Page 74 of Vows of Ruin

The sun is barely up when we pull away from the safehouse, gravel crunching under the tires before we hit the road. I lean forward, elbows on the center console, looking at Wrecker. “Tell me about your aunt’s place.”

He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Big property. She’s got fields for days, a few barns, and some houses she keeps for seasonal workers. They’ll have their own space. Privacy. Food that doesn’t come out of a can.”

Beside me, Daisy shifts. She’s been mostly silent since we left, but now she’s frowning at her hands. “It just… it feels strange. Going somewhere I don’t know. Not knowing what she’ll think about me.”

Wrecker tilts his head, softening his tone. “She’s a good woman, Daisy. Tough as hell, but fair. And if she speaks to you in another language, don’t take it the wrong way—it’s just how she talks sometimes. Sounds sharp even when it’s something nice.”

Daisy tilts her head. “What language?”

“Italian.”

Her entire face lights up like a spark just caught. She sits up straight, eyes wide, and then says something quick and fluid in Italian, the syllables rolling off her tongue like she’s been speaking it her whole life.

Wrecker actually slows the van for a second before catching himself, his head snapping toward her. “What the---?”

Even Max twists in his seat to stare, and Liam’s brows shoot up.

Daisy grins, leaning back like she didn’t just rock all of us sideways. “My grandmother was Italian. She taught me before she died. My mom didn’t speak it much, but I remember a lot.”

Wrecker shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, kid, you just made yourself her favorite before you even met her.”

The tension in the van loosens after that. Daisy starts asking questions about the property, the animals, and Wrecker tells stories, some funny, some absurd, about growing up around his aunt. Liam chimes in with his own questions, Max adds a few dry comments that make Daisy laugh, and before we know it, the miles are disappearing under us.

The hum of the tires, the low murmur of voices, and the fact that, for the first time in days, the weight in the air feels lighter. It makes me almost forget the reason we’re making this trip in the first place.

Chapter Thirty

Reaper

The caravan slows as we swing into the long dirt driveway. The property is sprawling, fields on either side, a weathered barn in the distance, the main house sitting solid and square at the center like it’s been holding the line for hundreds of years. The porch is wide and shaded, with a row of hanging baskets overflowing with red geraniums that sway in the breeze.

The screen door bangs open just as we roll to a stop.

Wreckers' aunt steps out like she owns every inch of earth she walks on. Small-framed, but there’s nothing fragile about her, posture straight, shoulders squared, dark hair streaked with silver pulled into a thick braid down her back. Her skirt sways around her ankles, the fabric pattern in deep jewel tones that match the scarf tied loosely at her neck. Sun-browned skin, eyes like polished onyx that miss nothing. She’s got the kind of face that tells you she’s laughed hard and fought harder.

Wrecker barely waits for the van to park before he’s out the door and running toward her like he’s still twelve. She’s halfway down the porch steps when he scoops her up, her feet leaving the ground, as he spins her in a wide circle.

She smacks his shoulder, laughing and says something sharp and rapid, her tone half-scolding, half-loving. I catch enough from the years of hearing Wrecker mumble phrases to know she’s telling him she’s too old to be treated “like a child at the fair.”

He grins like a fool but sets her down gently. “Missed you, Zia.”

Torque is already moving up the steps. “Hello, Maura.”

Her face softens. She cups his jaw in both hands like she’s measuring the weight of him. “Good to see you, Everett.”

He bends to hug her, and she holds on for a moment longer than polite before letting go.

Max is next, stepping up with the deliberate, measured pace he uses when he’s sizing someone up. He extends his hand. “Maura, I’m—”

She slaps his hand away and pulls him into a fierce hug. “I know who you are, Maximilian.” Her accent wraps around his name like it’s been there forever. “The stories I’ve heard…” she pats his chest once, sharp enough to sting. “You’ll tell me which ones are lies later.”

I can feel Wrenley’s smile beside me as we help the girls out of the vans, one by one. Daisy hesitates at the step, eyes locked on Maura like she’s seeing something she can’t quite believe. Wrenley gives her a reassuring squeeze, and Hugo nudges her forward with his nose.

The girls start to make their way around the vans towards the porch, Daisy sticking close to the back of the pack. I take the moment, because I’ve been thinking about it since before we even left the safe house, and catch Wrenley’s arm, pulling her against my chest.

I kiss her hard. Not long enough to make a scene, but enough to feel her melt into me for a breath. When I pull back, I keep my forehead against her. “I wanted to do that all damn day,” I murmur.

She giggles, light and wicked, and runs her hand down my jaw, claiming me again right there. “Me too.”