Page 22 of Broken Vows (Empire City Syndicate #2)

Vincent

Russo Enterprises feels like a mausoleum after hours.

I take the private elevator up, each floor taking me closer to facing a traitor who should be an ally, a brother who should act like family.

Marco's already in Dad's office when I arrive, feet propped on the mahogany desk like he owns the place.

He's wearing a three-piece suit that probably costs more than most people make in a month. But his appearance is sloppy—twisted collar, hair a mess.

He looks like a man under pressure.

"Vincent." He doesn't look up from the financial documents spread across the desk. “What ‘emergency’ are you and Dad going to bitch about now?”

"Cut the shit, Marco." I close the door behind me, engaging the electronic lock that ensures no surveillance, no interruptions. "We need to talk."

"About what? Your pregnant girlfriend? Your sudden alliance with our enemies?" He finally meets my eyes, and I see something I've never noticed before—real hatred, burning cold and focused. "Or maybe about how you've been investigating your own family?"

The admission hits like a physical blow. He knows I've been digging into the financial records, tracking the money trail that leads directly to his accounts.

"Six months of payments to Perezzi operations," I say, pulling out my phone and displaying Davide's findings. "Shell companies, offshore transfers, weapons purchases. You've been financing a war against your own family."

Marco's feet hit the floor with a sharp crack against marble. "Interesting hypothesis."

"Bank records. Surveillance photos. Communication intercepts." I set the evidence on the desk between us, watching his face for any hint of denial. "You orchestrated the attacks on Melinda. You compromised her medical records. You've been working with the Perezzis to destabilize both families."

Marco examines his manicured nails with theatrical indifference. "You know what I love about you, Vincent? Your imagination. Always seeing conspiracies where there's just... business."

The non-denial hits harder than any confession could. Part of me hoped I was wrong, that my brother hadn't betrayed everything we'd built together.

"Why?" The word comes out rough, thick with emotions I've spent years suppressing.

"Why what?" Marco's smile is razor-thin. "Why would I want to protect this family from making a catastrophic mistake? Why would I be concerned about our traditions being... diluted?"

He stands, moving around the desk. "Dad's been grooming you for leadership since we were kids. The smart one, the strategic one, the son who understands the modern world. But you know what you don't understand, Vincent?"

"Enlighten me."

"Fear. Respect. The kind of loyalty that only comes from knowing what happens when you cross the Russo legacy." His voice drops to a whisper. "You've forgotten what we are. What this family was built on."

"We're killers, Marco. We've always been killers. But being smart about it doesn't make us weak."

"Doesn't it?" He pulls out his phone, showing me surveillance photos of Melinda leaving the hospital. "Your precious doctor girlfriend, walking around unprotected, carrying your bastard child. You think love makes you stronger? It makes you fucking vulnerable."

The rage that's been building in my chest finally explodes. I have him against the wall before he can react, forearm pressed against his throat, watching his eyes widen with something that might be fear.

"You threatened my child," I growl. "My family."

"Our family," he gasps. "She's not family. She's Mastroni poison, and that thing growing inside her is going to destroy everything Dad built."

I press harder, feeling his pulse flutter against my arm. "That thing is your nephew. My blood."

"Your mistake." His voice comes out strangled but defiant. "You think mixing bloodlines makes us stronger? It makes us weak. Divided loyalties, split allegiances. A Russo-Mastroni child doesn't unite our families—it gives every rival in the city a target."

"So you decided to eliminate the threat."

"I decided to protect what matters." He claws at my arm, but I don't relent. "The Perezzi family was happy to help. They hate the Mastronis almost as much as they fear us."

"And the medical records? How did you access Melinda's private information?"

Marco shrugs, examining the family photos on Dad's desk. "Information has a way of finding interested parties, doesn't it? Especially when people are... motivated to share."

The admission sends ice through my veins. He's been watching her, tracking her medical care, violating her privacy in the most intimate way possible. The pregnancy she's trying to protect, the child we're both fighting to keep safe—he's turned it into a weapon.

I release him and step back, hand moving toward my weapon. "Dad's going to want to hear this."

"Dad's not going to do shit." Marco straightens his tie, arrogance replacing fear. "You think he'll choose his Mastroni-fucking son over family tradition? Over everything he taught us about loyalty?"

"I think he'll choose the future of this family over your fucking ego."

"We'll see."

The office door opens, and Antonio steps inside. He moves with the controlled power of a man who's killed more people than most soldiers, expensive suit doing nothing to hide the predator underneath.

"Vincent. Marco." His voice is flat, giving nothing away. "I understand we have a family matter to discuss."

I gesture to the evidence spread across the desk. "Marco's been financing Perezzi operations against us. He compromised Melinda's medical records, orchestrated the attacks on her, and admitted to targeting my child."

Antonio's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his dark eyes—a coldness that's made grown men piss themselves in terror.

"Is this true, Marco?"

My brother lifts his chin, defiant even in the face of certain death. "I protected this family from a threat you were too blind to see."

"By attacking the mother of my grandchild."

"By preventing a mistake that would have destroyed us."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of three generations of violence. When Antonio speaks again, his voice carries the authority of absolute power.

"You will cease all operations against Melinda Mastroni immediately. You will provide Vincent with complete intelligence on Perezzi movements and capabilities. You will make restitution for the financial damages you've caused."

Marco's face goes white. "Dad?—"

"You will do this, or you will face the consequences of betraying family."

"She's not family!"

"She carries Russo blood. That makes her untouchable." Antonio's smile is sharp as a blade. "I suggest you remember that, before I forget you're my son."

Marco looks between us, calculating odds, measuring loyalties. Finally, his shoulders slump in defeat.

"Fine. I'll provide the intelligence. But don't come crying to me when this alliance destroys everything we've built."

He storms out, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne and family betrayal.

Antonio turns to me, expression unreadable. "How is Melinda?"

"Angry. Scared. Ready to start her own war if necessary."

"Smart woman. She'll need to be, to survive what's coming." He moves to the window overlooking the city, hands clasped behind his back. "Marriage, Vincent. Make it official. Give the child legitimacy and her the protection of our name."

"She might not agree."

"Then convince her. Use whatever leverage you have."

I think about Melinda's fierce independence, her refusal to be controlled by either family. "She's not the type to be leveraged."

"No," Antonio agrees. "But she's the type to protect her child above all else. Use that."

The suggestion sits like poison in my chest, but I nod anyway. In our world, love is a luxury few can afford.

I return to the penthouse to find Melinda pacing the living room like a caged predator, phone pressed to her ear. She's speaking rapid Italian to someone—probably Maya—her voice carrying that sharp edge that means she's planning something dangerous.

"No, I'm not staying locked up like some helpless—" She stops when she sees me, switching to English. "I have to go. We'll continue this later."

She hangs up and turns to face me, amber eyes blazing with fury and determination. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About the fact that you think you can keep me prisoner in your ivory tower while you handle family business." She crosses her arms, the gesture emphasizing the slight curve of her belly beneath her sweater. "I'm going back to work tomorrow."

"Absolutely not."

"I wasn't asking permission." Her voice could cut glass. "I have patients depending on me, surgeries scheduled. I'm not abandoning my responsibilities because your psychotic brother decided to start a war."

"My psychotic brother who's been tracking your medical appointments, compromising your security, and targeting our child." I step closer, letting her see the steel in my eyes. "You're not going anywhere until this is resolved."

"Watch me."

Melinda's never backed down from a fight, never shown weakness even when she should. It's what makes her magnificent and infuriating in equal measure.

"You don't understand the level of threat?—"

"I understand plenty." She moves closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo mixed with the faint scent of antiseptic that always clings to her. "I've been stitching up gunshot wounds since I was sixteen, Vincent. I've seen what your world does to people."

"Then you know why I need to keep you safe."

"Safe?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You think hiding me away keeps me safe? I've spent my entire career in emergency rooms, dealing with the aftermath of violence. I know how to handle myself."

"This is different."

"How? Because it's personal now? Because someone's targeting me specifically?" Her hand moves to her stomach, protective and fierce. "I've been running from this world for years, trying to build something clean. But I can't run from what I am."