Page 90 of Twisted Vows

By noon, the network hums with calls, codes, and different voices from three continents. Every name I’ve ever bent or broken lights up. I incinerate favors like dry kindling.

A report comes from Miami. Martinelli has muscle. Some desperate Eastern European gangsters. A splinter crew that reeks of a stronger influence. Either that, or he’s sitting on a large sum of money.

That changes everything. Two predators are now stalking the same prey. If the Volkovs reach him first, they gain leverage and will want Sophia even more. They’ll parade her like bait to draw her father out.

The Volkovs also having Martinelli means the rest of the dons will probably convince Gabi Jr. to bow to the Bratva’s demands because they’ll want a cut of the wealth Martinelli stole. Whether they brand it as revenge or not, Gabi and his advisors will care more about filling the coffers.

I might not be able to protect her.

Tight, bright rage builds in my ribs, but I force it down because I can’t afford to bury my head in emotions. That dulls the edge, allowing me to think more clearly.

By three, I have the names of two shell companies tied to the same financier and operating under a front called AutoMarina Group. The accounts move through layered holdings in Miami, Buenos Aires, and Dubai. The trail reeks of Martinelli’s arrogance. He never could resist showing off.

As I read the data, my mind replays Sophia’s wavering voice.

I didn’t know how to tell you.

The self-directed fury deepens. She shouldn’t have to fear me.

Marco calls again. “Got something. Surveillance footage from the Warehouse District three nights ago. Guess who’s buying coffee like he didn’t just vanish and leave most people presuming him to be dead?”

He sends the file. Vincent Martinelli’s face fills the screen. He’s older and thinner but clearly the same man.

What leaves my throat is a warning. “Trace every contact he meets. I want names. If Volkov men are in the mix, breach the firewall and pull their IDs.”

“Already on it, Boss.”

Evening shadows stretch across the study walls. I call Gio next. “You’re moving to Elena’s ward. I need her protected.”

Silence follows on the line. “What is it?” I probe.

“The mistress’s mother is already on a private floor with restricted access. You vetted the staff twice, and I visit daily. They’re loyal.”

I lower my voice. “I want personal eyes on her that answer directly to me for the next couple of days, at least until I’m sure the Volkovs aren’t looking at her as alternative bait.”

His voice wavers. “You think they’ll come for her?”

“Think?” A cold chill frosts my voice. “No. You prepare for it. That place might be a fortress, but for the next few days, no one takes a breath around Elena Martinelli unless I allow it.”

Next, I call Rocco and Vito, two men who understand silent violence better than words. I give them orders to fortify the villas, install new locks, set up surveillance rotations, and tighten the perimeter. They grumble but obey.

By dusk, the air feels heavy with premonition.

Sophia appears in the doorway, her arms folded and worry etched into her brow. “You’ve been in here all day.”

“Handling it.” Even to me, my response sounds hollow.

Her fingers twist together. “Handling what, exactly?”

I gesture to the spread of maps, files, and open monitors. “Your father. His ghost has grown legs.”

Her voice gets small. “So, you found him.”

“Enough to know he’s not hiding anymore.”

I cross the room and gently grasp her shaking hands. “Listen. This is about control, not panic. I’ll make sure he can’t touch you or your mother.”

Her eyes glisten, disbelief and fear mingling. “And if he comes for you instead?”