Page 117 of Vow of Silence

I glance into the crystal gaze that holds both fear and love and nod.Let’s do this.

Benito turns away, his broad shoulders enveloping my line of sight as he moves to the door and pauses. He rolls his head to theleft and then the right; the resulting crack sounds like a gunshot in our small space.

Two steps forward, and he enters his uncle’s domain.

I stay close to his back, my weapon raised and trained on my target as both Dmitry and Papa taught me.

Ignazio rakes his gaze over the pair of us and chuckles. “Well, isn’t this cute?” He settles his disgusted snarl on his nephew. “You brought a bargaining chip to the table.”

Benito shakes his head, arms stiff at his sides. I catch the glint of steel and realize he snuck the blade back against his palm without me knowing.Sneaky, sneaky.

“Let me have her, and this whole thing will go much smoother.” Ignazio folds his arms, gun in his grasp beneath the opposite bicep. “I promise I won’t hurt her.” He licks his lips, eyeing me like I’m some tasty treat he’s been promised after the main course. “Yet.”

“You won’t lay a fucking hand on me.” I take a step forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Benito. “I’m sure that, by now, Gennaro knows exactly what you’ve been up to.”

“Like that makes a lick of difference.” The taller man strolls casually past us to pick up a picture of my parents. “It’s not him I need the reaction from.”

“What do you want out of my father?” I exchange a glance with Benito; he looks equally as confused.

“Leverage.” Ignazio’s narrowed gaze slips back to me as he carelessly lets the picture frame collapse on the hard surface behind him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Kind of is when it’smeyou talk about using as the hook for your bait.”

“I could use you for a lot more.” He flashes a lop-sided grin, briefly capturing the edge of his bottom lip between his teeth.

It’s a sexy smirk that all De Santis men pull off effortlessly. I hate myself for thinking so.

It seems Benito feels just as angered by the suggestion, striding forward to shunt the end of his gun against his uncle’s chest—straight over his heart.

“Like you’d be that reckless.” Ignazio lifts a hand, gently sliding the barrel free of his shirt. “You’re too whipped. A family man, corrupted by the very organization that keeps fucking your life over.” He stares hard into Benito’s eyes. “Do you ever ask yourself if the reward is worth the sacrifice? Because I do, and I can tell you the answer is always no.” He steps free of his nephew’s physical threat to stride over to where I stand.

I steady both hands on the gun, still pointing at his classically handsome face. “Not one more step.”

A low chuckle. The purposeful placement of a boot on timber.

“Unlike Benito,” I warn. “I have no commitment to your family rules. So, in case you wonder, yes. I would shoot you.”

“So sassy.” The fucker smirks. “And so similar to me.”

I get enough time to drag my brow into a frown before the goddamn snake spins at the waist, turning his torso back toward Benito and discharging a single shot.

Time slows painfully. Blood pumps so thick in my ears it hurts.

In the perfect scenario, I would have said that I shot the asshole where he stood. Pressed my finger on the trigger and delivered swift vengeance. But the issue with the love that unites us is that it also makes us prioritize things very differently.

I should embed a round into Ignazio’s neck, open and bared for me to strike.

I should also place one in his thigh and watch him bleed out slowly while he’s unable to leave the scene.

I could bide my time and wait for him to face me again so that I can revel in the shock in his eyes when I place a bullet firmly between them.

But I don’t.

Love makes us foolish. And it’s love that makes me drop the weapon to the floor and slide on my knees across the polished floorboards to where Benito cradles his injured pistol arm.

“Why?” I scream, turning my ire on the man who stands over us both, watching with morbid curiosity.

“Didn’t need him changing his mind,” Ignazio says. He follows the statement with a short grunt, his brow pinching before he looks down to where the knife from Benito’s hand now sticks out at an awkward angle from his side.

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