Page 67 of Vows Made in Silence

The silence that follows Gaetano’s confession is deafening.

My gun stays trained on him, but my trigger finger twitches from restraint, not doubt. My men’s breathing behind me is steady—but tight. We all heard the truth, and now there’s no putting it back in the cage.

“You killed my brother,” I say flatly.

Gaetano’s head drops, but it’s not shame—it’s calculation. He’s already thinking three moves ahead, like the snake he’s always been. “It wasn’t personal, Luca. It was survival.”

“You made it personal.”

He lifts his gaze—smug, even now. “And yet, here you are the newly appointed Boss of the Moretti Empire.”

The rage comes slow, like oil heating under fire, but once it hits, it’s scorching. I close the space between us and slam him into the wall, gun to his temple.

His smirk fades.

“I gave you loyalty,”

“And you gave me lies.”

“You put Guiliana in the crosshairs. You risked my son’s life.”

“I protected the family,” Gaetano hisses. “From her. From you.”

I cock the gun. “You don’t get to define loyalty anymore.”

Before I can decide what happens next, my phone vibrates.

One message. One name. One more betrayal.

I step back, eyes never leaving Gaetano’s face as I read the text.

The sender: Giuliana.

The message: You were right. Vittorio’s files mention a name he circled. One still on your payroll. One close. Too close.

Sal.

The name hits like a sledgehammer to the chest.

And just like that, Gaetano isn’t the only traitor in the room.

Turk looks at me as the echo of the gunshot clings to the walls like smoke, even though I’ve already holstered my weapon.

Gaetano’s body slumps to the floor, crumpling on the worn, dirty carpet as blood pools beneath his temple.

No one says a word.

Sal stood at the door, jaw clenched, eyes unreadable.

Gateano had been like a cousin to me. Trusted. Family.

And he sold us out.

“Burn the body, No funeral. No trace. If his family asks—we say he ran.”

Sal gives a tight nod and turns his back, thinking he’s safe. Thinking the spotlight’s off him now. That the bullet I put in Gaetano wiped his slate clean. But I’ve learned better than to trust silence—and right now, my instincts are louder than ever. His footsteps fade down the hall, but I don’t move. Because in my world, the ones who walk away calm are usually the ones holding the sharpest knives. Thinking I won’t do what needs to be done.

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