All Chapters of The Wrong Vow: Bred by the Mafia Twins: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

The cold steel of Dante’s muzzle hovered three inches from my forehead.I didn't blink.I kept my green eyes locked on his pale, sweating face."Lower the weapon, Dante," Roman growled, his voice dropping to a deathly, guttural vibration.He stepped forward, his silver-plated semi-automatic clicking loudly as he cleared the chamber.His gunmetal eyes were completely black with rage."You take one shot, Consigliere, and I will paint this bedroom with your brains," Roman warned.Rocco shifted his weight, his combat knife held in a low, reverse grip.His grey eyes were cold, tracking the slight tremor in Dante's hand."You won't even hear the wind blow before I open your throat, Dante," Rocco whispered.The air in the room was thick, suffocating under the weight of three drawn weapons.In the double bassinet, the soft, rhythmic breathing of my sons continued undisturbed."This is not about loyalty, Don Roman," Dante said, his voice tight but remarkably steady."This is about the survival

The automatic gunfire below was deafening.I knelt behind the heavy mahogany desk, my fingers gripping the edge of my laptop.The screen displayed the security camera feeds of the outer courtyard in real-time.Dante Ricci stood near the locked bedroom door, his pistol raised, his eyes darting between me and the hallway."The western gates are completely gone," Dante said, his voice tense."Salvatore’s men are inside the main courtyard.""They are pushing toward the foyer."I tapped the keyboard, switching the camera feed to the main entrance."Roman, Rocco, do you copy?" I spoke into the small lapel microphone."I have you on the feed.""We copy, Cora," Roman’s gravelly voice static-clicked through my earpiece."Give us the numbers.""Twelve shooters just entered the grand foyer," I said, my green eyes scanning the blinking green dots on the screen."They are split into three groups.""Four are heading toward the grand staircase, and eight are flanking the east corridor.""Understood,

The heavy oak door of the master suite slammed against the wall.Roman and Rocco stepped into the room, their chests heaving in unison.The white silk of Roman’s shirt was shredded, the fabric soaked through with dark, wet blood.Rocco’s black tactical gear was covered in grey concrete dust and copper-scented spray.I stood by the window, my fingers digging into the velvet drapes."Is it done?" I asked, my voice a jagged whisper.Roman didn't answer immediately.He reached back and locked the door with a sharp, heavy click."The courtyard is a graveyard," Roman rasped, his gunmetal eyes burning with a wild, lingering heat.Rocco wiped a smear of blood from his jaw with the back of his hand."The mercenaries are dead, Cora," Rocco said, his voice dropping to a low, predatory rumble."Salvatore is currently being driven to the docks in a cage," he added.I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.My knees felt weak, the adrenaline finally crashing out of my system.Roman walked tow

A line of six black, armored town cars stretched down the long driveway of Blackthorn Estate.The rain had finally stopped, leaving the morning gravel wet and sparkling under the pale sun.Outside the grand conference wing, three circles of heavily armed guards stood in rigid silence.Inside, the air in the boardroom was cold and smelled of ozone, fresh wax, and expensive cigars.I stood in the adjacent anteroom, my hands resting flat against the dark fabric of my tailored velvet gown."Are you ready, little bird?" Rocco asked, stepping close to my side.He wore his clean black shirt, the top buttons loose, his combat knives secured beneath his dark jacket.His grey eyes were soft, but his posture was completely coiled for violence."I have been ready since the day your father bought my contract," I replied, my voice steady and cold.Roman walked over from the window, his massive frame blocking the natural light.His silver suit was pristine, his silver vest fully buttoned, and his he

The warm spring wind brushed against my face as I stood on the stone balcony.I held a crystal glass of champagne, watching the sun set over the green gardens of Blackthorn Estate.Six months had passed since the night we threw Salvatore to the New York docks.Down on the grass, a thick white blanket was spread under the shade of a massive oak tree.Nine-month-old Enzo and Arthur were crawling in the soft sunlight, their laughter echoing through the quiet courtyard.Elena Marchetti sat in a wicker chair nearby, her grey eyes warm and watchful as she folded baby clothes."You're not drinking," a smooth, quiet voice murmured from behind me.Rocco stepped out onto the stone patio, his black shirt open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up.His signature sandalwood scent immediately wrapped around me, warm and incredibly familiar."I am just watching them, Rocco," I said, offering him a small smile.Rocco slid his arms around my waist from behind, pulling my back flush against his solid ch