Page 107 of Vow of Silence

“Of course.” Thepakhanstands beside me, a cautious glance sweeping over me before he focuses on lighting a stick. Eyes closed with relief, he faces the unlit fire, free hand on the mantle.

His stance makes him look like the rough gangster he would have been in his youth. I see it, cloaked by the weary lines of age across his face—the self-conscious boy that hides in every man’s heart. Even those most revered and feared. Any person who claims no man ever doubts himself is a liar.

We all wonder if we could have done better—beenbetter—in the midnight hours.

“Nastasya has never shown an interest in marrying,” Arseni starts, opening his eyes to stare at the antique oil painting above the fire. “And it didn’t matter what I said; she never saw that as a liability. A hazard.” He frowns at the scene depicting hunting hounds tearing a rabbit to pieces while stone-faced hunters watch on from horseback. “And perhaps that’s my fault.” He takes a long drag. “I kept her out of the business to keep her innocence. So her heart wouldn’t be corrupted by the things that have broken mine.”

My father slings his hands in his pockets, head hung. He gets it. As do I. Even Petey nods.

“But problems that have lain dormant reared their ugly heads, and there’s no time left to fuck around.” Arseni pulls hard enough at the cigarette that a third crackles down the stick. “If I placed her at the head of the business, unmarried, they’d devour her in months. Weeks. Torn apart by power-hungry men looking for an easy way in, citing tradition as a reason for their vulgar behavior. My legacy would be in ruins, and those desperate for a meal would pick through the bones. She stands a chance at survival with a strong husband at her side.”

“Why us?” Papa asks the question lodged in my throat. “Why not one of your brethren?”

“Our brethren laugh at us.” Arseni flicks the remnants into the fireplace. “I’ve lost most of my wealth this past decade, suffering from the consequences of my poor choices. I owe money. I’ve made deals to survive. I embarrassed the brotherhood in doing so.” He spins, holding my father’s eye with a firm jaw. “They would do nothing to help us. They’d rather watch us burn.”

“Sounds to me as though you thought marrying her into our Family would saveyourname, not hers,” Petey states. He lifts his drink, one leg casually slung atop the other.

“It was either risk her hand being forced by someone with ill intent or have her marry a good, strong man who’ll make her happy. I’ve made mistakes with my daughter, Pietro; I admit so. But do not doubt that I love her enough to want to see her happy.” He bites his bottom lip, shaking his downturned head. “She’s mymalen’kaya roza.”

His little rose.

“You knew about these men working together on the street to undermine us, didn’t you?”

Arseni cringes at Papa’s question. “Yes.”

My father looks away, rolling his jaw to compose himself.

“How long?” Petey asks for him.

Arseni glances his way, then settles his focus on me. “Eleven, maybe twelve years.”

Papa’s chest rises and falls sharply, the muscle in his jaw flexing. I cast a look at his gun, strapped against his ribs, and then toward Nastasya’s father. I want to say the possibility is unlikely, but my father’s already shot a man to prove a point today.

Arseni shifts slightly, putting me between him and Papa as I cross the room and disarm my father. My gaze locks with his, and my sire, my boss, nods as though to agree it’s probably for the best.

“I had good reason to stay quiet,” Arseni argues. “The same fucking reason why I put my daughter in your hands, Gennaro. Because I can’t promise my family’s safety,” he laments, voice broken as he adds, “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Papa frowns, leaning to see around me.

“Nastasya’s accident was no mystery,” her father admits. He points toward me. “He knows this. I know this.” Arseni swallows, brow tugging tight. “Her mother’s wasn’t, either.”

Papa glances at me before asking. “Nobody knows who forced Irina off the road.”

“Yes. Somebody does.” Arseni retrieves the abandoned drink, downing it in one swallow. “Your brother.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Petey exclaims, hands out before him. “Now you’re talking some serious shit, there. Before you go any further, ask yourself if you’re speaking the facts, friend. Because the consequences are severe if this is mere suspicion.”

“I speak the truth,” Arseni growls, stepping toward ourconsigliere. He redirects focus to my father. “Your fucking brother killed my wife, and he tried to take my daughter too.”

“You have no proof,” Papa grits through a stiff jaw. I sigh, drawing his attention. “What? Do you know otherwise?”

I cross the room to retrieve my phone from where I left it atop the mantle and flick to the notes app.

Ignazio paid the triggermen to kill Nastasya.

My father’s nostrils flare as he reads the words distorted by the cracks in the screen, gaze flicking up to mine. “Are you sure?”

A flick of my hand and a shrug.As sure as I can be.The fucks said so. Asked for the rest of their money. What reason would they have to lie?

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