Chapter 6 - The Echo of the Broken
Love in the underworld is not a fairy tale. It is a vulnerability.
For three months, I lived as Vincent's partner. We didn't hide our relationship. At dinners, meetings, and galas, I stood by his side.
The men who once looked at me with pity now looked at me with deep respect. They called me "Donna."
I was no longer the broken waitress. I was the Queen of the Moretti family.
But peace is a fragile illusion when your empire is built on blood.
It started on a Tuesday.
I was in the city center, visiting a charity foundation Vincent had set up to launder money—and, ironically, to genuinely help battered women.
Dante and two other guards were with me.
As we walked out of the building toward the waiting armored SUV, a black van suddenly screeched around the corner.
"Get down!" Dante roared, shoving me behind a concrete pillar.
Gunfire erupted.
The deafening roar of automatic weapons shattered the afternoon peace. Glass rained down around us as the SUV's windows were blown out.
I covered my ears, curling into a ball, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Dante and the guards returned fire, their pistols barking in precise, deadly rhythm.
A man hopped out of the back of the van, holding a tactical rifle.
He wasn't aiming at Dante.
He was aiming at the pillar where I was hiding.
I looked at the shooter's face through the chaos.
He had a spiderweb tattoo on his neck.
The Romanos.
"We need backup!" one of the guards yelled, clutching a bleeding shoulder.
I didn't freeze. The training kicked in.
I scanned the ground and saw a dropped Glock from one of the downed attackers.
Without thinking, I dove out from behind the pillar, grabbing the cold metal of the gun.
The shooter turned toward me, a sadistic grin on his face.
He pulled the trigger.
Bullets chipped the concrete inches from my head.
I rolled, brought the gun up just like Dante taught me, lined up the sights, and squeezed the trigger.
Bang. Bang.
The shooter gasped, dropping his rifle as two bullets hit him squarely in the chest. He collapsed to the pavement.
The black van, seeing their man down and police sirens wailing in the distance, peeled away, leaving burning rubber and blood in its wake.
Dante rushed over to me, pulling me to my feet.
"Are you hit, Boss?" he asked, checking me frantically.
"I'm fine," I breathed out, my hands shaking only slightly as I lowered the gun.
Dante looked at the dead shooter, then back at me. A look of sheer awe crossed his face.
"Remind me never to piss you off, Donna."
Back at the estate, all hell broke loose.
Vincent was a hurricane of rage.
He paced the living room, screaming into his phone in Italian, ordering his capos to mobilize every soldier in the city.
When he finally hung up, he turned to me. His face was pale, his eyes wide with a terror I had never seen in him before.
He crossed the room and pulled me into a crushing embrace, burying his face in my neck.
"You're alive," he whispered, his voice trembling. "They told me they shot at you. I thought..."
"I'm fine, Vincent," I soothed, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. "Dante protected me. And... I protected myself."
Vincent pulled back, framing my face with his hands.
"The Romanos ordered the hit," he said, his voice turning deadly cold. "But they had inside information on your schedule."
"Who?" I asked.
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"Your ex-husband."
My blood ran cold.
"Mark? How?"
"He owed gambling debts to the Romanos long before he broke your arm," Vincent explained. "When I took all his money for your settlement, he couldn't pay them. To save his own miserable life, he traded the only thing of value he had left."
"Information about me," I realized.
"Yes," Vincent said softly. "He told them how much you mean to me. He told them you are my weak point."
May you like
Vincent stepped back, drawing a sleek, silver handgun from his holster and placing it on the table.
"I am going to war, Lena. Tonight, the Romano family ends. And tonight, Mark dies."
