Page 49 of Crushed Vow
Ethan dropped to the ground, hands flying to his thigh as blood gushed beneath his fingers.
I dropped to my knees beside him, sobbing. “Ethan—Ethan, stay with me—please—”
His face twisted in pain, his breath hitched violently, and he tried to grit through it, but the agony was too much.
“You—bastard,” he gasped, trying to sit up. He couldn’t. His body trembled, broken and bleeding into the dirt.
“Vincent! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Vincent exhaled smoke. “I hate weak sisters. And you’ve always been the weakest.”
Tears blinded me.
He stepped forward, calm as a machine, then he bent down, as if he hadn’t just shot someone I loved, and snapped a cold silver cuff around my wrists.
I jerked away from him, crying harder, screaming at him to stop—but he tightened the cuffs behind my back with a metallic click.
“Vincent,” I gasped, heart pounding against my ribcage. “You’re really doing this? To your own sister?”
His eyes barely flicked toward mine. “I advise you stay quiet, little weak sister,” he muttered. “Or I’ll kill your boyfriend right here and now.”
Luca strode over and crouched beside Ethan, then kicked him hard in the ribs. Ethan coughed violently, blood trailing from his lips.
“Don’t touch him!” I screamed.
“He’ll live,” Luca said with a smile. “Just enough to see what I do to you.”
He grabbed Ethan’s arm and dragged him across the dirt like trash, then hurled him into the open trunk.
I couldn’t breathe. All I saw was red.
The trunk slammed shut with a sickening thud.
I stared at the blood-streaked metal, horror clawing up my throat.
They shoved me into the backseat of the car. My wrists were still bound. I tried to fight, but Vincent held me down easily.
He slid in beside me like nothing had happened.
Like we weren’t drenched in betrayal.
Luca got into the driver’s seat and turned toward me with a grin. “You filed divorce papers. Good. Now we can proceed with your real marriage.”
“You’ll never force me to marry you,” I spat.
“Oh, but you misunderstand,” Luca chuckled. “Your father wants that vault open. And your marriage to a Moretti is the key. You’re not the bride—I’m not the groom. You’re the lock.”
I turned to Vincent, shaking. “And you? You’re really siding with them?”
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t look at me.
The silence was worse than the bullets.
I wanted to scream. Cry. Rip him apart. But I was frozen.
Because in that moment, I realized—
