Page 57 of Brutal Vows

A bunch of notifications hit my phone at the same time, and I retract my hand to give them a once-over. “Jesus. They’re here.”

“Who?” she asks, her voice muffled.

“Your brother and Gabi. They actually came.” I swipe up and down the conversation in the group chat with my brothers to catch up. “The Mole and Mara landed over an hour ago. They’re probably already with Matteo.”

“What does this mean?” she asks as she sits up again. “He’s really here? Next door?”

“Yep. It means you get to see your brother, for one.” I’m not relishing the next part. “We’ll see what information Dominic can get out of this Mara woman.” And then we’ll see what we can learn from Petrov about Masha and whatever the fuckup is in Russia.

I drop back in my seat to see what else I missed while sleeping in. It’s quiet as Milana reaches for her own phone and goes through her messages.

Two loud pops sound from somewhere, and I freeze. They’re soft, like the pull of a cork from a bottle of wine. Then a deluge of sharp bangs follow.

“Holy fuck.” I shoot out of my seat. “Holy fuckfuckfuck.”

“What was that?”

“Gunshots. No silencers.” Which means this wasn’t planned “Next door. Matteo’s place.”

For all that his apartment is soundproof, we share a wall, and some things are just too loud to disguise.

I bolt toward the front door, cursing that I’m not with my brothers.

27

MILANA

I’m pacing the apartment. It’s been six hours since Luca ran out, cursing. Six horrible hours since there were gunshots.

At some point, I opened the front door and stared down the corridor to the elevator, but it was empty. I went back inside, having no clue where I’d end up if I walked out and took the elevator. With the gunshots, Il Consiglio’s security will be even more vigilant. This might have been the perfect opportunity to escape, credit card and all, but I’m sick with worry.

Ivan. Is he even okay?

Images of our bullet-riddled house on Long Island keep flitting through my mind’s eye. Then images of Ivan, fighting for his life, for his girls. Dimitri’s blood drenching the Steinway.

My stomach is twisted tight, and bile has been pushing up my throat ever since Luca rushed out. Not knowing what happened next door is the worst. And Ivan—he nearly died in July. How dare Luca leave me hanging like this, not knowing who got hurt?

When the apartment door opens, I spin on my heel and rush toward the foyer.

“Luca?”

There’s no response, but as he turns the corner, we bump into each other. He grabs me by the arm to steady me, his fingers biting into my flesh.

“Who got shot?” There’s blood flecked on his cheek, and when my gaze drops lower, I see it: great red stains soaked into the front of his T-shirt and jeans. “Oh my God, you’re covered in blood!” My fear skyrockets again and my legs want to cave in. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” The word is cold. Hard.

“Then who? Not Ivan, please!” I’m barely breathing, my body in a chokehold as I frantically search his face.

“Ivan is fine. But Gabi got shot.”

“Oh my God.” Here I was fretting about Ivan, and then Gabi got shot! This is somehow worse. Gabi. Sweet innocent Gabi. How is this even possible?

“Is that her blood? That amount…she’d be dead!” I retch, the urge to throw up overpowering, but nothing comes up.

“Gabi isn’t dead, but she took two bullets. It’s serious.” The anger in his voice is only barely under control, slicing through me like shards of glass. “Dominic and Matteo took care of her. They’re at the clinic now and she’s in the operating room. Hopefully, she’ll pull through.”

Only now do I register his cold stare. The hard pull of his mouth. My legs almost buckle. “Gabi’s… She isn’t…whose blood is this?”