Page 31 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)

CHARLOTTE

The underground vault in New York was a labyrinth of danger, a cold, electrified maze buried beneath the city’s pulse.

Cassian and I descended a spiral steel staircase, our footsteps echoing in the cavernous silence.

The walls were lined with reinforced titanium doors, each secured with biometric scanners that glowed faintly in the dim light.

Security cameras blinked like predatory eyes.

We’d left Asher and Aria in Moscow with a trusted nanny, a former operative with a gentle smile but a concealed Glock.

If all went well, we’d be back by tomorrow night, but the weight of leaving them gnawed at me.

Each door required my fingerprint, the scanners beeping as they recognized my identity.

My hands trembled as I pressed my thumb to the final panel, the heavy vault door groaning open to reveal a sight that stole my breath.

Stacks of cash—crisp, banded bills in multiple currencies—towered like skyscrapers, glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Gold bars, polished to a mirror shine, were piled in precise rows, their weight seeming to anchor the room itself.

Jewels—diamonds, emeralds, sapphires—sparkled in velvet-lined cases, catching the light like stars trapped underground.

“It’s impossible to spend this in a lifetime,” I whispered, my voice echoing in the vast chamber, my eyes wide with shock.

Cassian, standing beside me, his black coat dusted with the vault’s grit, chuckled softly. “Ten lifetimes.”

I laughed, the sound shaky as I stepped forward, my fingers brushing the cool, smooth surface of a gold bar, its weight grounding me.

I lifted a stack of cash, the bills crisp against my skin, their faint ink scent mingling with the vault’s metallic tang. “How do I move all this to Russia?”

Cassian leaned against a stack, his gray eyes steady.

“Two options. We can transfer it gradually—wire transfers, offshore accounts—but it’ll take years, and no bank can handle this volume without scrutiny.

Or...” He paused, his voice lowering. “You go after your father, strip him of his title, and take over as Grayson mafia boss. You’d have no reason to run or hide anymore. ”

He nodded toward a steel table in the corner, where a stack of files sat, their edges worn but pristine.

I crossed the room, my boots clicking on the concrete, and opened the top folder.

Pages listed names—over a thousand—each with contact details, ranks, and loyalties, all pledged to the Grayson heir who unlocked the vault.

My grandfather’s design, a legacy to ensure his chosen successor could seize power.

My heart raced, ambition flaring alongside fear.

This was my goal—to prove to my father that a woman could rule, that I was stronger than he ever believed.

“Will you help me?” I asked, turning to Cassian.

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed in the vault. “You’ve got enough help, Charlotte. You don’t need me.” He gestured to the files. “That’s an army waiting for your command.”

I nodded, my resolve hardening.

I couldn’t keep running, not with Asher and Aria.

I pulled out my phone, dialing the first three names on the list—Anthony Russo, Elena Volkov, and Marcus Kane—top lieutenants marked as my grandfather’s most trusted.

The line connected, and a gruff voice answered.

“Russo,” the man said, his tone cautious.

“This is Charlotte Grayson,” I said, my voice steady despite my racing pulse. “I’m calling from the Grayson vault.”

A pause, then respect flooded his voice. “Boss. We’ve been waiting. The signal’s clear—you’ve unlocked it.”

Elena and Marcus echoed his deference, their voices crackling with loyalty as they confirmed their readiness to mobilize.

I hung up, my hands trembling with the weight of what I’d set in motion.

Cassian watched me, his expression unreadable but proud.

We waited in the vault’s cold silence, the hum of electricity a constant reminder of the stakes.

Two hours later, the distant thrum of helicopter blades reverberated through the concrete, growing louder until it shook the walls.

“The men are here,” Cassian said, his voice calm but alert.

We emerged into the night, the New York skyline a jagged silhouette against the stars.

A fleet of black SUVs lined the street, and a hundred men in tailored suits stood in formation, their guns glinting under the streetlights.

Three figures stepped forward—Anthony, a broad man with a scarred jaw; Elena, a sharp-eyed woman with a coiled intensity; and Marcus, lean and calculating. They bowed in unison, their respect palpable.

“You just need to give the order,” Anthony said, his voice steady.

“Let’s get to it,” I said, my heart pounding but my resolve ironclad.

They led me to a waiting chopper, its blades slicing the air.

I glanced back at Cassian, who stood by the vault’s entrance, his silhouette a promise of support. I hope I’ll be back, I thought, the weight of my children anchoring my determination.

In the chopper, Anthony sat beside me, his voice cutting through the roar of the engines.

“Your father’s compound is fortified, but we know its weaknesses—supply lines, guard rotations. Strike the armory and his comms tower first; it’ll cripple his defenses. Your brother Vincent runs security—sloppy, but ruthless. Leave him to us.”

I nodded, my hands gripping the seat as the chopper soared over the city.

The chopper landed in a clearing near my father’s compound, a sprawling estate ringed by electrified fences and floodlights.

The night erupted into chaos as gunfire cracked, sharp and relentless, the air thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

My father’s men, clad in tactical gear, fired from behind barricades, their bullets pinging off the chopper’s hull.

Anthony’s team returned fire, their movements precise, cutting through the enemy like a blade.

Shouts and screams mingled with the roar of explosions, the ground shaking as a grenade detonated near the armory.

Anthony grabbed my arm, pulling me toward a concrete bunker half-hidden by overgrown vines. “Stay here,” he said, shoving a bulletproof vest into my hands. “You don’t have to shoot—just stay safe and let us handle this.”

“I want my father and Vincent alive,” I said, my voice firm as I slipped on the vest.

He nodded, jogging back into the fray, his silhouette swallowed by the smoke.

I crouched behind the bunker’s wall, the cold concrete pressing against my back, my heart racing as gunfire echoed.

My mind flashed to Asher and Aria, their laughter, their small hands in mine.

Nothing could happen to me—not now, not when they needed me.

The thought of them losing their mother to this quest for revenge was a knife in my chest.

We had to win.

A deafening explosion rocked the compound, and I peeked out to see our chopper engulfed in flames, its wreckage lighting the night.

My breath caught, panic surging, but I forced myself to stay still, my hands covering my ears as gunfire roared again.

Hours seemed to pass, the chaos a relentless blur, until Anthony emerged from the smoke, jogging toward me.

His suit was torn, blood streaking his arm, sweat dripping from his brow. “We did it, Boss,” he panted. “Your father and Vincent are secured at the compound’s center.”

I stood, my legs unsteady, and followed him through the wreckage.

The compound was a battlefield of shattered glass and smoldering debris, the air thick with dust.

At the center, my father and Vincent knelt, hands bound behind their backs, their faces bruised and defiant.

My father’s eyes burned with rage, his silver hair disheveled. Vincent, younger but no less cruel, glared beside him.

“You bitch!” my father spat, his voice venomous. “How dare you turn against us?”

I stepped closer, my boots crunching on broken glass, my voice steady despite the storm inside.

“You’ve been a cruel father—selling Mother to the Bellucci Clan in Chicago, rebelling against Grandfather, stealing his wealth and power, and sending me to live with him just because I’m a girl. Girls are weak, right?”

“But look who’s stripping you of your power now. I entered the all-male House of Devils competition—the one you wouldn’t let Vincent touch—and I won. I have the vault, the gold, the empire. It’s mine now.”

“You’ll regret this,” Vincent snarled, his voice thick with hatred. “You’re nothing.”

I met his gaze, disgust curling in my gut.

I’d once been thrilled to discover I had a brother, dreaming of a bond, only to find he was a mirror of our father—cruel, dismissive, calling me weak for my gender.

“Take them away,” I ordered, my voice cold. “Somewhere they’ll never see daylight again.”

Anthony signaled, and his men hauled them toward a waiting chopper, its blades already spinning.

My father thrashed, shouting, “I swear, Charlotte, I’ll get out and kill you!”

Vincent, his bravado crumbling, began to beg. “Please, you can’t do this to your own brother! We loved each other once, didn’t we? Remember what we promised Mom?”

I turned away, their voices fading as the chopper lifted off, carrying them to a fate they’d earned.

The compound fell silent, the weight of my victory settling over me like a crown.

One week later, I stood in a grand hall in New York.

The Grayson mafia’s lieutenants—hundreds of men and women—lined the room, their eyes fixed on me as Anthony placed a ceremonial ring on my finger, its emerald glinting like a promise.

“Charlotte Grayson,” he declared, “you are crowned boss of the Grayson family, rightful heir to the vault and its power.”

The room erupted in applause, but my heart was already in Moscow.

I flew back the next day, the jet’s hum a soothing contrast to the chaos I’d left behind.

Asher and Aria ran into my arms at the airport, their laughter washing away the blood and smoke of New York.

There was nothing to fear now—my father and Vincent were gone, and Cassian, I’d learned, had taken on Luca and Artem while I fought.

Artem was dead, his body lost in the fray, and Luca lay in a coma, barely clinging to life.

The Grayson empire was mine, and my children were safe.