Silent Vows (Bonds of Betrayal): Chapter 14

Blood trickles down my arm as I guide the Bentley through winding back roads, each turn calculated to lose our pursuers. The morning sun flashes through autumn leaves, creating a strobe effect that makes it harder to track the black SUVs in my rearview mirror. My shoulder burns where the bullet grazed me, but I’ve had worse. What I can’t stand is seeing Bella beside me, her bare legs dotted with tiny cuts from the shattered glass.

She clutches my discarded shirt closer, trying to preserve some modesty. We’d had no time to properly dress—the moment there was an opening, I rushed her to the car. The sight of those small wounds on her perfect skin makes rage build in my chest. I’m supposed to protect her, and instead she’s bleeding, half dressed, and running for her life less than twenty-four hours after becoming my wife.

“You’re bleeding,” she says, her voice steadier than I’d expect after our narrow escape. Even now, after everything she’s seen, she worries about me. It makes something in my chest twist painfully.

“Graze wound. Nothing serious.” I take another sharp turn, the tires protesting as we barely miss a guardrail. The road ahead winds through dense forest, perfect for losing tails if you know the terrain. And I know every inch of these roads. “Call Antonio. Speed dial three.”

She reaches for my phone, but it’s already ringing—Elena’s name flashing on the screen. Bella answers immediately, putting it on speaker. My jaw clenches. We don’t have time for this.

“B, thank God!” Elena’s voice is frantic through the speaker. “Are you watching the news? They’re saying your mother⁠—”

“I know.” Bella’s composure cracks slightly, and the sound of pain in her voice makes me want to kill someone. Preferably Johnny Calabrese. “Elena, I need you to be careful. They might come for you too.”

“I’m already at the safe house. Your friend Father Romano got me out just in time. Someone tried to break into my apartment an hour ago.” There’s a pause that makes my blood run cold. “B, the video they released … you need to see it. All of it.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. Goddamn Elena and her need to protect Bella. Some truths are better left buried. “Elena, hang up. Now.”

“Mr. DeLuca, with all due respect, she needs to know what⁠—”

“Hang. Up.” I put every ounce of authority into those words, the tone that makes hardened killers obey without question.

But it’s too late. Bella’s already pulled up the video on her phone, her fingers moving swift and sure across the screen. My wife’s stubborn streak is going to get us both killed. The thought would be admirable if it weren’t so dangerous.

“Bella, don’t⁠—”

“I deserve to know,” she cuts me off, pressing play. The determination in her voice reminds me of Sophia, and for a moment my chest feels too tight.

The security footage fills her phone screen, grainy but clear enough to transport me back to that night. Sophia in the lake house, very much alive. She’s arguing with someone off camera, her voice thick with tears that I once thought were genuine.

“I won’t do it!” Sophia shouts from the tiny screen, her voice bringing back memories I’ve spent a decade trying to bury. “You can’t make me choose.”

“Choose what?” Bella whispers beside me, but I keep my mouth shut, taking another sharp turn that sends gravel spraying. The SUVs are falling behind, but my focus splits dangerously between the road and the video that’s about to destroy everything.

The footage jumps forward, and my grip on the steering wheel becomes painful. Sophia’s at the window now, gun in hand, but she’s not pointing it at me like I claimed. She’s backing away, terror etched on her face in a way that still haunts my dreams.

“Please,” she begs on screen. “The records were buried for a reason. If anyone finds out what really happened⁠—”

The footage cuts out, leaving the car in suffocating silence. I can feel Bella’s eyes on me, can practically hear the wheels turning in that quick mind of hers. She’s piecing things together, and God help me, she’s too smart not to see the truth.

“What records?” She turns to me, face pale in the morning light. The cuts on her legs have stopped bleeding, but seeing them still makes me want to tear someone apart. “What really happened that night, Matteo?”

Before I can answer—before I have to choose between lying to my new wife or destroying my daughter’s life—bullets pepper the back of the car. One takes out the rear window, showering us with safety glass. For once, I’m grateful for the interruption. I jerk the wheel hard, taking us down a narrow dirt road that few know exists.

“Hold on,” I order, reaching into the center console with my injured arm. Pain shoots through my shoulder, but pain is an old friend. I’ve learned to use it, to let it sharpen my focus rather than dull it. The small remote feels heavy in my palm as we clear the trees.

I press the button, and the world erupts behind us. The explosion turns the morning sky to fire, a massive fireball blooming like some deadly flower. Both SUVs disappear in the inferno, the blast wave rocking our car. In the rearview mirror, the destruction paints Bella’s face in shades of orange and red, making her look like some avenging angel.

“Jesus,” she breathes, and I catch the mix of horror and awe in her voice.

“IEDs,” I explain shortly, already calculating our next move. “I have them planted on all my escape routes.”

“Of course you do.” Her voice holds a note of hysteria that makes me want to pull her into my arms. But she’s quiet only for a moment before: “You still haven’t answered my question. What really happened that night, Matteo?”

I guide the car onto the private airstrip where my jet waits, engines already running. The sun catches the polished metal of the plane, making it gleam like a promise of escape. The pilot stands ready at the stairs, and I can see Antonio’s men taking up defensive positions.

“Not here. Once we’re in the air⁠—”

“No.” The sound of her seatbelt unbuckling makes me tense. She turns to face me fully, and Christ, the sight of her undoes me. Those endless legs bare beneath my shirt, dark hair wild from our escape, tiny drops of blood dotting her skin like rubies.

Even in crisis, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “I just watched the lake house get shot up. My mother is dead. I’m sitting here in your bloody goddamn shirt with no shoes and about a hundred cuts from broken glass. I think I’ve earned the fucking truth. Now.”

The rising sun catches her wedding ring, and memories of another ring, another woman, another impossible choice flood back. I kill the engine, knowing we have precious little time before someone tracks us here. But she deserves the truth, even if it destroys us both.

“Sophia found something,” I force the words out, each one tasting like ash.

Bella’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the morning air. Her mind is already connecting dots I’ve spent years trying to keep separate. “What did she find?”

“Documents that would destroy not just my position, but Bianca’s entire future in our world.” I make myself meet those hazel eyes that see too much. My daughter’s future weighs against my new wife’s trust, and for once, I choose honesty. “Sophia was going to use them to force me to step down, to hand everything to Johnny.”

“Because Bianca isn’t yours?”

Her quick understanding shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. My silence stretches as I study her face, wondering how she pieced it together so fast. “The truth about her father … it’s worse than any question of bloodlines.”

In the distance, sirens wail—a reminder that our time is running out. Bella’s quiet for a long moment, processing. When she speaks, her question reveals why I’m falling for her despite my best intentions. “Does Bianca know? About any of it?”

“No.” The word comes out sharp, protective. “And she can never know.” I start the car again, pulling up to the jet’s stairs. “Now you understand why this video changes everything. Why we need to leave. Now.”

“Because once people start investigating …” Her mind works quickly, filling in blanks I’ve spent years protecting. “They’ll find whatever Sophia discovered.”

“They’ll tear us apart.” I help her from the car, noting how she leans into me despite everything she’s just learned. The trust in that small gesture makes my chest ache. “Starting with you.”

“Then why tell me at all?” Her eyes search mine, looking for truth in a man who’s built his life on lies. “Why not let me believe your original story?”

I catch her chin, making her meet my gaze. Her skin is silk under my callused fingers, and goddamn, I don’t deserve the way she looks at me—like she wants to understand rather than judge. “Because I won’t start this marriage with the same lies that ended my last one.”

Something soft crosses her face, something that makes me think maybe, just maybe, we have a chance. But before she can respond, gunfire erupts from the tree line. The sound shatters the morning calm like breaking glass.

I shove her toward the jet’s stairs as my security team returns fire. The steady rhythm of automatic weapons fills the air, and my body moves on pure instinct, decades of violence making my reactions automatic.

“Go!” I shout, pushing her up the steps. My hands leave bloody prints on the white shirt she wears—my shirt—and the sight of it makes rage burn hot in my chest. “I’m right behind you.”

But as I turn to fire at our attackers, movement in the trees catches my eye. A familiar face appears in the scope of a rifle, and my blood runs cold. Not Johnny—someone much worse.

Carmine Russo smiles at me through his gun sight, and in that moment, understanding hits like a physical blow: this was never about Sophia’s video at all. This is about power, about control, about a man who would kill his own sister-in-law and niece to claim what he thinks should be his.

The morning sun glints off his scope as I raise my weapon, and I pray Bella is safely inside the jet. Because her uncle is about to learn what happens to men who threaten what’s mine.

I take aim at Carmine just as he fires. The bullet whizzes past my ear, close enough that I feel the displacement of air. My return shot catches a tree trunk as he ducks behind it, wood splintering where his head had been. Around us, the air fills with crossfire—my men versus his, bullets painting deadly patterns in the morning light.

“Is this really how you want to play it, Carmine?” I call out, using the jet’s landing gear as cover. “Your own niece?”

His laugh carries across the tarmac, cold and calculated. “My brother was weak. His daughter is weaker. The Russo family deserves better than an artist playing at being a donna.”

More shots ring out. One catches my already injured arm, tearing through muscle. The pain is immediate, searing, but I force it down. I’ve fought through worse. Behind me, I hear Bella shouting my name from the jet’s doorway. Foolish, brave woman—she should be taking cover.

“Matteo!” The fear in her voice makes something primal rise in my chest. “Behind you!”

I spin just as one of Carmine’s men emerges from under the plane. My bullet catches him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling, but more are coming. Too many. They’ve planned this well, the bastards.

“Your time’s over, DeLuca,” Carmine calls out. “First you, then your precious daughter. Once everyone knows what Sophia found⁠—”

My roar of rage drowns out his words as I empty my clip in his direction. But he’s already moving, and my injury throws off my aim. Fresh blood soaks my sleeve, making my grip slippery on the gun.

“Boss!” One of my men’s voices cuts through the chaos. “We need to go! Now!”

He’s right. We’re too exposed, and I’m losing too much blood. With a final shot toward Carmine’s position, I back toward the stairs. The engines roar as I take them two at a time, bullets pinging off the metal around me.

The jet door seals behind me as I collapse into the nearest seat. Bella’s hands are immediately on me, pressing something against my wound as the plane lurches into motion. Through the window, I see Carmine emerge from the trees, watching us with cold calculation as we taxi away.

“Hold on,” the pilot calls back as we pick up speed. More bullets strike the fuselage, but the reinforced metal holds.

I pull Bella close with my good arm as we lift off, leaving Carmine and his men behind. She’s shaking—from adrenaline or fear or rage, I’m not sure. Maybe all three.

“You’re hurt,” she says, her voice steady despite her trembling hands as she examines my wound.

“I’ll live.” I press my lips to her temple, breathing in her scent. “But this isn’t over.”

“I know.” She meets my eyes. “But next time, we face it together.”

The jet banks sharply west. Somewhere below, Carmine is already planning his next move. But for now, I have my wife in my arms, and we’re alive. Sometimes, that has to be enough.

I just pray it stays that way.

The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!