Page 24 of Vow of Silence

Why would I get sca—oh, my fucking God. I lean closer to Benito’s open mouth, aware that something seems very definitely fucking off about what lies beyond his kissable lips. My brain refuses to believe what my eyes tell it. His unwavering attention burns while he watches me inspect the reason for his silence.

“You have no tongue,” I whisper. “I—I don’t understand.” When? Why?Who?

His jaw snaps shut, and Benito turns away. It pains him to reveal this. Tattooed hands link behind his neck, his arms slung wide as he paces the pergola. The text spaced beneath his knuckles provides a sick contrast to the moment: PEACE and UNITY.

“What happened?” My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry. He can’t physically speak; me being upset at the change in him seems so unnecessarily selfish. “Were you sick?”

He shakes his head, peering at me in his periphery.

The realization slams into me, ripping the wind from my chest. I take a step back and lean heavily onto the thick timber upright. I’d heard about these kinds of barbaric acts, about how they were commonplace in the past. But I didn’t think anyone would be that vile to do this kind of thing anymore.

My vision blurs when I glance up to where Benito stands, his broad shoulders curled inward. “Was it…?” I can’t even voice the notion. “Did somebody cut it out?” My throat thickens, words cracking.

He scrubs a hand over the back of his head and sighs. A nod. A single up and down of his hung head.

My monotone words come deep from my gut as I slump forward, hands braced to knees. “Who the fuck did this? Tell me.”

He shakes his head—I’ve reached the limit of his confessions for one night.

A moment passes while I compose my thoughts; fear runs through me, knowing one of the people inside the house is possibly responsible for this. Perhapsmyfamily. “Was it the reason you cut me off?” I flinch at my careless choice of words as though that’s all that matters when somebody literally butchered him.

His eyes are unusually remorseful as he nods, moving closer to where I lean.

I lift my head and meet the gaze of the man I loved as a boy, who taught me what it was to want something badly enough that you riskedeverythingfor one more minute with that person. His jaw tics, the muscle spasming as he studies my reaction. Fuck how I feel—whoever did this to him removed a key thing that weall take for granted in our lives: the ability to voice our thoughts and feelings with proper inflection.

I push to my feet, taking him by surprise, and close the space between us. He’s stiff at first when I throw my arms around him, but before long, his firm and sure hold surrounds me, returning the gesture.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ben.”

He shudders against me; I haven’t called him that since we were teenagers.

Lovers.

“I wish you’d let me know sooner.”

His embrace tightens. An apology, perhaps. Maybe a regret of his. How would I ever know?

“It means nothing to me, okay?” I pull back and set my hands to either side of his gorgeous face, imploring him to listen. “You’re still the same man in here.” I put one hand on his chest, over his heart.

His brow dives, gaze hooded with sorrow. Benito’s lips move, soundless words shaped slowly and carefully.

I hear every single one loud and clear.

No. I’m not.

TWELVE

Benito

Nastasya’s footsteps stay close behind as I walk back to the house. She believes that I could be the same man she knew as a boy, that my heart would remain innocent after all the bullshit I’ve seen. Of all people, she should fucking know better. A lot has changed me over the years. The shifts were small, little fractures in my soul with every sin I committed. At first, I would have believed what she said; I fooled myself into thinking I could remain the same at heart—loving and just. But as the years rolled by, I felt the sickness etch itself deep inside, burrowing in to eradicate whatever light was left.

I would have sought counsel from my elders. A little advice. But how the fuck was I supposed to do that when I couldn’t talk?

Instead, I embraced what I’ve become. I took the power back. The issue with my depravity was always in my resistance to it. A weight shifted as soon as I took responsibility for who I’d become. But one thing I’d never let rest washowI became the man I am today. She doesn’t know—Nastasya—but the man who caused me this harm sits at our table tonight. Family. The people you’re supposed to trust with your fucking life. And yet mine are the devils who take it away.

I grow increasingly aware of the tap of her shoes along the paved path, of her proximity to my back. Of the goddamn fact that she’s remained quiet the whole walk indoors. She could have bombarded me with questions and demanded answers. But she took the news of my inability to voice my feelings again in her stride. She may be naïve about the man I became, but she’s blinded by love—I’d put money on it. A woman ignorant of her life doesn’t naturally fall into the role of a Bratva woman.

Quiet. Stoic.Submissive.

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