Silent Vows (Bonds of Betrayal): Chapter 23

The mansion’s medical suite fills my senses with sharp antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood as the doctor finishes redressing my shoulder. I barely register the sting of new stitches, too captivated by the scene through the observation window.

Bella and Bianca sit in the adjacent room, dark heads bent together over steaming cups of tea, talking quietly. My daughter still looks too pale, shadows under her eyes from whatever drugs Romano pumped into her system, but color is finally returning to her cheeks. And Bella … my impossible wife maintains a casual posture while her eyes constantly scan the room, checking exits, monitoring movements outside. She’s become a protector as fierce as any of my trained guards.

The sight of them together does something to my chest that has nothing to do with my injury. They mirror each other unconsciously—the same slight tilt of the head, the same way of cradling their cups.

Artist and ice princess, forced together by circumstance, now finding common ground in survival.

“The wound will heal clean,” Dr. Marcus says, securing the bandage with practiced hands. He’s been the family’s private physician since Giuseppe’s time, which means he knows better than to sugarcoat things. “But you need rest, Boss. No shooting anyone for at least a week.”

“No promises,” I mutter, already shrugging my shirt back on one-handed. The movement pulls at fresh stitches, but I’ve had worse. Much worse.

Through the window, I watch Bianca say something that makes Bella laugh—not the polished society smile she’s perfected this past week, but something real and bright that transforms her entire face. The sound carries through the glass, hitting me like a physical blow.

When was the last time I heard such genuine joy in this house?

“They’re quite remarkable,” Antonio observes from his post by the door. My most trusted captain has seen enough to know when something extraordinary is happening. “Both of them.”

“They are.” I button my shirt carefully, each movement a reminder of how close I came to losing everything in that monastery. How close I still might come, with Johnny still out there and so many secrets still buried. “Status report?”

“Johnny Calabrese survived the tunnel collapse. He’s in the wind, but we have teams tracking him.” Antonio consults his tablet with military precision. “The other Families have officially recognized your leadership after Carmine’s … removal. And Miss Bianca’s blood work came back clean—whatever they were testing for, they didn’t find it.”

“They were testing for specific genetic markers,” I say quietly, watching my daughter’s profile through the glass, seeing shadows of the past in her features, but more importantly seeing the strength she’s developed despite everything—or maybe because of it.

Seventeen years I’ve spent protecting her, making sure she grew up knowing she was loved, wanted, protected. Making sure she never felt the kind of fear I knew as a child.

“Boss?”

“I had those tests done years ago.” I turn to face him, choosing words carefully. Antonio’s been with me long enough to understand the weight of what I’m about to reveal. “The results were … conclusive. But not in the way anyone expected.”

Understanding dawns on his weathered face. He was there during Giuseppe’s reign, saw how things played out with Sophia. “That’s why you let everyone believe the official story. To protect her.”

“From the truth.” My jaw clenches as memories surface—Sophia’s tears, Giuseppe’s rage, the weight of choices that would echo through decades. “Sophia knew what those medical records would prove. That’s why she tried to use them against me, thinking she could force my hand.”

“But you chose Bianca.” It’s not a question.

“I’ll always choose her.” The words come out rougher than intended, raw with seventeen years of protection and sacrifice. “She’s been mine since the day she was born. The rest is just details.”

Antonio, who’s served the family long enough to recognize when not to press for details, simply nods. Through the glass, Bianca laughs again at something Bella says, and my chest tightens at the sound. For so long, this house has been filled with shadows and silence. Now, somehow, these two women have brought light back into it.

“Sir?” Antonio clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. We found this in Father Romano’s office at the monastery.”

He hands over a thick manila envelope that feels like it contains secrets and gunpowder. Inside, I find photos that make my blood run cold—surveillance shots of Bella. Her at art shows, dark hair wild as she gestures at her paintings. At college, head bent over sketchbooks in the campus coffee shop. With Elena at their favorite bistro, both of them laughing at something now lost to time. All dated before Giovanni’s death.

“They’ve been watching her for years,” Antonio explains quietly. “Planning to use her against you even before her father died. Romano’s notes suggest they knew you’d been keeping tabs on her too.”

I thank Antonio with a nod as he leaves. My hands clench around the photos, crinkling their edges. I had been watching her, though I’d never admitted it to anyone. Monthly reports on her progress at college, her art showings, her life. Telling myself it was for Giovanni’s sake, to protect my friend’s daughter. But the truth was far more dangerous, far more selfish.

“You loved her then, didn’t you?”

My head snaps up at my daughter’s voice. Bianca stands in the doorway, Bella a few steps behind her. Both women watch me with eerily similar expressions—part challenge, part understanding. When did they start moving in sync like that?

“Bianca—” I don’t want a fight. Not now.

“It’s okay.” My daughter moves closer, taking the photos from my hands. Her fingers trace Bella’s face in one shot—carefree, paint splattered, beautiful. “You were waiting for her. To finish college.”

“I wasn’t—” But the denial dies on my lips as Bella enters the room. Because my daughter’s right. I’d been waiting, watching, protecting from afar. Never intending to act, but unable to look away. Like a moth drawn to flame, knowing it would burn me but flying closer anyway.

“That’s why you agreed to the marriage so quickly,” Bella says softly, and something in her voice makes my heart stutter. “Not just because of your promise to my father.”

“Your father knew.” The admission costs me, but they deserve the truth. Everything in me wants to reach for her, to pull her close, to make her understand. “He knew how I felt about you. It’s why he asked me specifically to protect you if anything happened to him.”

The memory hits me with sudden clarity—that last evening with Giovanni on my terrace, just days before everything changed.

“If anything happens to me, Matteo,” he’d said, staring into the gathering darkness, “protect her. Isabella … she’s everything good I ever did in this life. Don’t let our world destroy that.”

“You know I will,” I promised, the words automatic after years of protecting her from afar. But Gio had turned to me then, something knowing in his dark eyes that made my breath catch.

“I’ve seen how you watch her,” he’d said quietly. My heart had stopped, fingers tightening on my glass until I thought it might shatter. But his voice held no accusation, no rage—only a strange sort of understanding. “At her art shows. At family functions. When you think no one’s looking.”

“Giovanni, I would never—” Panic had clawed at my throat, decades of friendship suddenly balanced on a knife’s edge.

But he’d just smiled, that peculiar peace still radiating from him. “You think I don’t know you’ve had men watching over her at college? That you’ve been protecting her all these years?” He’d taken another sip of scotch, the amber liquid gleaming like fire in the dying light. “A father knows these things, my friend.”

“I’ve never⁠—”

“Of course you haven’t. You’re too honorable for that.” He’d turned to face me fully then. “That’s why I’m trusting you with her future. Because you love her enough to protect her, but respect her enough to let her choose her own path.”

I remember staring at him, this man who’d been my best friend for twenty years, wondering if the scotch had gone to his head. “You’re not angry?”

“Angry?” He’d actually laughed. “Matteo, you’re the only man I’ve ever trusted with my daughter’s safety. Why wouldn’t I trust you with her heart?” His expression had grown serious then. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Let her paint. Let her create. Don’t try to turn her into something she’s not.” His eyes had held mine. “She’s not Sophia, my friend. She’s stronger than any of us know.”

Now, looking at Bella’s face as I admit this truth, I see exactly what Giovanni meant. She’s not Sophia—she’s fire where Sophia was ice, strength where Sophia was calculation. She’s everything I never deserved but somehow found anyway.

“He knew how I felt about you,” I continue softly, watching emotions play across her face. “It’s why he asked me specifically to protect you if anything happened to him.”

“And how do you feel about me?” She steps closer, fearless as ever. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches the gold in her hazel eyes, making them almost glow. “Now that you’re not watching from a distance?”

The air between us crackles with tension. From the corner of my eye, I see Bianca slip out, closing the door behind her. Smart girl. She’s learning when to fight and when to retreat—another thing she gets from me.

“You know how I feel,” I say roughly, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms. The stitches in my shoulder burn, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

“Do I?” She moves closer still, close enough that her jasmine perfume wraps around me like a spell. “Because a lot has happened in the past week. Forced marriage, murder attempts, family secrets …” Her voice catches slightly. “I’m not sure what’s real anymore.”

I catch her chin with my good hand, tilting her face up to mine. Her skin is silk under my callused fingers, and the trust in her eyes nearly undoes me. “This is real. You, saving my life multiple times. Fighting for our family. Looking at me like you’re looking at me right now …”

“And how am I looking at you?” A whisper.

“Like you might love me too,” I admit.

The words hang between us for a heartbeat, heavy with possibility and fear and hope. Then Bella rises on her toes, pressing her lips to mine. The kiss is different from our others—softer, questioning, full of promise. No violence driving it, no desperate need to prove anything. Just us, here, choosing each other.

“I might,” she whispers against my mouth, her hands coming up to frame my face. “God help me, I think I do.”

I kiss her properly then, pouring everything I can’t say into it. My good arm bands around her waist, pulling her onto my lap as her hands fist in my shirt. She tastes like tea and hope and something uniquely her that makes my head spin. Everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I never thought I deserved, right here in my arms.

Her hands move over my chest and every touch is electric, sending sparks of warmth cutting through the cold dread that’s been wrapping around my heart for so many years.

I deepen the kiss, my tongue exploring hers with a hunger that makes Bella moan. My good hand moves lower, skimming over her waist, her hips, and she arches into me, clearly craving more. Our breaths mingle, our movements frantic as we lose ourselves in each other. My lips trail down her neck, nipping at her skin, and the moan she releases drives me fucking crazy. It only spurs me on.

“Matteo,” Bella gasps, tilting her head to give me better access. “I want you.”

I pull back to look at her. Christ, she’s so beautiful. “Want or need, piccola?”

“Need,” she gasps again, her artist’s hands already unbuttoning my shirt. “Definitely need.”

That’s all the encouragement I need. Her mouth opens slightly, and I take the invitation, deepening the kiss. Our tongues meet, and the sensation sends a shiver down my spine. I can taste her, sweet and intoxicating, and it makes me crave her even more. My heart pounds in my chest, every beat echoing the desire that courses through me.

Bella’s body molds against mine, fitting perfectly as if we were made for each other. I feel the curve of her waist, the rise and fall of her chest against mine, and it drives me wild. My hands move lower, gripping her hips, pulling her even closer until there’s no space left between us.

I break the kiss only for a moment, our foreheads touching as we both gasp for breath. Her eyes are dark with passion, mirroring the fire I feel within. “Bella,” I murmur, my voice rough with desire. “I love you.”

She answers me with another kiss, just as fervent and desperate as the first. My hands find the hem of her shirt, tugging it upwards, and she lifts her arms to help me remove it.

Our clothes come off in a frenzy, each layer discarded without a second thought, but my shirt stays on to protect my stitches. Her skin is warm and inviting, her touch electric.

I slide my hand between us, fingers seeking, finding, and she gasps against my mouth, her hips bucking in response as I curl my fingers inside her. Fuck, she’s so wet.

“You’re always so wet for me, Bella,” I whisper into her ear.

“Matteo,” she breathes before she bites down, muffing a cry. “Oh, please, don’t stop.”

The electricity of our bodies ignites. We are two ravenous beasts, consumed by the desire to please one another.

Her hands search their way down my body as I finger her, caressing my abdomen before finally resting around my hardened cock.

I reciprocate her passion with fervor. Both of us are in the same rhythm of pleasing each other, relentless as we build each other with pleasure higher and higher until a chorus of soft moans rips through the medical suite.

I push my fingers harder and she claws at my back while I thrust my hand into her depths, each motion propelling us toward the apex of climax.

“I want to be inside you,” I whisper into her ear before I remove my hand from her slick pussy, drawing out a whimper from her.

Without warning, I enter her, and it’s like coming home, her warmth enveloping me, drawing me deeper into her.

The sensation is overwhelming—her tightness around me, the way she clenches and relaxes, the slick heat that surrounds me. Every thrust feels like heaven, each movement drawing us closer together. Her moans are muffled against my lips, but I can feel them vibrating through me, a testament to the pleasure I’m giving her. She’s lost in it, her eyes closed, her body arching against mine, and it drives me wild knowing I’m the one bringing her to this level of ecstasy.

“I love you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

Bella’s eyes flutter shut, a soft smile playing at her lips. “I love you, too,” she murmurs again, and it sends another wave of warmth crashing through me.

We move together, a rhythm as old as time, our bodies locked in a dance of passion and desperation. It’s different this time. Sweeter, slower. As if we’re savoring every second, every touch, every heartbeat. I look down at her, at her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her eyes are fixed on mine, and I can’t help but think that this—this moment, this woman—is everything I’ve ever wanted.

And when I finally reach the edge, when the pleasure crests and I fall apart, it’s her name that’s on my lips, her face that fills my vision.

I collapse against her, my face buried in between her breasts, the room filled with the sounds of our pants as we try to steady our breathing. My arm is burning and screaming but I don’t care.

The intensity of what we’ve just shared leaves me feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable. Everything in this past week—the fear, the violence, the desperate need to protect what’s mine—has culminated in this moment. Her body trembles against mine, both of us catching our breath in the aftermath of passion that was somehow both fiercer and more tender than anything we’ve shared before.

I pull back just enough to look at her, drinking in the sight of her on my lap. Her dark hair spills around her like ink, and the afternoon sun paints her skin gold. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—not because she’s perfect, but because she’s real. Because she knows exactly what I am, what I’ve done, and still looks at me like this.

Tears glisten in her eyes as she whispers, “I love you.”

It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Three words I never thought I’d hear again after Sophia, never thought I’d want to hear. But this is different. Everything about Bella is different.

Where Sophia was arranged, a marriage made of duty and manipulation and coercion, Bella crashed into my life like a force of nature. Where Sophia played the perfect Mafia wife, all calculated moves and hidden agendas, Bella challenges me at every turn. Fights me. Saves me. Forces me to be better even as she accepts my darkness.

A fierce need burns inside me to take her again, to hear her scream my name until it’s the only word she knows. But I need to have more control than that. We both need to dress, to face whatever crisis Johnny’s latest move will bring.

I help her up, both of us moving slowly, reluctantly. Her skin is marked with evidence of my passion—small marks blooming on her throat. Possessive satisfaction wars with tenderness as I watch her dress, each piece of clothing hiding the proof of what we’ve shared.

“What are you thinking?” she asks softly as she slips on her blouse. There’s a new intimacy in her voice that makes my chest ache.

“That I never thought I’d have this again.” I pull on my own clothes, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at my stitches. “After Sophia … I locked everything away. Convinced myself I was better off alone.”

“And now?” She moves to help me with my buttons, her artist’s hands gentle against my chest.

“Now I know I was wrong. What I felt for Sophia …” I catch her hands, pressing them against my heart. “It wasn’t this. It was never this.”

A knock at the door interrupts whatever she might have said. We pull apart slowly, reluctantly, to find Bianca standing there. My daughter’s expression is a mix of amusement and concern that reminds me eerily of her mother.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, not sounding sorry at all, “but Antonio says we have a problem. Johnny’s been spotted … at Elena’s apartment.”

The words land like a bucket of ice water. Because suddenly I remember—Elena had caught Johnny’s eye at the wedding reception when Elena had squared off with a drunk Bianca. And Johnny Calabrese has a very specific way of dealing with his fascination with women.

“Call in everyone,” I order Antonio, already reaching for my jacket. “I want⁠—”

“No.” Bella’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. “You’re injured, and Bianca’s still recovering from whatever drugs they pumped into her. This one’s mine.”

“Bella—”

“He’s using my best friend to draw me out?” Her smile is all danger now, all Russo steel wrapped in artist grace. “Fine. Let’s give him what he wants.”

Looking at her now—my artist, my warrior, my salvation—I realize I’ve never loved her more. And I’ve never been more afraid of losing her.

Because some choices, once made, can never be unmade. And some loves, once admitted, can never be denied.

Even if they destroy us both.