Page 104 of Vow of Silence

She regards me a moment, frowning. “What do you know of her accident? The finer details of what happened to her car that day.”

Papa has never said how or why. Just that it was. “Nothing.”

“Nobody has ever told you there were two other cars involved?”

The room swims. I blink lazily, willing my head to stay on my fucking shoulders. “Pardon?”

“There were two other cars,” Brigida repeats. “They steered her off the road and forced her into that fatal pole.”

“How do you know this?” I lick my lips and look around for water. Something to wash away the blades in my throat, making my words hoarse.

Brigida rises from her seat and crosses to a staff door at the rear corner. She ducks inside, returning a short time after with a crystal decanter and two glasses. “Somebody got to the witnesses before the police arrived. The few people around had nothing to say when the detectives asked questions in the following days.” She sets the glasses on the table between us and half-fills each. “But the police department still ran the standard reports. Reports that our family obtained for your father. Reports that detailed the tire marks on the road and what they meant. The damage to your mother’s car. The paint residue and the evidence that your mother braked. Hard.” She passes me a drink as though she didn’t just outline the specifics of my mother’s suspicious death. “Of course, the media reports, small as they were back then, showed a simple photo of her car against the pole. Alone. But that’s not how it happened.” Brigida sits, pausing to sip at the cool water. “The suspicion was proved right three years later when one of the witnesses finally spoke. Bar room talk that took time filtering along the grapevine until it reached our ears.”

“Why would nobody bring this up?” I ask. “What happened to me was almost identical. Why the fuck would nobody be suspicious about that?”

“People are,” she states simply, swirling her water.

“Who?”

“The people who care about you the most.” She holds my gaze, daring me to fill in the blanks.The same people who hold their silence.

I murmur the question that burns in my throat. “What makes you think it was Ignazio responsible for my mother’s death?”

She stays quiet for a while, seemingly choosing her words carefully. “A gut feeling.”

I scoff, staring at the water in my hand. “I’m sorry. But you’ll have to give me more than that.”

She smiles softly, staring at the clothes in the changing room. “When you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known Ignazio, you learn things about them, Nastasya. You begin to recognize the tiny habits they have. Patterns to their behavior.” Brigida sets the glass down and then reaches into her bag, speaking as she searches. “I’ve known that man long enough to know how he acts when he feels smug. Virtuous. As though he’s won,” she sneers, producing an e-cigarette. “Do you mind?”

I shake my head. “Go ahead.” We all have our vices that help us get through.

“Thank you.” She inhales, pausing before blowing the vapor beside her. “I’ve never been able to prove it was him.” Brigida scowls. “All these years, Ignazio has remained elusive. Conducting his business in private. Refusing to let even my husband sit in on most of it.”

The sweet smell of cannabis swirls between us.

“And yet, Gennaro trusts him.” I don’t mean for the statement to sound so accusatory.

Brigida narrows her gaze and smiles. “No. He doesn’t.”

“So talk to that witness. Get them to recount what they saw.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re dead.” She puffs again and then tucks the vape away. “All we have left is the police report, and nothing in that links anyone to her death.”

My heart threatens to throb straight out of my damn ribcage. I can’t… I shouldn’t. I don’t want to connect the dots. I’m not ready to reveal the whole picture yet.Damn.Folding forward, I drop my head into my hands and count my breaths.

I sort of always knew, but at the same time, I didn’t.

My mother was kind. She was kind, and she was loyal. She was everything good in our house, and deep down, I suppose I refused to believe that anyone could hate her strongly enough to kill her. But if what Brigida says is true, nobody hatedher; they hated what she represented.

Atonement.

“If you know he’s such a bad guy,” I murmur toward the floor, “then why let him continue to be a part of the Family? Why let Ignazio continue to be a liability?”

“A gut feeling can tell you a lot,” she muses. “But the consequences of being wrong are severe in our world. You know that,” Brigida chastises. “I know that. You can’t accuse people of things with no irrefutable evidence, Nastasya. Not when it may mean their death.”

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