Page 96 of Twisted Vows

He studies my face for a while and then nods. Together, we walk into the house, the key burning in my pocket.

Enzo’s breath warms my ear. “Sophia. You look pale.”

I force a smile. “Long day. I’m all right. Really.”

He tips my chin up, his eyes searching mine. “You sure?”

When I nod, he lets it go.

Later, after Enzo goes to take another call, I sit alone in the study. The key I’ve set on the desk gleams gold in the glow. It looks like a harmless piece of metal. But it feels like a doorway into a past that refuses to stay buried.

My fingers trace the edges as if the act might instill bravery. Somewhere down the hall, Enzo’s low voice echoes with the kind of tone that commands attention.

I close my hand over the key and whisper to no one, “Careful, not brave.”

But courage already stirs inside me, impossible to quiet.

Chapter 20

Enzo

The crack of dawn finds me ready.

Pale light crawls through the blinds and slices across the desk where the map of Miami waits. It’s a big day. I can feel it in my bones. I start a routine to steady my pulse, beginning with black coffee hot enough to scald my tongue and burn off the nerves. Then I open my gun cases, unloading, disassembling, and cleaning with solvent before putting the weapons back and closing the boxes again.

I’m going to find Vincent Martinelli.

The house is too still. Somewhere in the next room, Sophia hums softly, the sound too sweet and domestic for a day like this. Hiding things from her cracks something in me, but if doing so keeps her safe, I’ll do it repeatedly.

She meets me in the kitchen, her eyes bright and trusting. “Business trip?” she asks, her voice a little too casual.

“Quick one,” I tell her.

Her nod hurts worse than any bullet.

We say goodbye, and her hands grip my shoulders tightly as we hug. When her forehead rests briefly against mine, I almost cave, almost spill all of the worry and nerves bunching in my chest to her.

I watch her lips pucker and lean in to put my mouth on hers, partly to shut myself up. The kiss lingers, and unspoken things pass between us until our breathing falters and we pull back.

Outside, the morning air bites. Marco and Gio wait at the gate, their engines humming. Marco’s grin is grim. “Miami. You sure about this?”

“As sure as breathing.”

On the flight south, Marco runs through the plan again while Gio dozes. My jaw tightens at the sight of Vincent’s picture staring back from the file.

The man deserves pain and death for what he’s done to Sophia and her mother.

Miami greets us like a fever dream, the sunlight too harsh, the colors too loud. Neon signs blink against sun-bleached walls. Palm fronds rattle in the hot wind like dry applause. Salt, gasoline, and street food hang thick around us. The humidity feels like punishment.

We split up. Marco heads for ground surveillance, Gio manages the vehicles, and I take the hotel, a beige box of a building with signage out front that promises luxury. Before I go in, I count the exits. After I go in, I block the latch and spend an hour sleeping.

Once I’ve purged the jetlag from my system, I track Vincent down alone with the address that leads to an auto shop. From the street, the shop looks simple enough, but I’ve seen enough fronts to know better. Shadiness hangs in the air. I walk in like I belong, my face calm.

“Got a van for sale?” I ask the first man I see. My tone is easy, bored.

He waves me toward the back, none the wiser.

Finally, I see him.