Page 57 of Vows in Violence

“Yeah. I won’t be keeping my position much longer if there are bodies piling up in the streets. All of us want Azrael to be stopped,” Vigneault adds.

Ivan casts him a cool glance. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“I would like a more open relationship between the two of us. The way I see it, we need to combine our resources to take down a common enemy.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Ivan tilts his head, a predator assessing a particularly interesting prey. “And how do I know that you won't use that information to nail me later?”

A small smile plays around Vigneault’s mouth before fading away. “I know who you are, Butcher. I value my skin. And, of course, our mutual destruction is assured. My helping you puts me at risk, too. No one likes a corrupt cop.”

Ivan doesn’t reply immediately. His silence stretches for an uncomfortably long time. Working with the police is risky. Luca has managed it delicately and sometimes savagely, but I know there are things that Ivan does that would never be accepted by a police alliance.

Finally, he speaks. “Wait to hear from me. I come to you; you don’t come to me.”

Vigneault glances at Luca and then nods. “I can accept those terms.”

Ivan turns and walks away, his hand falling away from my waist. His strides lengthen to the point where I can’t keep up in my high heels. When I stumble, Ivan catches me smoothly without faltering, stopping a couple dozen yards from the others.

“I'm sorry, my pet. All this talk of politics and backscratching makes me think we should be congressmen instead of made men.”

“Luca is just trying to do what he can to help,” I attempt to soothe.

Ivan’s gaze settles on me for the first time since the service, dark and troubled. “I wish I had your capacity to trust people. And after everything…” He shakes his head a little, then touches my jaw line with his thumb. “How are you, little one?”

“Fine,” I answer quickly.

Ivan’s gaze darkens. “The truth now.”

Honestly, I don’t know how to answer. Should I tell him how I’m trying, with every desperate breath, not to think about that night?

That every day since then has been an exercise in control, a concentrated effort to be calm and composed and…brave.

The first night after the attack, I woke up screaming, the residue of a nightmare clutching my heart and lungs and making me gasp with a vague recollection of terror. Ivan had to hold me, stroking my hair with that big paw of his, until I fell back asleep. But the dreams didn’t stop. All I could see, even in my sleep, was the look on Eduardo's face as his life drained away.

Resolution.

Pride.

Terror.

I can still hear the sound of the metal and glass as his body strained against the door every time the knife drove into him. My nightmares always end in thunder, with me holding a gun while a strange woman collapses onto the ground.

But I am a mafia wife. A mafia wife in the middle of a war.

I can’t distract Ivan right now, even though I know he would drop everything to try to make it better. Even though he demands it of me.

I force myself to meet his gaze, and I smile reassuringly. “I am sad, but I will be fine. I just need time.” I offer him a small bit of the truth he wants.

After a moment, he sighs and nods, knowing that’s not all of it but choosing not to press the point. We head to the car, while around us, the day continues to mock me with its pleasantness. I watch as a squirrel chases something up a nearby tree, oblivious to the presence of the dead all around it.

When we reach the car, Damon Papparado is waiting for us. He doesn’t bother to straighten from where he leans against the metal. “Nice service.”

Ivan shrugs. “A little long.”

Damon glances past us. “They tend to be that way for good men, and Eduardo was one of the best.”

A sob battles to break loose of the confines of my throat, and as if he perceives it, Ivan growls. “What do you want, Papparado?”

“I want to give you a gift. It's not here. You will need to come up to the house to get it.” Automatically, my gaze travels over Damon’s shoulder to where the road winds around a curve and disappears in a small copse of trees. The Valachi home sits around a quarter mile up on a slight incline, part and parcel of the property where we just buried Eduardo.

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