Page 110 of Forced Vows

"Did you have to cut off their hands? It's going to upset their families," Henry whines.

"You're damn lucky we didn't chop them up into bite size pieces and dump them in the river."

I appreciate the imagery of Salvatore's words, but we don't dump bodies in the river. That's for old-timers and amateurs.

We've got a chemical bath under the floor of The Box that destroys bodies down to the molecular level.

"For the three months of the reparation tithe, we expect Lucchese soldiers to stay out of Manhattan," I warn Don Caruso. "Any found in our territory will not be returning for a proper burial, or otherwise, regardless of their reason for being there."

Don Caruso shakes his head. "We have always had good relations between our families."

Yeah, no.

The Five Families fight like siblings and sometimes we draw blood.

But I give the godfather the words he needs to hear. "And that will continue if there is no further aggression."

I'm not offering anything more than that. Sev will protect his family at all costs, and if that means wiping out another Family, he'll do it. And I'll be standing beside him, doing what I was born to do.

Be Mars. The god of war.

Chapter 36: RÓISE

Friday

A new cat bed identical to the first one, but the size of a midsize dog bed is waiting in my bedroom when I come in after classes.

Pusheen is lounging in it like the queen she is. There's an envelope with my name written in a slashing, heavy hand on my bed.

The card inside is solid white, embossed with a coat of arms I'm going to ask about later. There's a single line written in a bold scrawl.

A more fitting bed for our cat.

He didn't sign it, but there's no doubt in my mind who wrote it and provided the more appropriately sized cat bed for Pusheen. My fake boyfriend and secret fiancé, Miceli De Luca.

Still unsettled by what happened in the boathouse, I text him a quick thank you. I'm relieved when his return text is only two word.

Ares: You're welcome.

I'm not disappointed he doesn't say anything else.

There's another card on my desk. I almost never get mail. Who does? But the number of birthday cards that have been delivered the past two weeks is kind of staggering.

My friends don't do snail mail, so most are from people trying to impress my uncle. This must be another one, although the envelope is thin, cheap paper. Not impressive.

There's no return address, but the postmark is Pennsylvania.

Revulsion sends goosebumps down my arms. The only people I know of from Pennsylvania are my mom's blood relatives.

Not her family.

They don't deserve that title, but they do share her blood.

If I wanted a distraction from checking my phone again and/or texting Miceli, this is definitely working.

Slipping my finger under the flap, I tear it open and a note slips out.

My eyes go to the signature first. Hope. My grandmother, Hope Lion. I've only spoken to her a handful of times in my life and that's fine by me. She lives in total subservience to my grandfather and did nothing to protect my mom from Gabriel.

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