Page 57 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

VUKAN

THE DREAM AND THE TRIGGER

I hear her voice first. Soft and urgent. It continues, and I hear her say my name.

“Vukan,” she whispers like a prayer she’s never said aloud—like it costs her something to give it to me.

Her body is warm beneath mine. Skin to skin. Her nails dig into my back. My mouth on her neck, her jaw, her lips.

“I’m here,” I murmur against her skin.

For once in my life, I feel it—peace, want, something dangerously close to softness. I press into her, and she wraps around me like she was made for me.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper.

Her eyes meet mine. And then they go wide with fear and gasps. I try to move, but my body won’t respond. I look down?—

Blood.

Her hands are red. My chest is wet. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Then I see him. Radovan, angry, and cocky. Tall, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He’s standing at the edge of the bed. Smiling .

“I warned you,” he says. “You can’t keep nice things. And you can’t keep your women safe.”

Bianca’s eyes close.

Her body stills. I want to scream, but nothing comes out.

I bolt upright in bed to find that I’m sweating and my breath is ragged. My hand reaches for the Glock beneath the pillow. And even though the room is dark, my vision is red.

Not from the dream or the reminder, but because Radovan exists. There will be no peace while he breathes. He’s waiting, watching, and plotting Bianca’s demise to make me hurt. I let him live too long.

I drag a hand down my face. I’m in a cold sweat, my chest is bare, and the sheets are twisted like I was fighting in my sleep.

Because I was.

I get up. I don’t look at the bed again. I search for her, and Bianca is safe. She’s sleeping. I take a minute to admire her and revel in the fact that she’s here, with me. She chose me. But for how long?

I have to keep my promise to her. There’s no time for sleep. There’s only planning. I pull up the encrypted contact list on my burner. When Luka answers, I don’t wait to fire off directions.

“Use David. Full surveillance sweep. Milan, Radovan, anyone who’s moved in the last twenty-four hours.”

“What happened?”

“Change of plans,” I say, grabbing my shirt and gun. “We end this.”

“And Bianca?”

I pause.

“She’s informed.”

Because if Radovan ever touches her, there won’t be enough left of him to bury.

We enter my office, and the file hits my desk like a final warning. Luka stands across from me, jaw set. He doesn’t need to say it. I open the folder anyway. Surveillance photos. Audio transcriptions. Handwritten notes in Russian and Serbian, all marked urgent.

Radovan is moving. He’s not hiding it anymore.

“He’s meeting with Milan,” Luka says. “Twice in the last week. Not private. Not rushed. They want to be seen.”

The room ceases to exist. I am so enraged. I flip to the last page—names circled, dates logged. Four council members. Two neutral. Two loyalists are now marked as questionable.

“The council?” I ask.

Luka doesn’t answer because he doesn’t have to.

I lean back in the chair. There’s a hum in my ears—a sound that starts low and steady, the kind that comes right before something snaps.

“They’re turning,” Luka confirms.

Maybe not all at once, or publicly. But the alliance with the Borrellis—the very thing that held our territory from imploding last year—is now being whispered as treason.

“They think I’ve sold us out,” I say flatly.

“They think you’ve let her in,” Luka corrects. “And they’re afraid.”

“Good.”

“No, Vukan. Not fear, like respect. Fear like revolt.”

I stare out the window at the estate grounds below. Everything is still. My life is controlled. But I know better. This is the stillness before the blade drops and before someone twists it in my back.

“David is still loyal. Watching Milan’s logistics. If Milan moves, we’ll know.”

“And Radovan?”

“He’s been hiding and sending messages through lieutenants. He’s bribing low-rank captains. But his intent is clear—he wants you out and the old world back.”

“The old world died with my father.”

Luka’s voice is quiet now. “Some men want to dig up the past.”

Some men never learn from the past—that’s the tragedy. Everything I’ve built—every fragile thread of peace, every calculated risk to merge power with the Italians—is starting to unravel.

Because of her. Because of me. Because of us.

I let my enemies see my weakness. And worse—I let them see my want . And now they think they can bleed me for it.

They can try. This won’t be met with diplomacy because those days have passed. My seat at the head of the table is not political; it’s my birthright, and it’s mine. I’m done being nice.

“If they want war, then I’ll give them one.”

And there will be no survivors.