Page 101 of Vow of Silence

Always with the hidden agendas. It couldn’t just be a nice fucking blouse; it has to be a weapon in my arsenal. “I have plenty of blouses. Perhaps something more casual.”

The woman has sidestepped my every attempt at redirecting our conversation to the enormous bait she hooked in the car: my mother. I dig my fingernails into my palms and school my features when she turns to frown at me.

“Mafiosa women aren’t casual, my darling.” Brigida racks the unwanted item and riffles through the remainder with unnecessary vigor. “You must be presentable at all times. You never know when a friend will introduce a new associate. When you’ll be called into the public eye at short notice.”

“You make me sound like a politician’s wife.”

“Are you not in a way?” Benito’s mother hitches an eyebrow. “Benito is the face of our family when in public, representing our beliefs and values. The man who works in the family’s best interest. He manipulates hearts and minds as much as you will,just…” She hesitates, fingers caressing a silk sleeve. “Not as amicably.”

“Good cop, bad cop, right?”

Her gaze hardens on me. “Don’t ever use such jokes. It’ll get you in trouble around the wrong people.”

How could I forget? Omertà—the golden rule of never snitching on your family or friends. The only difference is thatmyfamily can understand a joke. It seems Benito’s takes everything as thinly veiled truth.

I slide a tailored jacket from the sparse racking and hold it up. “What sort of business will I be expected to help with?” I ask carefully, not daring to look away from the apparent suede in my hands. “If Benito will never head the organization, whatwillhe be involved with once married?”

“The same as he is now.” Brigida takes the jacket from my hands and holds it against me. “I like this. It lifts the highlights in your hair.”

“And whatishis role now?” He kills, sure. He does bad things, but why? What is his job description? His responsibility for the family.

“I think you know what that is.” Brigida compares the jacket with the silk blouse she’s just fondled.

“You send him out to take lives as and when required.” I shrug. “Okay. But what is he called? Surely, he carries more status than a regular soldier? He can’t be acapo—he has no men underneath him. At least none that I know of.”

Brigida sighs, eyeballing the sales clerk who maintains a safe and respectable distance at the far end of the store. “I suppose you’re right. It is complicated.” She shifts both garments to her left hand and sidesteps to a row of belts. “He has no official title, per se. He’s our son and receives all the benefits that affords.” She pauses, unhitching a wide brown piece with a double buckle. “He just chooses to live the life of a soldier.”

Hechoosesto? “Why?”

“Because it was easier than holding the hate inside.”

“Hate for what?” I whisper, accepting the trio of garments from her without considering what I do.

“What do you think?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Losing his tongue.” Her gaze slips the length of me. “And you.” I don’t get a chance to respond before she instructs, “Try those on together for me. I think that’ll be enough for today.”

I slip into the strategically lit change room and hang the items, avoiding my reflection as best I can. I hate feeling responsible for what happened to Benito after we split. I hate that I feel if I’d stayed with him just ten more minutes that night, things would have been different.

If I’d let Caroline convince me to have another drink before heading home, maybe those men would have missed their chance.

If I’d accepted my mother’s invitation to join her for lunch, it could have delayed and saved her, too.

Fuck my life.I can’t continue to wish for things I have zero control over. Let alone no assurance of a different outcome. The men were paid to kill me. Whether Caroline and I left an hour earlier or twenty minutes later, they would have lain in wait anyway. Whether my mother took me with her that day or not, her car would still have crashed, and maybe it would have been both of us buried in the mausoleum and not just her.

Whether Benito spent ten more minutes with me or an hour, we saw his uncle there that night, and the result would have been the same.

I can’t keep carrying the weight of penance on my shoulders for crimes I didn’t commit.

I can’t protect everyone I love. And that’s what fucking guts me the deepest.

I can’t. Fucking. Protect everyone.

“Shit.” I shove the side of my finger beneath my eye and stare up at the ceiling while I draw slow, deep breaths.Get it together, Stas.I’m fucking trembling on the precipice of a fucking breakdown that I donothave time to have.Bury it a little longer.Strong doesn’t mean infallible. I can feel, hurt, and grieve while still being a goddamn force to be reckoned with.

I’m strong and resilient. Proud of myself.You are enough as you are.Fuck the people who try to tell me otherwise. I don’t need to change. I don’t need training to become the perfect mafia wife. I need to be goddamn respected.

How the hell will I run my house if nobody trusts me to make a darn decision for myself? Sure, I get it. Having Benito at my side presents a stronger front.

But Kuznetsov ismyname. Not his. It’smygoddamn house, andIwill be the one in charge.

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