Page 34 of Broken Vows (Empire City Syndicate #2)
Melinda
Six weeks old, and Maria already has her father's dark eyes, my stubborn chin.
She's gained weight steadily since leaving the NICU, her tiny fists now strong enough to grip Vincent's finger with surprising determination.
"She's perfect," I murmur, moving to adjust the blackout curtains.
Even here, in our fortress disguised as a family home, I'm hyperaware of sight lines, potential vulnerabilities.
The windows look normal—energy-efficient triple-pane glass according to the specs—but I know they're rated to stop rifle rounds. Our version of childproofing.
Vincent looks up from the rocking chair, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "She's got your fight in her. Nurses said she was the most determined preemie they'd seen."
"Good. She'll need it." I settle onto the window seat, studying the grounds below.
Rolling lawns, decorative hedges, a playground already installed despite Maria being months away from using it.
To any observer, we look like wealthy young parents creating their suburban dream.
They can't see the panic room behind the bookshelf, the armory disguised as a wine cellar, the security cameras hidden in every light fixture.
The location took months to find—twenty minutes from both family compounds, close enough for protection but far enough to establish our independence.
Vincent insisted on buying the surrounding properties too, creating a buffer zone he could monitor and control.
I suggested the medical suite in the basement, complete with surgical equipment and enough supplies for emergency procedures.
We both planned for the worst while hoping for better.
My phone buzzes with a text from Elena at the hospital: Missing you in trauma. It’s not the same here without you. Part-time position still open when you're ready.
I've been considering it. Six weeks of domestic bliss has me restless, my hands itching for scalpels instead of baby bottles. But every instinct screams that leaving Maria, even for a few hours, invites disaster.
"You should go back," Vincent says, reading my expression with uncomfortable accuracy. "Part-time, like we discussed. Maria will be safe here."
"Will she?" I gesture toward the monitors displaying security feeds. "We've got enough firepower to defend a small country, but someone still managed to breach the perimeter twice last week."
"False alarms. Delivery trucks with outdated clearance codes." His voice carries the patience of someone who's explained this before. "Tony's adjusting protocols. No one gets within a mile without authorization."
Before I can respond, the intercom crackles. Tony's voice, professional but alert says, "Mr. Russo, Max Mastroni at the gate. He's alone, but armed."
Vincent and I exchange glances. Max rarely visits unannounced, and never without Maya or Cara as buffers. "Let him through," Vincent says. "Standard escort protocol."
I hand Maria to Vincent and move to the window. Max's black Mercedes winds up the drive, flanked by our security vehicles like a motorcade. The choreography is careful, respectful—acknowledging his status as family while maintaining our territorial boundaries.
"Uncle Max wants to see his niece again," I say, though something in my brother's posture suggests this isn't purely social.
Max enters the nursery like he's sweeping for threats, those obsidian eyes cataloging exits and angles before focusing on his niece. When Vincent places Maria in his arms, something shifts in Max's expression—a softness I haven't seen since before our mother died.
"Jesus, Mel. She's beautiful." Max's voice drops to a whisper, the hardest man I know rendered speechless by eight pounds of sleeping baby. "She looks like you did at this age."
"God help her," I mutter, but I'm smiling. Watching Max with Maria reminds me why I came back, why family matters despite everything we've endured.
"The city's stabilized since Antonio's death," Max says quietly, never taking his eyes off the baby. "Vincent's leadership transition was smoother than expected. Most of the old captains have fallen in line."
"Most?" Vincent's tone sharpens slightly.
"Tommaso Benedetti's son is making noise about succession protocols. Nothing we can't handle, but he's got support from some traditionalists who think the alliance makes us weak."
I feel tension creep into my shoulders. "How much support?"
"Enough to be annoying. Not enough to be dangerous." Max shifts Maria to his shoulder, the gesture so natural it makes my chest ache. "Maya's handling it."
"Maya's handling what?" My sister's voice cuts through the room like a blade.
She appears in the doorway alone, moving with the controlled grace of a predator.
Her tailored black dress and the subtle bulge of a shoulder holster remind everyone that Maya Mastroni doesn't need protection—she is the protection.
"Family business," Max replies carefully. "Nothing that concerns you."
Maya's smile turns sharp. "Everything concerns me when it involves my niece." She moves to peer at Maria, but her attention feels calculating rather than affectionate. "Beautiful baby, Mel. She'll have options, growing up with both bloodlines."
I step closer to Max, maternal instincts flaring. "She'll have choices," I correct. "Not obligations."
"Of course." Maya's tone stays light, but there's something in her eyes—ambition, calculation, the look of someone already planning moves on a chessboard only she can see.
"Still, Vincent, you have to admit this child represents an unprecedented opportunity.
The first Russo-Mastroni heir in generations. "
Vincent's expression hardens slightly. "She represents family. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Family is everything in our world," Maya continues, her voice taking on that silky dangerous quality that makes smart people nervous. "And family alliances... well, they shape the future, don't they?"
I catch the subtle implication. Maya isn't talking about my daughter specifically, but about the broader political landscape. About how a united Russo-Mastroni front changes the balance of power in the city.
"Some alliances," I say carefully, "are stronger when they're built on trust rather than obligation."
"Yes, they usually are." Maya finally reaches for Maria, and despite my reluctance, I nod permission. She holds her with surprising gentleness, but I don't miss how she studies her features. "She'll be something special, this one. Both families' best qualities."
"And neither families' worst," I add firmly.
Maya meets my eyes, understanding passing between us. She'll protect Maria, but she'll also see her as a strategic asset. It's the Mastroni way—love and loyalty intertwined with calculation and control.
After they leave, Vincent finds me in our bedroom, staring out at the grounds where security teams patrol in careful rotations. "You're worried about Maya."
"I'm worried about everyone." I turn to face him, noting how fatherhood has softened some of his harder edges without diminishing the danger beneath.
"She's not wrong about Maria having options.
Everyone's going to want a piece of her—the heir who bridges two bloodlines, the child who could unite families or tear them apart. "
Vincent moves behind me, hands settling on my shoulders. "Then we make sure she's strong enough to choose her own path. Smart enough to see through manipulation. Loved enough to know the difference between family and enemies."
"Like we were?" The question comes out more bitter than intended.
"Better than we were." His reflection meets mine in the window. "Your father saw you as an asset. Mine saw me as a successor. We can love our child without needing her to be anything except herself."
I lean back against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For the first time since Maria's birth, I allow myself to hope that Vincent's right—that we can break the cycle of emotional detachment and strategic manipulation that defined our childhoods.
"Elena wants me back at the hospital part-time," I say quietly.
"I know. You should go."
"What if something happens while I'm gone?"
"Then we handle it. Together." His arms tighten around me. "But nothing will happen, Melinda. Not to Maria. Not to you. I won't allow it."