Page 23 of Vicious Redemption

I won’t do it. I’m done feeding the conflict between our families.

But is that enough? Or is staying silent a betrayal of a different sort?

I’m not sure. All I know is that holding my tongue might hurt my husband, but saying something will surely condemn my family to death.

I wish I hadn’t given my father the ammo to hurt Leo in the first place. I hate that we could have had peace—that Leo seemed open to the idea of working together—but my conviction to punish him from the start killed that possibility stone dead before it even had a chance.

And when I finally decided to put down my torch, my father chose to pick it up and shatter the trust between our families out of pride.

I never dreamed that Leo could be the more reasonable of the two. After years of hearing what a terrible person Leonardo Moretti was—and then experiencing it on the night I met him—I was so confident that destroying him would be the right thing.

But now it’s clear to me that good and bad, right and wrong, are about as easy to distinguish as a rock sunk in the mud. Because the man I trusted to know these things has fallen so far in my esteem and in a terrifyingly short time. It guts me to know my father is as guilty of treachery and wanton violence as the man he’s accused it of for years.

Still, in the car, I couldn’t tell Leo about my father’s plan to use me as a spy—even after Leo asked directly if I went to see my family. Because, despite everything, it terrifies me to think of giving my husband another reason to kill my father.

Releasing a heavy sigh, I comb my hair back from my face with my fingers.

Maybe Leo’s right to suspect me. After all, I couldn’t just manage a simple visit with my sister without getting myself into trouble. And now my father thinks he can manipulate me into betraying Leo once more.

Perhaps it would be best to cut ties with my family completely, to end communications with Maria to avoid making things worse. But I desperately want to find a way to make things right without shedding Moretti or Guerra blood. And my sister is the only person I trust to help me.

Sitting up, I pull my sister’s phone from my pocket and stare down at the lock screen. It’s an image of us together, my arm wrapped around her shoulders, our cheeks pressed together as we smile at the camera.

I recognize it from a few years back, when we were just messing around in our family’s garden. My heart twinges to know that’s the photo she chooses to keep on her phone. If I can’t put my faith in Maria, then who can I trust? I’ve always believed in her more than I’ve even believed in myself. Together, we’ll figure something out.

And hopefully, after the dust has settled, Leo will forgive me for keeping this one last secret from him.

Creeping over to my bedside table, I open the drawer and place Maria’s phone at the very back. Covering it with the bits and bobs that roll freely around the tiny space, I tuck it away in case I need to communicate with her.

Then, I turn my attention back to the door of our suite.

Somehow, I doubt Leo intends to discuss things further. But once again, I feel trapped in limbo as I think about where we left things.

I hate it.

I hate knowing that Leo doesn’t trust me anymore.

I hate that he has a reason to.

And I hate that, despite how much I love him, this rift between us might not be something I can mend. Not without losing my family.

I shouldn’t have yelled at him. And I don’t hate him—not even a little. I just desperately wish I didn’t have to choose between him and the people I love most in this world.

Still, I have to fix what’s broken between us.

At least I have to try.

* * *

Leo doesn’t join me for dinner when I come down at six thirty, and the dining room feels oppressively empty without him. I pick at the meal of roasted chicken breast on mashed potatoes with asparagus, then finally call it quits when my anxiety leaves me too unsettled to eat much of anything.

I head back to our room to resume pacing, much like the night before. But as the night goes on, I think I might just go crazy if I have to spend another sleepless night waiting for Leo to come home.

Yanking the door open, I pad barefoot down the hall in search of Luigi. As if magically summoned, he appears around the corner a moment before I reach it. Stopping short, he draws himself up to his full height as I narrowly avoid slamming into him.

“Pardon, signora,” he says as my palm flies to my heart.

His tone is wooden, and I suspect that’s in no small part because I slipped out of the house this afternoon, right under his nose, when he told me to stay put. He likely got in trouble with Leo for failing to stop me.

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