Bonus Epilogue
Stella
Two years later
This confessional booth is smaller than the one I remember at St. Mary’s Cathedral back in Chicago. But I guess it reflects everything else in this godforsaken city.
Six months we’ve been at war with the Cosa Nostra here in New York. Six fucking months since I last set foot in my own home, unwilling to leave without Annamaria.
I honestly thought that I would have my sister back in the loving arms of her family in a matter of weeks since that fucker Raffaele stole her from right under our noses. But what neither of us accounted for was the tenacity and cunning of his older brother, Matteo.
This scheme of his must have taken years to plan, because when the full force of the Outfit came down on New York, the bastard was ready for us. More men than I can count have been butchered by him, unwilling to let my sister out of his grasp.
He says he wants peace, with the condition that the Outfit never lay claim to New York again.
And to ensure such peace prevails, Annamaria must remain with him for the rest of her life.
That isn’t an offer of peace. That’s a fucking battle cry.
There will be no peace.
Not until Matteo is dead.
And tonight is my one chance to not only kill the bastard but bring my sister home.
My focus is split momentarily when I hear Marcello shift on the other side of the confessional, cursing under his breath when the wood creaks under his feet. The cramped darkness feels suffocating, like the walls know what we’re planning and want to choke the sin out of us before we commit it.
Murdering someone in a church isn’t Marcello’s first rodeo, but it sure is mine. The air smells like dust, incense, and the kind of stillness that clings to the walls of old churches, and suddenly I’m transported to a time when my baby sister loved nothing more than to lead a holy life herself.
My good-hearted sister had all the qualities to become a nun, but I always believed life had something more in store for her. I just never imagined it would be this.
Needing to calm down, I inhale slowly and imagine the scent of cloves from one of my loving husband’s cigarettes, and the sound of his lighter sparking to life. That’s all I need to regain my focus. My clarity and precision.
Marcello leans closer to the divider between us. “Stay sharp.”
“I’m always sharp.” I roll my eyes, but only a little.
As the minutes tick by and no one appears, I begin to wonder if our intel was wrong.
Matteo keeps Annamaria imprisoned somewhere we haven’t been able to locate and only allows her one excursion a month to this very church, where it’s said she lights a candle for every person that is near and dear to her heart, praying that it will be enough to protect them.
But as another hour passes, and there is no sign of Anna, my heart begins to grow heavy with fear.
Please, God. Please. Help us bring Anna home.
And as if God himself heard my prayers, I spot a sudden movement through the slatted panel of the door. Two shadows stretch long across the marble aisle before their bodies come into full view.
Annamaria enters the nave first, causing my breath to catch in my throat.
She somehow looks taller than the last time I saw her, her posture a little straighter.
But it’s the absence of her long golden hair flowing down her back—now cut into a short bob—that feels like someone drove a stake through my heart.
Her steps echo softly as she approaches the altar, pausing to kneel to say a quick prayer before standing again to light a few candles to the side.
And that’s when my gaze locks on Matteo, hovering behind her like the fucking parasite he is.
Everything in me coils tight, blind rage surging in my chest.
Six months. Six months he’s kept her captive.
Six months we’ve searched for her with no avail.
Six months we imagined every nightmare possible.
Seeing him here…standing beside her like he has a right to breathe the same air as my sweet sister…makes my hands twitch around the handles of my blades.
“Now is our shot,” I whisper, leaning toward the narrow lattice that divides me from Marcello.
“No. Wait.”
I snap my gaze toward him, irritation sparking. “Marcello—”
“I said, wait,” he repeats, quieter this time, but no less commanding.
Even though my blood is roaring, I obey.
Because I’m his number two. Because this is what respect looks like in our world.
Because I trust him with every part of me, even if I burn to kill Matteo this very second.
I grit my teeth and force myself to focus on Anna instead of the rage clawing at me.
She stands there, candlelight warming her features, her hands folded in front of her. And when she turns, I see something I don’t expect to find on my sister’s face.
She doesn’t look afraid.
Not even a little.
Her eyes aren’t empty or panicked or pleading. They’re steady. Calm. Almost… comfortable.
My brow furrows.
What the hell?!
Matteo steps closer and says something too faint for either Marcello or me to hear, and my eyes must be playing tricks on me, because it almost looks like Anna is smiling back at him.
The urge to leap out of the booth and slit his throat right there and then is overwhelming.
“Now?” I whisper sharply.
“No,” Marcello says again.
I’m going to kill Marcello, too, at this rate.
My fingers curl so tightly around my blades that my knuckles ache. Each second we wait scrapes at me like sandpaper, wearing down the thin strip of patience I have left. Marcello watches Matteo with a predator’s stillness. He isn’t impatient. He isn’t emotional. He’s calculating.
He waits for patterns.
He waits for openings.
He waits for certainty.
And then that’s when Matteo’s phone buzzes.
He steps away from Anna, frowning as he glances at the screen. He mutters something to her, something that softens the corners of his mouth, and then walks a few steps toward the side pews to take his phone call.
That’s when I hear Marcello’s breath halt to a stop.
I freeze, hardly daring to breathe myself.
“Now,” he says.
Not needing to be told twice, we burst out of the confessional like unleashed demons.
Marcello moves with terrifying speed, lunging straight for Annamaria.
She gasps as he grabs her, pulling her tight against his chest, shielding her with his body, whispering something urgent into her hair.
Her hands fly up, clinging to him as shock finally replaces whatever strange calm she had before.
And while Marcello ensures Anna’s safety, I fix my sights on my target.
My arm lifts before I consciously command it, muscle memory taking over as I send blade after blade slicing through the air. They fly with satisfying accuracy, thudding into Matteo’s back.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
His body jerks with each impact.
He spins around, eyes wide with shock and pain, hand reaching behind him as if he can pluck my blades from his spine like splinters.
A vicious grin curls on my lips at the sight.
For a heartbeat, everything is crystal clear. I see the exact trajectory for the next throw, the perfect path to his heart, the angle to sever the artery in his neck. My fingers slide over the new blades at my thigh, gripping four at once.
This ends now.
But the second my arm draws back, a loud wail stuns me still.
“NO!”
Annamaria’s scream tears through the church like thunder. And before I’m able to aim, Anna kicks herself free from Marcello’s embrace and throws herself in front of Matteo.
Time fractures.
My blades leave my fingers but my aim shatters. They miss his vital points by mere inches. Still, the hits are brutal. One dagger slams into his thigh, another into his abdomen, a third into his shoulder, and the last skims past his ribs.
Matteo collapses with a raw, guttural and satisfying cry, crashing onto the marble floor.
The sound of my sister’s distress, paired with his grunts of pain, echo through the church, mingling with my own ragged breathing.
And Annamaria—my sister, my blood—drops to her knees beside him.
She touches him.
Touching him like she means to protect him.
Everything in me stops.
My heart.
My thoughts.
My rage.
It’s like watching my world tilt off its axis.
Marcello finds his way to stand beside me to stare at our sister in utter disbelief. His face pales, jaw locked, confusion flickering across features that were never meant to show any weakness today.
Anna throws her arms out wide, shielding Matteo from us as she continues to shout words that don’t make sense to us. “Stop! Don’t touch him! Don’t hurt him!”
I blink, unable to comprehend any word spilling from her mouth.
My blades are still warm in my hands.
Anna’s tears spill onto Matteo’s shirt.
He groans, blood pooling under him.
And I stand there, rooted to the spot, realizing with horrifying clarity that Anna never wanted to be rescued.
And that’s when I see it.
The light coming from the candles snags on something at her hand, something I somehow overlooked in the chaos of adrenaline and fury. A large diamond, bright as a star. And beside it, a golden band hugging her finger like it belongs there.
My stomach drops when I see its pair on Matteo’s finger, too.
“Anna,” I choke out, the word scraping my throat raw. “Mind explaining to us why the fuck you’re wearing a wedding ring?!”
The End
To be continued in Vicious Intentions.