Page 48 of Vow of Silence

She never questioned why I didn’t talk. I don’t think Lana even realized I hadn’t said a word. The whole thing was over before it started. Her ass was against my crotch as she danced, her hands reaching back to circle my neck. I led the woman from the floor with my palm around her nape and shoved her face-first into a wall in the first dark corner I found.

I never looked her in the eye; I didn’t want that connection.

I didn’t want to see the reflection of my heart breaking when I knew this was all I’d ever have going forward: meaningless sex with women who never ask a thing.

Who never get the chance to.

My breath escapes in a heavy rush from my nose. I lift my head to find Dion standing before me, our eyes level, thanks to his position on the bottom step.

“Anything worth sharing?”

I shake my head and rise to my feet. I need to get my fucking emotions in check. For years, I’ve existed with the bare minimum of mortality; I don’t need to suddenly become human now.

“I checked out that estate you sent me to.” Dion rises the few steps to the stoop. “You’ll like what I found.”

I click my fingers and gesture for him to hand his phone over.

“Patience, pet.” He grins, looking exactly like our goddamn father. “Let’s take this inside.” His gaze narrows when he turns to search out our recently released guest. “I wish you’d dump your trash somewhere else.”

I shrug and then lead him indoors. The street urchins know where we live anyway, so why put myself out by giving them a free ride into the city? Our shoes echo on the parquet floor, the subtle pattern freshly polished, catching the sun’s scattered rays through the high windows. Our mother’s voice carries from the sitting room, the matching replies of her beautician much subtler. Every Tuesday, Mama gets her nails done. As kids, we’d tease her about its extravagance, but as I grew older, I understood why Papa lavishes her with these little luxuries.

It’s his apology. One of the ways he thinks to make up for the malevolent man he is.

The irony is that he has nothing to apologize for. Sure, my father has orchestrated murders and enabled the distribution of illegal goods that contributed to the downfall of our society.But I know the man behind the title. The guy who cares whole-heartedly for his family with an empathy that is a rare gem in such a brutal and cut-throat world.

I can only hope to be like him when I have a family.

“We’ll head into the library, yeah?” Dion steers us right—away from where Mama entertains her friend. “Get some privacy.” He waits for me to enter the cozy room first, gently shutting us in. “I take it Vinny isn’t aware of this if you have me running errands for you.” My younger brother faces me with arms folded while I get situated in a leather wingback.

I shake my head and reach for the thick tome discarded on the side table. I don’t have as much time to read these days, but Mama fostered the habit when I needed a way to fill the void left by my lack of conversation skills.

“Nobody will question your silence if you have your nose between the pages,”she’d said. She was right—as always—saving me from many awkward situations before I became independent enough to busy myself in other ways.

“Only three houses had cameras toward the road,” Dion explains, perching on the front of the matching seat to my right. “And only one had footage that was of any use.” He flicks the switch on the lamp on the side table between us.

The library is a dark room tucked toward the back of the house. A single window exists between the book-lined walls on the side of our home that sees the least daylight. It’s a dark cavern in which I was happy to lose myself that first year as a mute.

Mafia men don’t show emotion. At least not of the kind I had in spades. Despair and grief. It’s just my fucking tongue, and yet I felt as though I’d lost myself. I never cried as a boy, even when I broke my ankle, landing awkwardly out of a tree at age eight. But that first year after I lost my ability to speak? Yeah, I cried alot. And most of it behind the shield of a hardback within these walls.

“The footage is grainy,” Dion continues, snapping me out of my memories. “But we’ve got a plate number.” He passes his phone over for me to see the five-second loop.

I lift my eyebrows when I hand the device back.Did you run it?

He nods. “I passed the details along to Marjorie with a sweetener for her daughter’s rehab.”

Our insider at the DMV. Her daughter’s crack habit has left Marjorie with two mortgages on her home and an ex-husband who likes to turn up on occasion when he’s out of money to gamble. We didn’t need to try hard to corrupt her for our purpose.

“You want the details?” Dion smirks.

My chest rises and falls rapidly, fists curling on the arms of the seat. I want the details—of course, I want the details. I want names, ages, addresses. I want to know who they love the most and who’d hurt worst to lose first.

I want to be their worst fucking nightmare come to life.

“I’ll give it to you,” Dion assures, “if you promise me one thing.”

My left eye twitches. Every second he fucks me about, my adrenaline spikes higher. If he’s not careful, I’ll tackle his ass to the ground to get the information anyway.

“You’ll tell Nastasya exactly why you do this.”

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