Page 30 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

VUKAN

QUIET MOVES MAKE LOUD STATEMENTS

T he thud of a body hitting the mat echoes through the compound’s south training hall.

I step inside just in time to watch my cousin, Emilia, flip one of the new guards flat on his back with a sharp pivot and ruthless elegance—no wasted movement. No apology.

She plants a heel into his chest. “Next time,” she says coolly, “don’t assume a silk blouse means I’m easy.”

The guard groans.

She steps off him like she’s walking off a runway.

I wait until she grabs her towel before I speak. “Enjoying yourself?”

She tosses the towel over her shoulder and glances at me. “It’s called multitasking. Sparring and gathering intel.”

“On?”

“Milan,” she says.

That gets my attention.

She walks past the guard, still struggling to breathe, and joins me by the edge of the mat. Her voice drops, expression tightening. “He cornered David. Tried to feel him out.”

I stay silent, waiting.

“He called Milo? a weak man and said you’re worse. Said this empire deserves better. Then told David, you have the name… you just need the nerve. ”

My jaw tightens. “Did David answer him?”

“No. He walked off. But Vukan—” she steps closer, her voice now sharp as the blade she keeps hidden in her boot. “Milan’s not testing loyalty. He’s recruiting. Quietly. Calculated. And he thinks he has a chance.”

“Because he’s family,” I murmur.

“Because he’s bitter ,” she corrects. “Your father chose Milo?. Then fate chose you. Milan thinks he was skipped. Twice.”

“And now he wants to rewrite it.”

Emilia nods. “He’s patient. But that patience is about to turn into action.”

I say nothing for a long moment.

“Thank you.”

She studies me, wiping blood from her knuckles like it’s routine.

“Don’t thank me,” she says, voice smooth as glass. “Just make sure when the time comes, you don’t hesitate.”

She walks off without waiting for an answer.

And I stand there, watching the bruised guard crawl off the mat, already thinking of how I’m going to break Milan without ever raising my voice.

After I hear this information, I head to the armory, where I find my brother, who is methodically checking the scope on his long-range rifle like it’s the only thing that matters. He doesn’t flinch when I walk in.

“Emilia told me,” I say.

“Of course she did.”

He doesn’t look up. I step closer, slow and quiet.

“He thought you’d bite.”

“He thought wrong. He’s desperate.”

David sets the rifle down and finally meets my gaze .

“I didn’t entertain it. I didn’t argue. I walked away before I said something we’d both regret.”

I nod once. “Good.”

“But if you’re asking if I thought about it,” he adds, “then yeah. For a second.”

That hits harder than I expected. I don’t move, and I let him speak.

“Because I’ve watched you bleed for this family,” David continues. “And I’ve watched them question you for doing the same shit they praised Milo? for. That double standard? It grates.”

I clench my jaw. “So you understand why Milan’s talking.”

“I do. Doesn’t mean I’d follow him.”

“And if he pushes again?”

David smiles, humorless. “Then I’ll let Dragan take the shot. Or I’ll do it myself.”

I stare at him.

“You’re my brother,” I say quietly.

“Not just by blood.”

“No,” I agree. “By choice.”

He gives a single nod, then adds, “So whatever you do to Milan… I’ll back it.”

I exhale. Then leave him to his rifle and his rage. I’m heading home when I get a message from my man in Belgrade.

Radovan is gathering the old guard. He’s calling me soft. Weak.

Fuck him.

He’s wrong.

I haven’t even begun. But it’s a problem for tomorrow because I have a war to win, and a woman to claim.

The lights are low in the back office. Only Luka and Dragan sit across from me. They’re the ones who do what needs to be done when no one else will.

David’s loyalty has been tested.

Emilia’s already ten steps ahead.

Her accent is clean but carries the edge of old Belgrade. It is clipped and precise, the voice that can slice through a boardroom without rising, which is good because she’s my political advisor.

Luka scrolls through a tablet, something encrypted flashing across the screen. Dragan picks at a tooth with a switchblade he hasn't even noticed he’s holding.

I start without ceremony.

“I want Milan isolated.”

Luka doesn’t flinch. “Publicly or surgically?”

“Surgically. For now.”

Dragan grins. “About time.”

“No rumors. No waves. Just silence,” I say. “Start shifting his assets into my oversight—quietly. Remove his people from shared spaces. Reassign his drivers. Cut the perks without explanation.”

Luka raises a brow. “You want to starve him.”

“I want him paranoid. But not provoked.”

Dragan leans forward. “And when he makes a move?”

“Then we make him disappear loud enough that the council stops wondering who’s next.”

Luka nods slowly. “This is the beginning of a power cleanse.”

“No,” I say. “This is me sending a message.”

Dragan smirks. “What’s the message?”

I look at both of them. “Family isn’t immunity. It’s access .”

They get to work, and I head home. I have a bombshell blonde who needs my attention.

The summer air rolls in through the open terrace doors, thick with night jasmine and the heat of something about to shift.

Just me, a glass of bourbon sweating on the marble table, and the hum of cicadas rising like a warning.

I sit in the west wing alone, texting Bianca.

Pack a bag. Three days. I’ll be at your door by seven.

Then, I count the minutes until she returns my text. She hasn’t answered. This isn’t good because Bianca doesn’t hesitate unless she’s thinking too hard. And when she thinks, she plans. And when she plans, she plots.

God help me—I hope I’m the target. I watch the screen. Sip once. Wait. The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

She’s annoyed. That’s good.

Three days? That’s not a date, that’s an endurance test.

I like a woman with stamina.

I like a man who knows his limits.

Then you’ll love me. I don’t have any.

A beat passed before she asked the question I was expecting..

Where are we going?

Her response excites me. She’s in my sights now.

Somewhere private.

That’s not ominous at all. Should I bring a shovel? Or a will?

Just heels. And maybe something green.

So it is a kidnapping.

It’s a getaway.

To what? A remote cabin in the mountains where you "accidentally" forget cell service, and my last known location?

Tempting. But no. There’s a roof. A view. And a bed I’d very much like to see you ruin.

Bold. Borderline delusional. Are you always this confident?

No. Just with you.

I finish my drink and lean back, watching the night sky stretch across the stone terrace like a bruise waiting to be touched.

It’s a getaway.

She’s quiet for a full minute.

Then—

To where?

Trust me.

You’re asking the daughter of a mafia don to “trust” a Serbian with secrets and a God complex?

Yes .

I stare at the screen. Then exhale. I don’t elaborate. Of course, it’s vague, just vague enough to piss her off.

Fine. But if you’re late, I’m setting fire to your car.

You won’t.

Watch me.

You setting fires for me, Bianca? I’m flattered.

I set fires for fun. Don’t flatter yourself.

Too late.

I set the phone down. I’ve won her time. Now I want her truth.

And I’ll spend every second of that weekend breaking down the walls she thinks protect her because this isn’t about seduction.

It’s about possession. And by the time she’s packed to leave? She already belongs to me.

She just doesn’t know it yet.