Page 135 of Vow to Claim You

“Then I’ll respect that.” He nods. “But I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel what I feel just because the timing’s inconvenient.”

I say nothing, only watch him. My brother. The one who followed me everywhere as a child. The one who chose to stay in this house, in this life, when his mother offered him an escape. The one who has never looked at anyone the way he looked at Naomi Almaviri.

“If you hurt her,” I warn him, “Ayanna will kill you. And I will help her hide the body.”

Eero’s mouth twitches. “Noted.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He straightens. “Trust me, Aric. Just this once. I know what I’m doing.”

I don’t trust easily. That’s been my policy since childhood—since I learned that people leave, people lie, people take what they want, then disappear or stab you in the back. But Eero has never betrayed me. He’s never left. My brother’s been the one constant in a life defined by inconsistency. And maybe—maybe—that earns him the benefit of the doubt.

“Don’t make me regret it,” I say.

“I won’t.”

A knock on the door breaks our conversation.

Tassilo enters without waiting for permission. That’s unlike him. He’s efficient, brutal, and meticulous about protocol. He waits. He asks. He doesn’t barge into my office unless…

Unless something is wrong.

“Boss.” His voice gives nothing, but I’ve known him long enough to hear what he’s keeping buried. “We found something.”

“About?”

“Leandro Almaviri.”

I stop dead. Eero straightens beside me, the conversation about Naomi instantly forgotten.

“Close the door,” I order.

Tassilo does and comes to my desk before he places a tablet in front of me with the kind of tension on his face that suggests it’s about to explode.

“Our people in Monsera have been digging. Financial records, mostly. Communications, where they could find them.” He glances at me. “It points one direction.”

“Which?”

“Luca Bassi’s death.”

For a heartbeat, the world narrows to the sound of those words echoing in my head. I pick up the tablet and scroll through what he’s compiled. Bank transfers. Encrypted messages. Time stamps that paint a very specific picture.

“Understand the limits of it,” Tassilo says, watching me read. “It points at Leandro, but it’s not enough to convict him. A defense lawyer would have half of this thrown out and the other half explained away by lunch.”

“Walk me through what you do have.”

“Luca threatened him. About a week before the wedding. Multiple communications, aggressive ones. Luca was demanding something in exchange for keeping quiet about something he knew.”

“What did he know?”

“We’re not certain. But the messages suggest he had information about Leandro’s operations. Something damaging enough that Leandro couldn’t risk it surfacing.”

The recording at Luca’s funeral plays again in my mind.

I didn’t choose to die.

Not a suicide note. A warning from someone who knew death was already on its way.