Page 94 of Broken Vows

"Take backup?—"

"No." The word comes out harder than intended. "This is between brothers."

Silence stretches across the line. When Melinda speaks again, her voice is deadly calm. "If you get yourself killed playing lone wolf, I'll resurrect you just to murder you again."

Despite everything, I almost smile. "I love you too."

"Fuck you, Vincent. Come home to your daughter."

The line goes dead. I pocket the phone and turn to address the room. Tony, Maya, Max's lieutenant Santos, Adrian—all watching me with varying degrees of concern.

"I'm going in alone," I announce.

"Like hell," Tony responds immediately. "Boss, that's suicide."

"It's strategy." I move to the weapons cabinet, selecting my preferred Glock and spare magazines. "Marco's obsessed with proving I've betrayed the family. He won't negotiate with anyone else."

Maya crosses her arms, predatory smile sharp as a blade. "You know I could put a bullet through his skull from eight hundred yards, right? Problem solved."

"This isn't about solving a problem. It's about ending a war." I check my weapon's magazine, muscle memory taking over. "Marco's convinced himself he's the righteous brother, that I murdered our father for power. Logic won't reach him, but maybe blood will."

"And if it doesn't?" Max's question carries the weight of command—one boss to another.

I meet his stare directly. "Then I make the choice our father should have made years ago."

The drive to Westchester gives me time to think, to prepare for what's coming. The estate appears unchanged from my childhood—imposing gates, manicured grounds, the main house rising like a monument to power built on blood. Security cameras track my approach, but no one stops me. Marco's expecting this.

I park at the front entrance, hands visible as I approach the door. The foyer smells like old wood and furniture polish, exactly as I remember. Family portraits line the walls—generations of Russo men who built this empire, each paying the price in different ways.

"Vincent." Marco's voice echoes from the study—Dad's old domain, the room where I learned my first lessons about power and consequence.

I find him seated behind the mahogany desk, surrounded by photo albums and memorabilia. He's wearing the same suit from our last confrontation, but it's wrinkled now, stained with what might be blood or wine. His blue eyes hold that fever-bright intensity I've learned to fear.

"Welcome home, brother." He gestures to the chair across from him—the same seat where I once sat while Dad explained why mercy was weakness. "I've been expecting you."

"Marco." I remain standing, hands loose at my sides. "It's over. The families are united. Your war failed."

"My war?" He laughs, sharp and bitter. "You think this is about territory? About business?" He picks up a framed photo from childhood—the three of us at Christmas, back when we still believed in family. "This is about loyalty, Vincent. About honoring what our father built."

"Our father was dying. Cancer was going to kill him within months."

"And you helped it along." Marco's voice drops to a whisper. "Had Sal do your dirty work. All so you could play house with the enemy."

Marco lunges before I can react, twenty years of childhood fighting erupting into lethal combat. We crash into the bookshelf, leather-bound volumes scattering as we grapple for position. He's always been faster, but I'm stronger, and desperation makes him sloppy.

I pin him against the wall, forearm pressed to his throat. "It doesn't have to end like this. We're still family."

"Family?" He spits blood onto the Persian rug. "You chose her over us. Chose their blood over ours."

"I chose the future over the past."

"You chose betrayal."

He breaks free with vicious efficiency, elbow driving into my ribs hard enough to crack bone. I stumble backward as he reaches for something behind the desk. When he turns back, there's a gun in his hand—Dad's old .38, the one he kept for sentimental reasons.

"Marco, don't."

"You know what the old man used to say?" He raises the weapon, finger on the trigger. "Family first. Always family first."

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