Page 58 of Ruined Vows
“She stays,” I snarl. “Unless you want to try to remove her. And you have to go through me.”
My voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t have to because they all know what I’d do to a man who touches what’s mine.
He dissents because he can, knowing I can’t kill him unless he crosses an unforgivable line. I’m sure he knows I was instrumental in my brother’s downfall. So there’s that.
He’s a thorn in my side. I carry him because he can’t chew bubble gum and walk at the same time, let alone lead our family. We’ve inherited him like an heirloom—only those can be useful.
Him? Decidedly not.
However, he is calculating. I’ll give him that. My brother ruled for years, and he never made his move; he just waited, like a lion who observes its prey before the kill. Miloš always kept one eye open when it came to him.
I trust him even less. The only question is, will he pounce this time? Is he a hunter or will he be prey?
Milan thinks I’m unworthy and now, weakened by a woman. But he doesn’t understand that Bianca didn’t weaken me—she gave me something worth burning the world to protect.
I meet his gaze. The Borrellis are an alliance. I build empires, not destroy them. Unless, of course, they deserve to be destroyed.” I send him a look that tells him he’s gone too far.
“You all know Miloš ran us into the ground. I have new deals in place. We’ll reap profit and clout. And I’m here to tellyou that everyone needs to fall in line.” I slam my hand on the table to make my point.
Damn him for pissing me off. He’s a problem, but I can’t remove him. Not yet.
The meeting turns to business at hand, and I hope I’ve proven that I can replace the trafficking money with guns and other deals. This will alleviate the immediate concerns the council has regarding revenue.
Two hours later, we adjourn. I’m exhausted. Running the empire is not as glamorous as Milan thinks it is. At times, it’s downright exhausting.
But I’m building a future, one that I want to share with Bianca, and that motivates me.
Later in the afternoon,I’m at the Borrelli warehouse, inside Matteo’s office, which smells of leather, gun oil, and ambition. Cold concrete and sharp metal, laced with the sweat of men who didn’t make it. It’s the kind of place where nothing’s ever said outright, but everything gets done. Deals, threats, and dreams stitched together in silence and strategy.
Matteo’s already at the long metal table, jacket tossed over the back of a folding chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he’s prepping for surgery. His fingers sail over the manifest pages with a reverence that borders on religious, like each line is gospel and deviation is sin. A half-empty, long, cold coffee mug at his side, an imprint of hours passed.
He doesn’t look up when I enter, but I can feel it—the awareness, the clockwork of his mind already ten steps ahead. He’s been in the fray almost as long as I have—Long enough to get comfortable. Long enough to be very dangerous.
“Brought the specs?” I ask, eyes scanning the crates along the wall, listening for the echo of footsteps that aren’t there.
He sets the briefcase on the table with a dullclunk, thesound of metal on metal. Pops it open with a flick of his wrist, deliberate—no wasted movement.
We review the schematics in silence. The kind that isn’t awkward—it’s efficient. Mutual. Dangerous. The air hums with unspoken history, sharpened by necessity. We’re two men raised by violence. Refined by the kind of fire that doesn’t leave scars you can see.
“I hope there’s room to negotiate.”
He grunts. “It’s Italy. There’s always room.” Matteo pauses. His eyes scan the paperwork, and I know the second he hits the part that matters. “You know Italian?” he asks, not looking up.
“Enough.”
“Not enough for this guy. He’s old-school Naples. Fast and nasty. My sister’ll translate.”
I don’t flinch. But I hear it.
His sister.He thinks highly of her, and it tells me she’s knowledgeable about the business deals we make. I can’t say that I’m surprised. Far be it from Bianca to let them cut her out of the family business. There’s a subtle tilt in the room, like we’re more than allies.
I nod. “Fine.”
If I need her, it allows me to see her again, and it won’t count as a date.
Matteo glances up, his eyes catching mine. “She’s fluent. Grew up switching languages like gears. She’s sharp.”
I assumed as much. It’s not like I don’t know his sister by now. But I don’t reply. Because I know the sharpest edges aren’t always forged harsh words or criticisms.
