Page 65 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

WRONG FUCKING MOVE

T he blast throws me off my feet.

One second, I’m stepping out of the shelter, breathing in the cool morning air. The next?—

Exploding glass and fire, followed by screams

The ground bucks under me. My ears ring. My knees slam into the pavement, palms scraped raw as I scramble to shield my belly without even thinking.

Someone’s yelling—Joanne? A child wailing from inside?

I force my head up; my vision is swimming, and I see the car across the street engulfed in flames, black smoke clawing at the sky like an ominous tower of retribution.

If I had taken one more step… If Joanne had parked on the other side of the curb… If the kid in my arms hadn’t begged for one more story… I would have been in the vehicle.

I taste blood in my mouth, but rage curdles in my throat. He would’ve killed me. They would’ve killed my baby. Joanne could’ve died, not to mention the fact that the kids might have been injured.

And for what? A warning? A scare? No. This was an act of unforgivable cowardice. This wasn’t a message. It was an attempt on my life. It’s direct and messy. I give Milan points on that, but now I’m pissed. This is personal.

I stand on shaky legs, my eyes are burning as ash falls, and people rush to help. None of them matter right now.

Only one thing matters.

Milan. He did this. He came for me— he came for us.

I might be in a glass tower, but now the glass has been forged into a blade.

And now, I want his fucking corpse on my doorstep by noon.

Vukan’s voice is in my head—he knew Radovan’s death wasn’t the end of the feud. He’s always calculated and ten steps ahead—but not today. Today, our enemy tried to end me—to end us.

This is no longer a war of words and innuendos. This isn’t about chess pieces, power moves, or political alliances.

Milan brought this to me, and now it’s personal.

Joanne finds me in the chaos. Her face is pale and shaking. She has scapes and is winded.

I grip her shoulders tightly and make her look me in the eye.

“Are you okay?”

Her breath catches. She nods. “I’m fine. Winded, but fine. You?”

“I’m fine. A bit sore,” I say, I scan the horizon. Dragan stumbles toward me. He received more of the blowback. I touch his face. His pupils look okay, but he has a gash on his arm. Sirens wail in the distance.

“I texted Vukan. I’m taking you home, he’ll meet us there,” Dragan states.

He hails a cab, and we hit the gates of the Petrovi? estate. The guards don’t even ask questions. Before they even look at me, I know they’re ready to kill.

Inside, I storm into the war room, where Luka’s already pulling satellite footage and Dragan’s halfway through a weapons check.

“Where is he?” I demand.

Luka blinks. “We’re narrowing down locations?—”

“Not fast enough.”

I grab the edge of the table. I’m all nerves and venom. There’s no softness, there’s no forgiveness. I’m pissed. “He tried to blow me up outside a fucking children’s shelter. With civilians. With Joanne. With our child. ” I growl.

The room goes still. Luka’s mouth parts slightly. Dragan’s head lifts.

But still, I don’t flinch. Yeah. They heard me.

“You’re pregnant,” Luka says softly.

“I want Milan dead. So, unless you want to deliver me his severed hand for dinner, I suggest you get Vukan on the goddamn phone and tell him I want Milan dead by noon.”

“Bianca—” Luka starts, but I don’t let him finish the thought.

“No,” I snap. “Don’t coddle me. Don’t placate me. I’m not asking for vengeance. I’m demanding it.”

I turn to Dragan. “Get me a clean list of Milan’s assets. I want to bleed him dry before we bury him. And don’t bother telling Vukan to keep me out of it. He lost that right the second Milan targeted me instead of him— with a bomb! ”

Dragan nods once. “I’m on it.”

The silence afterward is thick and heavy. Rage simmers under my skin. There’s nothing like a new brush with death to bring me to my senses. I’m fixated on the mission. I’m focused.

Milan fucked with the wrong woman.

Without realizing I’ve done it, I rest a hand low on my stomach.

Milan tried to end me, so now I will end him.

And I won’t stop until Milan falls .

I want him to hurt, to bleed, and to know that I signed his death warrant.

But mostly, I want him to know he lost.