Omerta ||ʙᴏᴏᴋ 1||

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ

The darkness swallowed us whole.
We stumbled through the dense woods, snow crunching beneath our feet, every breath like a blade in my lungs. The moon was our only guide—pale and cold as death itself—casting silver beams through the skeletal branches. Jack clung to me like a baby koala, his face buried into my chest, his little nose red from the cold. I could feel the trembling in his limbs and knew it wasn't just from the weather.

Behind us, distant voices howled through the trees—coarse, angry men chasing us down like we were prey. I stole a glance back. Cole was right behind us, gun in hand, his eyes sharp despite the shadows that wrapped around him. His face was pale, the outline of blood smeared across his temple barely visible in the moonlight.

Each step I took felt heavier. My muscles screamed. My chest burned.

"Cole," I breathed, almost too quiet to hear, "I'm scared."

He didn't falter. Didn't slow.

"Sky, it's gonna be fine," he called back, his voice calm despite the panic in the air. "Nothing I can't handle. I've got your back, my love—as long as you've got mine."

We broke through the last of the trees and onto a paved road. Relief hit me so hard I almost collapsed. I blinked against the falling snow, and there—like a miracle—a small green slug-bug trudged through the road, its headlights dim, windshield wipers fighting the frost.

I put Jack down gently and sprinted out into the middle of the street. The car screeched to a halt, barely inches from me.

"What the hell are you doing, you crazy—"
An elderly man burst from the driver's seat, his face twisted with rage. "I could've killed you, you bitch!"

I didn't flinch. My eyes shifted to Jack, who stood shivering beside Cole, clutching his hand like a lifeline. Cole looked at me. I mouthed the words: cover his eyes. He nodded, shielding Jack's face without hesitation.

I turned back to the old man, hand already gripping the cold metal of my gun.

One bullet left.

I raised my arm. My hand didn't shake.

The shot rang out like thunder.
His body dropped.

The forest went still.

My ears rang violently, but I could still hear the breath in my lungs, ragged and shallow. I waved Cole and Jack over. They ran, Jack nearly slipping in the snow. Cole threw the passenger door shut, and I slid behind the wheel. I didn't hesitate—I hit the gas and didn't look back until we were halfway down the road.

In the rearview mirror, I saw them.
The men.
Silhouettes in the darkness, standing in the middle of the street where the old man had fallen.

They didn't shoot.
They didn't run.
They just stared.

"Sissy, what happened to the old man?"
Jack's voice was small. He sat buckled on Cole's lap, squirming, his innocence making my heart ache.

"Nothing," I whispered, not daring to look back. "We're going home now, Jack. I'll never let anything happen to you, you hear me? I know I've made a lot of promises—but this one, this one you can believe."

I gripped the wheel tighter. My foot pressed harder on the gas.

Drive. Just drive.

But how many promises can one girl keep?

Broken promises are stitched into my soul.
I promised Mom I'd be good—a good girl, a safe girl.
But now?
Four murders under my belt like they meant nothing.
I promised Max that he'd always be safe. That I'd protect him.
Now he's buried six feet under.

Everyone I love ends up dead.

We made it back to New York by dawn. The sun didn't shine—it just hung in the sky like a ghost.

Hunter stayed behind in Vegas to deal with the remaining Harpers. Only one of the kids was still alive—a little girl. The rest were wiped out. It made me wonder if they were truly his. If they were, why had he made them so easy to find?

An eye for an eye. That's the way this world works.
The Cobras were still hunting us, but they kept failing. It was like we didn't exist anymore. Like we were ghosts.

One day, I'll tell Jack everything. I owe him that. I can't shield him from the truth forever—not in this life.

And Cole...
Cole Moretti is still by my side.
God, how can someone like him—a mafia prince, a born killer—have a heart that big? He's rough around the edges, sure. Arrogant, dangerous, cold. But when it's just us—when the guns are away and the world fades—he's gentle. He's real. And I'm still learning how to let that in.

In the chaos and bloodshed, somehow, we still manage to show up for each other. We still manage to hold on.

Because maybe that's all this life really is.
Not love. Not peace.
But loyalty.
A bond forged in violence.
And a promise—
one we won't break.
Not now. Not ever.

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Authors note
This is a really short chapter but I hope you liked it new chapter will up byTuesday
Don't forget to vote!
-Liz