Page 6 of Broken Vows

"You should’ve seen this guy. Begged. Cried."

The words drip out slow, like he’s savoring every second of it.

"It’s sweet, you know? How scared people get. How loud they beg for mercy. Like we give a fuck about their sad little lives."

A muscle ticks in my jaw.

"Anything else to report?" I ask.

"Or you just here to show off?"

"Don’t be jealous I get results," Marco says.

"Anyway. Dad said you’d want in on the next round. Looks like the Mastronis are moving heavy on those Bronx pharma deals. Who you want tailing them? My guys?"

Goons who’ll start a war.

Or mine. The ones who know how not to leave a trail.

I give him the coldest smile I’ve got.

“We’ll handle it like we handle all Russo business. Quiet. While you play messenger boy.”

The pause is deliberate.

He hears what’s under my words.

Marco sours, lip curling.

He takes the hit, but not quietly.

"You always want things neat, Vince."

That look—that’s the reason he resents me. Has for years. I only leave blood on the floor when it has to be done. He splatters it recklessly, paints fucking murals with it.

Marco tucks the plastic-wrapped finger back in his pocket and walks out whistling, shoes leaving bloody prints behind him.

I don’t exhale until he’s gone.

I rest both hands on the edge of the desk.

The ring gleams like an accusation.

But all I see is her.

Mouth wrapped around my cock. Nails digging into my shoulders.

Damn it. Focus.

For a second, exhaustion slams into me, sharp and absolute. I want to scrub myself raw in a boiling shower. To undo history. But there’s no point in wanting.

This is the job.

This is the inheritance.

Legacy.

Franco sticks his head in. “Want a look at the ledger before I dump the phones?”