Page 68 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

VUKAN

ENDGAME

W ith Radovan dead and my uncle rotting in the dirt, every second-tier enforcer who once thought they had a grudge has gone quiet. They wait and they watch, wondering if the man who built this empire is still running it—or if love made him soft.

So I make the future clear. It’s only one meeting where I will convey the facts.

I walk into a room filled with men who’ve killed for less and remind them who I am, what I’ve survived, and what I’ve lost.

My first wife bled out in my arms after they used her to hurt me.

My daughter wasn't old enough to understand the sound of gunfire before it stole her whole world.

My brother, Milo?, who followed a depraved path, is no longer here. And my uncle? He made the mistake of thinking my silence was weakness. And he died for it.

Now the room listens because my men know I don’t make threats. I make demands and now, happy endings. I deliver my speech of prosperity, of what it means to be family, and by the time they leave, no one speaks my name. No one looks me in the eye.

That’s how it should be.

I pour a drink later, alone in my study. The skyline blinks against the glass—it’s calm now, and quiet. The kind of quiet we fought like hell to earn. This is peace.

The mansion is still. I know where she is—curled upstairs, one hand resting over her stomach, lost in the kind of sleep that only comes when you know you’re finally safe.

My woman. Mine to fuck, mine to hold, mine to keep.

And mine to protect.

They thought she’d make me vulnerable. And they were right. She did. But what they never understood is—she didn’t make me weaker. She made me more dangerous.

Because now? I have something to lose. And that changes everything.

I set the glass down without taking a drink. I don’t need it tonight.

Not when I have a future worth protecting. A woman who met my darkness without flinching. A child I’ll raise without blood at the door.

For the first time in years, I don't feel like I'm waiting for the next betrayal. For the first time in decades— I hope there won’t be one.

And when I walk upstairs, it’s not armor I’m wearing, it’s purpose.

She stirs when I slip into bed beside her. Half-awake, she reaches for me without opening her eyes.

“Is it done?” she murmurs.

I answer without hesitation. “It’s done.”

She didn’t save me from the fire. She became the fire—and taught me how to live in it.

She nods once, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth .

Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we build.

I don’t need anything more than her smile and the promise of another day.

I chuckle because Bianca was never just the pawn—she was always the end game.