The Bride They Should Never Have Betrayed

Vivienne kept her gun leveled with one hand and bent down to snatch the red ledger with the other.

The roar of the passing subway train masked the sound of the approaching footsteps in the tunnel behind them, but Vivienne knew they only had seconds. She flipped the book open with her thumb.

She scanned page four. Her blood turned to ice.

It was a payroll list. But not for the Mafia.

Captain Reynolds. Detective Miller. Officer Davies.

It was a list of every commanding officer in her precinct. Antonio hadn’t just compromised her investigation. He owned her entire department. Every piece of intelligence she had sent back, every wiretap, every secure message—it had all gone straight to Antonio’s desk.

She had been completely alone for three years.

“He’s going to bomb the docks tonight,” Celeste choked out, stepping closer. “He’s bringing in a shipment of weapons from the Cartel, and he’s going to blow Pier 44. He’s going to leave evidence proving Salvatore ordered it, and that you were a dirty cop who helped him.”

Vivienne looked at Celeste. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Because I couldn't pull the trigger,” Celeste sobbed. “I kissed him, Viv. I betrayed you. But I won't let him kill you. Take the book to the Feds. The real Feds.”

Before Vivienne could respond, the heavy steel grate behind them burst open.

Three of Antonio’s mercenaries poured onto the platform, their rifles raised.

“Run!” Celeste screamed.

Instead of firing at Vivienne, Celeste turned and fired her suppressed pistol at the mercenaries. She dropped the first one, but the remaining two returned fire immediately.

Celeste was thrown backward, clutching her shoulder as blood blossomed across her ruined bridesmaid dress.

“Celeste!” Vivienne screamed, firing her stolen rifle over Salvatore’s head, forcing the mercenaries to take cover.

“Go!” Celeste gasped from the floor, kicking her gun toward Vivienne. “Save the boy!”

Vivienne grabbed Salvatore’s arm, practically dragging the old man and Leo toward the emergency exit stairs. They burst onto the rain-slicked streets of the city just as sirens began wailing in the distance.

They needed a vehicle. Now.

An old, rusted sedan was parked near the alleyway. Vivienne didn’t hesitate. She smashed the driver’s side window with the butt of her rifle, unlocked the door, and ripped off the steering column panel. Within five seconds, the engine roared to life.

“Get in!” she shouted.

Salvatore bundled Leo into the backseat and climbed in after him. Vivienne slammed the car into gear, tires squealing as they tore into the rain, leaving the cathedral and the wreckage of her life behind.

For ten minutes, nobody spoke. The only sound was the frantic slap of the windshield wipers and Leo’s soft, muffled crying.

Vivienne looked in the rearview mirror. Leo was curled into a ball, clutching the blue blanket tightly.

“I’m scared,” the little boy whimpered. “He has monster eyes. The bad man.”

“I know, Leo,” Vivienne said softly, her voice steady despite the chaos inside her. “But I promise you, that bad man is never going to hurt you again. I won't let him.”

She looked at Salvatore. The old Don was pale, sweating profusely, clutching his chest. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving an old, broken man in its wake.

“We can’t go to the police,” Vivienne said. “My captain is on Antonio’s payroll. My safe houses are burned. We need somewhere completely off the grid.”

“Where?” Salvatore rasped.

Vivienne tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “My old handler. Marcus. He was forced into early retirement two years ago because he wouldn't play ball with the captain. He has a cabin up in the Pine Barrens. Nobody knows about it.”

They drove for an hour, leaving the city lights behind, plunging into the dark, desolate woods of New Jersey. The rain turned into a torrential downpour.

They finally turned down a muddy, unpaved road, stopping in front of a small, dark log cabin.

Vivienne grabbed her gun, telling Salvatore and Leo to stay in the car. She approached the porch slowly, knocking three times, pausing, then knocking twice. The old code.

The door creaked open.

Marcus stood there, looking older, a thick gray beard covering his face. He held a lantern in one hand and a shotgun in the other. He stared at her torn wedding dress, her bare feet, and the gun in her hand.

“Vivienne,” he breathed, lowering the shotgun. “Good God, kid. Come inside.”

Relief washed over her. She motioned for Salvatore and Leo to come inside.

They hurried into the warmth of the cabin. Marcus quickly locked the heavy deadbolts behind them. He looked at Salvatore, then at Leo, then finally at Vivienne.

“I told you that undercover op was a suicide mission,” Marcus muttered, walking toward the kitchen area to grab towels.

“It was worse than that, Marcus,” Vivienne said, shivering as the cold finally set in. “Antonio compromised the whole department. Reynolds is dirty. They’re framing Salvatore tonight at Pier 44.”

Marcus stopped with his back to her.

He didn't turn around.

“I know, Viv,” Marcus said quietly.

The sound of a heavy metal latch sliding into place echoed in the small cabin.

Vivienne turned. Marcus had just locked the steel storm shutters over the only window.