Page 69 of Broken Vows

My grip on the scalpel remains tight even as my mental turmoil eases. Vincent is playing the role of my savior today. And as Ifeel movement in my belly—my stress is impacting the baby—I couldn’t be more glad to see him. I try to calm myself.

Vincent steps out of the service elevator, gun already drawn. His movements are fluid, practiced—the kind of control that comes from killing often and well.

"Two choices," he says conversationally. "Walk away now, or bleed out in this hallway. Either way, Dr. Mason comes with me."

The knife-wielding man makes his choice, lunging toward me with steel extended. Vincent's first shot takes him center mass, the impact spinning him sideways into the wall. The second man draws his gun, but Vincent's already adjusting aim.

The sound in the enclosed hallway is deafening. Two shots, close together, both finding their targets with extreme accuracy. The men drop, blood spreading across industrial carpeting that's probably seen worse.

"Are you hurt?" Vincent's beside me immediately, hands checking for wounds with the same control he used to eliminate threats.

"I'm fine." My voice comes out steadier than expected. "How did you?—"

"Marco's been making calls to Boston associates. I flew up the moment I heard." His dark eyes scan my face, looking for signs of trauma. "You shouldn't have come here alone."

"I had security?—"

"You had targets on your back." He holsters his weapon, already coordinating cleanup through his earpiece. "Tony, we need a cleaning crew. Service corridor, level three. Two packages."

Santino emerges from where he'd taken cover, looking sheepish. "Boss, I?—"

"Did your job," Vincent cuts him off. "Got her out of the main area, contained the situation. Good work."

Back in our hotel suite, Vincent paces like a caged predator while I sit on the bed, hands finally starting to shake with delayed adrenaline. The baby's been active since the confrontation, as if responding to my elevated heart rate.

"This ends tonight," Vincent says, phone pressed to his ear. "I don't care what it costs or who gets hurt. Marco crossed a line."

I watch him coordinate with his security team, noting the cold efficiency that makes him so dangerous. But there's something else underneath—genuine fear. Not for himself, but for me.

"Vincent." I wait until he ends his call, meets my eyes. "You were scared."

He stops pacing. For a moment, his careful mask slips, revealing something raw and vulnerable. "Terrified. When Tony called, said there were men asking about your schedule..." He runs a hand through his hair. "I've never moved that fast in my life."

"You could have sent backup instead of coming yourself."

"No." His voice is granite. "Not for this. Not for you."

Before I can respond, my phone rings. Max's name on the screen.

"Mel." His voice is tense, urgent. "We've got a problem. Dad just called from Boston—Antonio Russo has summoned every capo in the city. Emergency meeting, all hands."

My blood turns cold. "What kind of meeting?"

"The kind that ends with bodies in the harbor. Marco's been feeding the old man poison about us, about you. Antonio thinks we set up the attacks to frame them, gain sympathy while positioning for a takeover."

I look at Vincent, see the same realization dawning in his eyes. Marco hasn't just been trying to eliminate me—he's been orchestrating a war.

"How long do we have?" I ask.

"Hours, maybe less. Dad's mobilizing every soldier we have. If this goes hot, Mel, it's going to be everything. Every family, every territory, every alliance we've built. All of it burns."

The call ends, leaving Vincent and me staring at each other across a hotel room that suddenly feels like a bunker.

"Your brother," I say quietly, "just declared war on both our families."

Vincent's smile is sharp as winter. "Then we better make sure we win."

22

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