Vinny (Redeemed Men #2)

Chapter One — Vinny

I knew it was a dream, but that never stopped me from losing myself in it.

The air was thick with her scent—vanilla and citrus, warm and sweet, like home.

My fingers traced the delicate lace of her nightgown, feeling the softness beneath, the steady rise and fall of her breath as she lay against me.

Her hair spilled across my chest, dark and silken, and I buried my face in it, breathing her in as if she were the only thing keeping me alive.

"Vincente," she whispered, her lips grazing my jaw.

No one else ever said my name the way she did. Hers was the kind of voice that could make God forgive sins, the kind that made a man like me believe in redemption.

I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing the curve of her bottom lip.

"Mi reina," I murmured, drinking her in.

Outside this bed, the world didn't exist. No blood. No death. No weight of past sins dragging me under.

Just her.

Just this.

Her laughter vibrated against my chest, light and teasing.

"You look at me like you know this is the last time."

I stiffened.

My gut twisted.

The dream always led me here—to the moment I lost her. The moment I failed her.

"Stay with me," I pleaded, my voice cracking.

I already knew the answer.

I already knew what came next.

She smiled, something dark flickering behind those doe eyes—the ones that saw too much and understood more than I ever could.

"You already know how this ends. See you tomorrow night, baby."

A gunshot shattered the air.

Then she was gone.

Her warmth.

Her scent.

The sound of her voice.

Vanished.

I shot upright, gasping, my chest tight as if I'd been drowning. My hands clawed at the sheets, searching for her, but there was nothing.

Just me.

The phone on the nightstand buzzed violently, its screen lighting up with a name I didn't want to see.

Lady of Rage.

Her timing was impeccable.

"What?" I snapped, not bothering to soften my tone.

I didn't like her. I'd regretted calling her when Bael needed backup, but he'd handled his own problems, and now she lingered like a bad habit.

"Get up, Vicente," she barked. "We've got a deal going down. Warehouse by the Gandy. Thirty minutes. Don't make me call you again."

"Three in the fucking morning?" I muttered, knowing it didn't matter.

"Money doesn't sleep."

The line went dead.

I stared at the blank screen, my jaw tightening.

Bael had offered me an out when he left—a chance to walk away from all of this.

I should've taken it.

But I couldn't.

Because debts had to be paid.

I owed him for freeing me from the Bellamy family.

Vito Bellamy's namesake—his worthless son—had killed my Sophia. Drunk and reckless, he'd plowed into her car and walked away unscathed, shielded by his father's name.

So I beat him to death in the middle of his family's gambling den.

Vito hadn't even mourned him. He'd just put a price on my life—five million dollars.

Not enough to kill me, but enough to chain me to him.

If I died, the debt would've passed to the people I loved.

So I left everything behind.

My family.

My old life.

I became what I needed to be.

By the time Bael found me, I'd been working off the debt for four years.

He bought it.

Now I owed him.

For a long moment, I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.

The dream clung to me, Sophia's face still imprinted behind my eyes—her smile, the way she looked at me like I was something worth saving.

A ghost that never left.

I forced myself to move.

My body ached, stiff with old pain and fresh scars, but I ignored it.

The rage simmering beneath my skin was dangerous.

If I let it surface, I'd burn the world down.

I dressed slowly, methodically, as if habit were the only religion I had left.

In the closet, a row of suits hung in perfect order.

Sophia had always loved me in them.

"You look like the man I believe in when you wear one," she used to say.

She would've hated the man I'd become.

But the suits were the last thread connecting me to who I used to be—the man I'd buried beside her.

I slipped into one, buttoned the jacket, tightened the tie like a noose, and tucked a pistol beneath my arm.

My reflection stared back at me as I adjusted my cuffs.

A stranger.

Not Vicente, the quiet IT tech who woke up next to her every morning.

Not the man she thought I was.

I didn't want to see myself anymore.

I let the dead man I used to be fade into the glass, leaving what was left behind.

What I was now was a necessity.

Because the night was waiting.