Mafia Heir’s Broken Vows (Rosewood Hall Broken Vows)

23. Alessandro

ALESSANDRO

O ur SUV idles in the dense cover of the trees, headlights off. Beyond the tree line, Marco's compound looms like a fortress—a grotesque monument to his ego. Floodlights slice through the rain, illuminating patrols weaving between armored vehicles and guardhouses. Barbed wire coils along the perimeter fence, daring anyone to try to get in. Nothing screams ‘I have a small penis’ like a sniper on the roof.

Marco hides behind security, guns, and other men—because deep down, he's afraid.

I crouch low beside Enzo, his breath forming clouds of condensation in the frigid air. Maps and schematics had prepared us mentally for this, but nothing compares to seeing it up close.

"Is the distraction in place?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

Enzo nods, his eyes sharp. "They're set. Waiting on your signal."

I scan the compound, noting every guard, every blind spot, and all the small details a map can't show. The guard on the balcony looks skittish like he's barely holding it together. He'll be easy to get past—he'll shit himself and run. That's my way in.

"Light it up."

Moments later, the southern gate erupts in chaos. Explosions rip through the silence, flames licking at the dark sky. Gunfire cracks like fireworks, and Marco's men scramble to respond, shouting into radios as they rush toward the southern perimeter.

Perfect.

I motion forward, and we move—ghosts in the rain. The northern fence looms ahead, and my men cut through the barbed metal with ease. The stench of burning fuel mixes with the rain as we slip into the compound. My pulse pounds in my ears, driven by one thought:

Serafina.

Inside the walls, it is a war zone. The south gate is under siege, drawing Marco's men away from the main house. The compound is chaos, but the house is far from empty. There are fewer guards now, but the ones left patrol in pairs with weapons ready. We move through the shadows, every step precise, every breath measured.

A guard rounds the corner.

I don't hesitate. My knife slices across his throat in one swift, silent motion. He slumps to the ground, lifeless. I strip him of his weapons, shoving a silenced pistol into my holster, and look over my shoulder.

Enzo catches my eye. "Keep moving."

We advance through the maze of rooms; anyone who tries to stop us meets a silent death. No hesitation, no mercy. Every move is calculated. Every kill is clean.

A gunshot echoes down the hall—not ours.

They know we're inside.

I grip my gun tighter, the tension coiling in my chest like a snake ready to strike.

Marco's trap is tightening like a noose around my neck, but I won't stop. I can't. I need to find them—or him—before he ends this on his terms.

Marco's office is open, the faint glow of a desk lamp spilling into the hall. My gut instinct screams that he's in there—lying in wait for me to come to him. A power play, a twisted game to make me walk right into his trap.

I push the door open wider so I can see inside. Just as I thought. Marco leans back in his chair, his smirk is venomous, his posture casual—too casual. He's baiting me, trying to lure me in.

I step into the doorway, scanning the room for any backup. My eyes catch movement—a gasp cuts through the tension.

Serafina.

She's bound to a chair. Her eyes are bruised but still burn with defiance, a fire Marco hasn't managed to extinguish. Leo clings to her legs, trembling, his sobs muffled against her thighs. Alive. They're alive. Relief and fury surge through me in equal measure.

Marco lifts his gun, pointing it lazily at Serafina's head.

"Alessandro," he purrs, his voice dripping with mockery, "I was beginning to think you'd leave them to rot. Your son, though…" he sneers, glancing at Leo. "A bit of a crybaby, isn't he? You'll have to fix that—if you live." He grins, teeth flashing like a predator toying with its prey. "Can't have a ninny take over that precious family name. Your father would be so humiliated."

I grit my teeth, his words bouncing off me. I don't give a fuck about my father—or what he thinks. Not anymore.

I take a step forward, rage simmering beneath my skin, coiled tight and ready to explode. "Let them go. Now." I give him the chance, though we both know he won't take it.

Marco chuckles, cocking the gun. Standing right in front of her. "Or what? You'll shoot me? You won't risk hitting her. We both know you're too sentimental for that."

His mocking tone digs under my skin, but I keep my focus sharp, my fury tempered.

My eyes lock with Serafina's, her gaze steady despite the tears streaking her face. She leans forward, her posture shifting slightly to look past Marco. In that moment, no words are needed. We understand each other.

Marco shifts, his finger tightening on the trigger. He brought me here to kill me, to make his point, and he plans to do it in front of my son. He wants me broken before the end.

The gunshot rips through the air—but it's mine. Not his. Marco was too slow, too cocky, and it cost him.

Marco stumbles, howling in pain as the bullet tears through his shoulder. His gun clatters to the floor, and before he can recover, I close the distance, slamming into him with everything I've got. We hit the ground hard, fists flying. He struggles beneath me, his movements frantic and desperate. But I am relentless. His injured shoulder weakens him, and his Kevlar vest won't save him from me.

"You took my family from me—my best friend is dead because of you." My voice is low, a growl of fury as I slam his head against the cold, hard floor. Once. Twice. The sound of impact reverberates through the room, matching the pounding in my chest. "You will never touch them again."

Marco coughs, blood spilling from his mouth along with a few teeth. His laugh is garbled, taunting, even in his pain. "You think you can have it all?"

I don't reply. There's no point in arguing with a dead man.

I press the barrel of my gun against his forehead.

"I don't think. I know."

I pull the trigger.

The echo of the shot lingers in the air as Marco's body falls limp beneath me. I stagger to my feet, chest heaving, blood pounding in my ears. For a brief moment, everything is still. My eyes scan the room, landing on Serafina—and Leo. My son. Both of them staring at me.

Leo's wide eyes are fixed on me, unblinking. He just saw his father kill a man. The realization cuts through me like a blade.

I drop to my knees beside them, my hands shaking as I untie Serafina. Her wrists are red and raw, and the sight of her bruised face sends another surge of rage through me—but I push it down. She's alive. That's all that matters now.

Her breath hitches, a sob breaking free. "Alessandro?—"

I cup her face, my thumb brushing away the tear trailing down her cheek. Her skin is cold beneath my touch, and I feel her trembling.

"I'm here," I murmur, my voice low and steady. "You're okay."

She throws her arms around me, her body shaking as she sobs into my shoulder. I hold her tightly, feeling her heartbeat against mine. The relief of having her safe floods through me, but it's tempered by the weight of what just happened.

Leo's small hands press against me, and I pull him into the embrace, wrapping them both in my arms. I don't hide who I am anymore. He needs to know, even if it terrifies me, even if it changes how he sees me. His father is a killer, but he's alive because of it.

"I thought—" Serafina's voice breaks, her words caught in her throat.

I press my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling. "I will always come for you," I promise, the words heavy with truth. "Always."

But the moment of reprieve is short-lived. I glance toward the open door, the echoes of gunfire in the distance growing louder. Marco's men will realize soon enough that their boss is dead. They'll come for us.

"We need to move," I say, my voice firm. My hand rests protectively on Leo's back as I help Serafina to her feet. "This isn't over yet."