Page 1 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

SISTER, SOLDIER, SACRIFICE.

T he war took its toll on us, both in terms of men and money, as well as stress. I’m relieved that’s over. Now we can get back to living.

Now, there is peace.

Vincenzu, my uncle, disappeared after a human trafficking ring was exposed. Stefano, is the new don of the Moretti empire, and he’s just as evil as his brother.

After my brothers removed the Serbian leader, Milo?, his younger brother, Vukan, took over.

Vukan Petrovi?.

Ugh.

Even now, I regret the moment our paths crossed. I wish I could forget him.

But I can’t.

The man has a godlike physique, brooding gray eyes, and a chiseled chin.

And it pisses me off is that he got the drop on me at the warehouse. I was going to save the day—again.

But he ruined it!

No one gets the drop on me—no one.

I owe him for that .

I tried to fend him off, but his chest is like Kevlar—impenetrable.

I couldn’t knock him off his feet—that’s how solid he is. He’s older than my brother, Matteo, but Vukan’s looks are misleading.

He’s surprisingly agile, and I’m sure, deadly.

No matter how hard I fought that night, I was no match for him. Hell, I barely landed a punch. I definitely didn’t hurt him.

And what really pisses me off is that I got the feeling he was, well, amused .

I remember that night. The night he held me, and I couldn’t move— how his muscular forearms, covered in ink, wrapped around me when bullets flew. His arms were strong and held me like a vice grip. I could barely breathe. And escape was impossible.

He was different. He held me tighter than he needed to—his chest was an unyielding wall. He smelled like aged tobacco and musk mingled with the faint trace of cedar. And that’s when I knew I had met my match.

The smell of gun powder singed my nose, but he held his position. The gunfire didn’t faze him. He had me in his grip, against his body. It was well, intimate .

It’s as if we were meant to be together. The way we just fit was unnerving and made me uncomfortable.

He was too close, too knowing, and too god damn sexy.

And those eyes, the steely, cold gray eyes that didn’t blink.

It makes me shudder to think of what they’ve seen, what he’s witnessed .

And when it was over?

His gaze didn’t leave mine. It’s as if we had an intimate moment, but we’d never met.

His voice is unforgettable, deep, and commanding.

When he whispered, “Opusti se ma?e.” I melted. I don’t speak his language, but I speak six others. And those words?

Sounded like, “Relax, Kitten. ”

The nerve of him. I’m no one’s kitten!

He knew he wasn’t going to kill me when he grabbed me. It’s one of those details my brothers didn’t tell me before the showdown.

I hate secrets. Unfortunately, they are the foundation of our empire.

And to make matters worse, my brothers kept secrets from me. Now, Vukan has an alliance with my family.

I hate to admit it, but he isn’t like his creepy, deranged brother. Vukan must be a reasonable man because he has helped us. Actually, he negotiated with us. However it happened, he played a crucial role in bringing the war to an end.

I don’t need anyone. My fucked up childhood made it impossible for me to trust anyone.

I’ve spent my life earning my independence. I don’t need anyone. Least of all him . It’s infuriating to think that we are indebted to the Serb. The fact that we own anyone is a travesty, but we saved Amara and her grandmother that night, and that’s what matters.

I only discovered the details of the deal after the dust had settled. And that pisses me off, too! So much for family meetings! I guess I’m only included when it’s convenient.

I don’t like being the odd one out. But, being the only woman in the family, I’ve taken more than my share of hits, as evidenced by my brother’s secret meeting—and the secret alliance with the Serbs.

As if they can’t trust me!

Men!

But Vukan is one fine specimen.

He’s mysterious and commanding. Oddly, I picture him in a kinky sex club, surrounded by leather and lace. I’m sure women fawn over him. Hell, they probably flock to him. I doubt he ever has to lift a finger because they’re already wrapped around it .

I’ve also learned he’s worth a fortune. That never hurts.

After the dust settled, I learned he was in cahoots with my brothers and we owe him.

I hate owing anyone. Vukan is a killer. I saw him shoot Stefano Moretti in the head. Brains splattered. I was mortified. I swallowed my screams, but the nightmares won’t let me forget what I witnessed.

The deafening noise of guns, the smell of gunpowder, and the rapid-fire bullets that pinged on the warehouse walls were unnerving.

I shudder, shaking off the memories of the dead bodies inside the warehouse—the outcome of the Morettis’ failed alliance with the Serbs.

I’ve tried to shrug off the final scenes of the war, but the nightmares still haunt me.

War was different from the scenarios we practiced at school. As much as I’ve trained to carry out espionage missions, I’ve discovered the face of it in real life is—well, chilling.

I thought with time, I would get over the events that brought me face-to-face with killers.

But nothing could be further from the truth. I put on a brave face around my family, but inside?

I’m a hot mess.

It’s been weeks, and I still have night terrors.

But what’s more unsettling is that I can’t forget what it felt like to be in Vukan’s arms, and being held with my back against his massive chest. The man is covered in ink, and I’m curious to know what they all mean, but mostly, I want to feel safe again.

I felt secure in his arms as the burned gunpowder swirled around us.

Oddly, it was hot, and I’m not talking about the air.

The life-and-death situation was a turn-on in a sick way. His voice was calm and confident as he barked orders to his men .

A confidence that rivaled my own until that night.

It was one night of chaos, and I can’t forget him .

He’s a man with a strong chest, broad shoulders, and a silken voice that is not easily forgotten.

If I’m lucky, I’ll never see him again.

He’s a trained killer, and his family is into trafficking women. I have no tolerance for that, nor does my family.

I push memories of him away as I maneuver my McLaren into a tight parking spot. My brothers want me to travel with a guard, but I refuse to do so. We’ve already had a war, and it’s over.

What could possibly go wrong?

Besides, I can protect myself.

And I’m living life to the fullest while we enjoy peace between the families.

I park, waiting for my door to lift before I exit the car. I walk to the large building. I nod and smile at strangers in the halls. I’m sure they all think I’m a board member. And after checking in, I walk to Joanne’s office.

My girlfriend, Joanne, works at Cradle and Crown. It’s a home for abandoned infants and children.

I’m dressed as a woman of my stature—the only princess in the Borrelli family. I’m wearing bottom-heeled shoes, a two-piece outfit that would put JLo’s to shame, and no outfit is complete without a vintage bag. Today, it’s a Birkin hanging on my arm.

Yes, my brothers spoil me. I’m sure part of it is derived from the fact that Dad was a real bastard to me. But my brothers? We’re close. I can’t imagine my life without them.

Perhaps being the baby in the family is why I love kids. I never had a younger sibling to play with as a child. Pietro and I are the closest in age, and we’re tight. But he’s married now and has a baby on the way.

Children are innocent and deserve a home with loving parents. A child without a parent breaks my heart. And yes, I grew up without my mother, and I’m sure on some level a part of me over-identifies with these kids.

I love my freedom. I love adventure. I’m sure it’s a self-correction for my childhood of living with our controlling father. He micromanaged me, spoke to me condescendingly, and generally despised me.

I shiver just thinking about him. I’m sure there are traumas I’ve locked away in a vault.

But perhaps, from my tragic past, there is a sliver of light.

Since we’re wealthy, I donate to many worthy causes close to my heart.

And, from the ashes of my past, I hope to build a better future for children.

I hate the fact that so many kids are abused and abandoned. I know what it’s like to be unwanted and forgotten. There’s no one there to cheer you on when you have an accomplishment, like winning a shooting tournament or tossing an opponent on the mat.

But these children, they’re like me.

They were born to parents who mistreated them or couldn’t take care of them. I tell myself I come here because it’s therapy to heal my inner child, but it’s more than that.

I love kids. I love holding them and talking to them. I secretly will them to succeed in a world that can be unfair and cruel. I hope in some small way, I’ve made a difference in their lives. I don’t need accolades for my work.

I only want to make a difference. I want to be the person who cares, the person who speaks for them when they couldn’t speak.

And no matter how much I do for them, they give me more than I can ever return.

They always bring me happiness. I get wrapped up in their smiles when they say cute things.

They trust me and shower me with love. They make me laugh .

I’ve discovered that being around them puts my life into perspective.

And with them, well, it’s the only place where I can let my guard down .

I peek inside the small office. Joanne is a tall brunette with soft eyes and a friendly smile. I met her at a children’s fundraiser last year. We just clicked, and we’ve been friends ever since.

I knock softly on the doorframe.

“There you are!” Joanne exclaims. She pulls herself to her feet and closes the distance between us. “How are you?”