Silent Vows (Bonds of Betrayal #1)

17. Bella

17

BELLA

W ater drips steadily from my clothes as I crouch behind the boulder with Matteo, his body heat the only thing keeping me from shivering uncontrollably. The lake water has soaked through to my skin, making every breath a battle against chattering teeth. Flashlight beams sweep the beach around us like searching fingers, accompanied by the crunch of boots on gravel. Above us, my uncle’s voice continues giving orders, each word a reminder of how completely my world has shattered in the past week.

I risk a glance around the boulder’s edge, and my heart clenches at the sight of him. Carmine Russo stands silhouetted against the weak sun, every inch the powerful mafioso in his perfectly tailored suit. Even now, soaked to the bone and hiding for my life, I notice these details with an artist’s eye—how the sun catches the silver at his temples, the way his Italian leather shoes seem untouched by the rocky terrain. This is the man who used to play card games with me, who taught me to drive in his Mercedes, who helped me escape punishment whenever I did something I wasn’t supposed to.

Now he’s trying to kill me.

“Nothing here,” one of the searchers calls, his boots crunching closer to our position. “They might have drowned.”

“Find the bodies,” Carmine snaps, and his voice has changed too—gone is the warmth that used to color his tone when he called me nipote . In its place is something cold, calculating, utterly foreign to the uncle I thought I knew. “No assumptions.”

Matteo’s hand finds mine again, squeezing once. Even through the chaos, his touch grounds me. I know what he’s thinking—we’re running out of options. The searchers are moving methodically down the beach, their lights drawing closer with each passing second. Soon they’ll reach our hiding spot, and then…

A phone buzzes above us, the sound sharp in the quiet. “Yes?” Carmine answers, and something in his tone makes my skin crawl. This is the real him, I realize. The monster that was always hiding behind the loving uncle mask. “Good. Keep her sedated. DeLuca will be more…cooperative once he knows we have his precious daughter.”

I feel Matteo go rigid beside me, every muscle tensing for violence. His grip on his guns tightens, and through the dim light, I see that look in his eyes—the one that reminds me he’s every bit the killer they say he is. He’s calculating angles, counting enemies, deciding if he can take them all out before they reach Carmine.

Before they can hurt Bianca.

The beach is exposed, the sun peeking out of the clouds robbing us of shadows. There are at least six armed men that I can count, all with automatic weapons. Even Matteo, deadly as he is, can’t take them all before someone gets off a lucky shot. Not with his injured arm already seeping blood through the makeshift bandage.

An idea forms in my mind—reckless, probably suicidal, but possibly our only chance. The artist in me sees the composition of the scene, the angles, the possibilities. My father taught me more than just how to shoot—he taught me how to see opportunities where others see only obstacles.

“Wait,” I breathe against Matteo’s ear, so softly only he can hear. His skin is fever hot against my lips. “Trust me?”

His eyes meet mine in the dim light, intense and questioning. For a moment, I see everything there—fear for me, rage at them, and something deeper that makes my heart race. After a long moment, he nods once. The trust in that simple gesture gives me courage.

I take a deep breath, trying to still my trembling hands, then step out from behind the boulder. “Uncle Carmine!” I call, raising my hands. “Looking for me?”

Six gun barrels immediately swing in my direction. The sun paints the scene in shades of blue and gold, turning the lake behind me to fire. In this light, I can see Carmine clearly— really see him. The expensive suit is Brioni, his signature style. His balding head is perfectly coiffed despite the hour, his Roman nose and strong jaw a mirror of my father’s.

But his eyes…God, how did I never notice how cold his eyes are?

“Bella.” His voice drips false concern as he starts down the rocky path. “Thank God you’re alive. We’ve been so worried.”

In my peripheral vision, I see Matteo moving silently, using my distraction. Every artist knows about negative space—the places people don’t look because something brighter draws their eye.

Right now, I’m the bright distraction.

“Have you?” I take a few steps forward, keeping their attention on me. My bare feet ache on the rocky beach, but I refuse to show weakness. “Like you were worried about my mother?”

Something flashes across his face—annoyance? Or guilt? “Your mother’s death was a tragedy. Another of DeLuca’s victims, just like his first wife.” Carmine reaches the beach, Father Romano close behind him. Four armed men spread out in a semicircle, all focusing their weapons on me. None of them notice the deadly shadow moving into position behind them. “Come with me, nipote . Let me protect you before you meet the same fate.”

“Protect me?” I force a bitter laugh, channeling every ounce of scorn I can muster. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure they must hear it. “The way you protected my father?”

He reaches the beach, his Italian leather shoes somehow navigating the treacherous rocks with perfect grace. Four armed men create a deadly arc around me, their weapons trained on my heart. Father Romano hovers at Carmine’s shoulder like a dark angel, his priest’s collar a mockery of everything it should represent.

“Your father made his choice,” Carmine says smoothly, and God, his voice still holds echoes of the man who used to read me bedtime stories in Italian. “Just like your new husband made his. Tell me, did he tell you what his father forced him to do?”

“Giuseppe DeLuca was an interesting man to take confession from.” Romano’s smile turns cruel in the weak light, transforming his handsome features into something grotesque. “So many…sins to absolve.”

Behind them, I see Matteo’s silhouette tense in the shadows, his gun hand trembling—the first time I’ve ever seen him lose composure. That small tell sends ice through my veins.

What could make Matteo DeLuca, the most controlled man I know, react like that?

I force myself to focus, to keep playing my part. “He told me everything.” Another step forward, drawing them further from the path. Every movement is calculated now, a deadly dance. “Which is more than you’ve done. Does Bianca know why you really took her? What you plan to do with her?”

Something ugly flashes across Father Romano’s face, twisting his features into something demonic in the light. “The girl is safe. For now.”

“Is she?” I meet his gaze steadily, silently praying Matteo is ready. “Are you sure about that?”

Behind them, a twig snaps. As they turn toward the sound, Matteo explodes into action like some avenging angel. Two shots ring out in perfect synchronization—precise, deadly. Two of Carmine’s men drop before anyone can react, their bodies hitting the rocky beach with dull thuds. I dive for cover as chaos erupts around us.

The beach transforms into a war zone. Muzzle flashes light up like deadly fireworks, the sound of gunfire echoing off the lake’s surface. I roll behind the boulder, my father’s training taking over. When one of the remaining men appears around the edge, I don’t hesitate. My shot catches him in the shoulder, the recoil traveling up my arm as he stumbles back with a cry.

“Bella, down!” Matteo’s voice cuts through the firefight with commanding urgency.

I drop instantly, bullets pepper the rock where my head had been moments before. Chips of stone rain down on me as I roll to better cover. Through the chaos, I catch glimpses of Matteo in action—he moves like something out of a dream, each motion precise and lethal. His guns bark in concert, every shot finding its mark. He’s beautiful in his violence, terrible and magnificent all at once.

But Carmine and Romano are already retreating up the path, using their last remaining man as a human shield. My uncle’s face is twisted with rage and something else—fear, maybe. He knows what Matteo is capable of.

“This isn’t over!” Carmine shouts as car doors slam above. His voice carries over the lake, full of venom and dark promises. “Ask him about the real truth behind Sophia’s death! About Giuseppe’s secrets! About what your precious husband has been hiding all these years!”

Engines roar to life, and then they’re gone, leaving only the sound of waves lapping at the shore and our harsh breathing. The smell of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood and the crisp morning breeze off the lake.

Matteo appears beside me like a ghost, his hands immediately moving over my body, checking for injuries. His touch is gentle despite the deadly grace he displayed moments ago. “That was incredibly stupid,” he growls, but I hear the fear beneath his anger, see it in the tight lines around his eyes. “They could have killed you, dammit.”

“They could have killed us both if I hadn’t created a distraction.” I wince as his fingers find a graze on my arm I hadn’t noticed in the heat of battle. The adrenaline is wearing off, making everything sharper, more painful. “Besides, now we know Bianca’s alive. And sedated, which means she’s somewhere nearby. They wouldn’t risk moving her far if they’re using her as leverage.”

His hands still on my arm. The light catches the blood on his knuckles—his or someone else’s, I’m not sure. “You did all that…for Bianca?” There’s something in his tone that makes my heart skip a beat.

“I saw your face when Carmine mentioned her being sedated.” I meet his gaze steadily, trying to convey everything I can’t put into words. How much I understand about protecting family, about the lengths we go to for those we love. “I knew you were about to do something reckless. Besides, she’s your daughter, blood or not. Which makes her family. Even if she hates me.”

Something flickers in his eyes at the word “blood”—that same haunted look he gets whenever Giuseppe is mentioned. There are still so many secrets between us, still so much I don’t understand. But before I can analyze it further, he pulls me close, burying his face in my hair. His heart thunders against my cheek, reminding me that for all his deadly capability, he’s still human. Still vulnerable when it comes to those he loves.

Suddenly, headlights appear on the road above, and we both tense. Matteo’s body instantly shifts, putting himself between me and potential danger. But a familiar voice calls down, “Boss? Area’s secure. But we need to move—local police will be here soon.”

Relief floods through me at Antonio’s voice. Matteo helps me to my feet, keeping me close as we climb the rocky path. My bare feet are bleeding, I realize distantly, leaving crimson marks on the stones. His security team works with practiced efficiency, already cleaning up any evidence of the firefight. These men are professionals—they know how to make bodies and bullets disappear without a trace.

“We have a safe house thirty minutes from here,” Matteo tells me as we reach the waiting SUV. His hand spans my lower back, steadying me. “Medical supplies, dry clothes, everything we need.”

I lean into his warmth, exhaustion suddenly hitting me like a wave. The events of the past hour feel surreal—the plane crash, the freezing swim, confronting my uncle, the gunfight. How many lives have I lived since becoming Matteo’s wife? Artist, bride, survivor, fighter.

“And then what?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

He pulls me closer, his lips brushing my temple in a gesture that feels both protective and possessive. “Then we find my daughter. And make them regret ever touching our family.”

The possessive note in his voice sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with my wet clothes. Because that’s what we are now—family. Complicated, dangerous, possibly doomed, but family nonetheless. Not like Carmine’s version of family, built on lies and betrayal, but something stronger. Something forged in blood and bullets and trust.

As the SUV pulls away from the lake, I find myself watching Matteo’s profile. The sun paints his features in shades of gold and shadow, highlighting the contradiction of the man himself—deadly yet gentle, controlled yet passionate, hiding secrets yet desperately wanting to trust.

There are still truths to be uncovered about Sophia and Giuseppe DeLuca. Carmine’s parting words echo in my mind, hinting at darkness I’m not sure I’m ready to face. But right now, none of that matters as much as finding Bianca. As much as keeping our fragile, newborn family alive.

The only question that haunts me as we speed down the road: what will those secrets cost us when they finally come to light?

Because in our world, truth always demands payment in blood.