni family crest carved into his forehead."

Fuck. Marco's not slowing down in his attempts to reignite the blood feud between our families while I'm working to build bridges. The timing is too perfect to be coincidental—just as we're discussing his elimination, he provides another reason why negotiation with the Mastronis is impossible.

"Dad, this is obviously?—"

"I want immediate retaliation," Antonio cuts me off. "Hit three Mastroni soldiers. Send a message that we don't tolerate disrespect."

"This is a frame job. Marco's trying to start a war?—"

"The evidence suggests otherwise." His voice turns cold as arctic wind. "Your pregnant girlfriend's family just executed one of our most loyal men. How do you explain that, Vincent?"

"I explain it by recognizing Marco's fucking tactics." I slam my hand against the desk, sending documents scattering. "He's playing us against each other while he builds his own power base."

"Or you're so blinded by pussy that you can't see the obvious truth." Antonio's words cut like a blade. "The Mastronis killed Tommy to send a message about this alliance. Maybe they think pregnancy makes them untouchable."

"They didn't do this."

"Prove it. You have six hours. After that, we respond with overwhelming force." Antonio moves to his desk, already reaching for his phone. "And Vincent? If you're wrong about this, if your judgment is compromised by personal feelings, the consequences will be severe."

The threat is clear. Question my leadership, choose the wrong side, and I'll face the same fate as any other enemy of the family.

I gather the evidence files, mind already racing through possibilities. Marco's smart enough to leave himself plausible deniability, cunning enough to make this look like legitimate Mastroni aggression. But he's also arrogant enough to leave traces—financial records, communication patterns, witnesses who might be persuaded to talk.

"Dad," I say, pausing at the door. "When this is over, when I prove Marco's behind this along with everything else we know he’s orchestrated, I want your word that we'll handle him permanently."

"When you prove it," Antonio says evenly. "If you can."

I take the elevator down to the parking garage, already dialing Max Mastroni's secure line. This conversation could be interpreted as treason by my own family, but the alternative is war.

"Vincent Russo," Max answers on the second ring. "Calling to declare war or to prevent one?"

"To prevent one. Tommy Castellano was found dead this morning, execution style, with your family's signature carved into his forehead."

Silence stretches between us, heavy with implications. "We didn't touch your man."

"I know. This is my brother's work—he's still trying to restart hostilities between our families."

"And your father believes we're responsible, after everything Maya tells me about so-called ‘evidence’?"

"My father wants immediate retaliation. I've bought six hours to prove Marco's involvement, but if I can't..." I let the implication hang.

"I'll put my people on lockdown," Max says. "But Vincent, my control over the more volatile members is limited. If you start shooting at us, we'll shoot back."

"Understood. Just—keep Melinda safe. Whatever happens, she stays protected."

"My sister doesn't need your protection." His voice carries an edge of Mastroni pride. "But I'll make sure she's secure."

The line goes dead, leaving me alone with the weight of impossible choices.

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