Page 6 of Vow of Silence

The man nobody thought would ever make a name for himself.

“Are you dizzy?” Mimi asks as we head up the stairs.

I shake my head slowly. “No. I only have a headache.”

“No sickness? Lethargy?” She ushers me left at the landing, toward my bedroom.

I smile softly at the older woman. “Are you asking me if I’m tired when it’s near midnight?”

Her eyes light. “Of course.” With her palm on my elbow, she lets me enter the room first. “What would you like to wear?”

My ass hits the side of my bed, and I tuck my clasped hands between my knees as she disappears into my walk-in. “I don’t know what the occasion is.” What guests would he want me dressed for? My only guess is that Papa calls in help—men to track down those responsible for Caroline’s death.

I swallow the rock in my throat and focus on Mimi’s soft voice from the closet. “A blouse and slacks, perhaps?”

“That sounds fine.” My gaze fixes to the slate gray color of my walls.

I don’t care what she picks out. I’d wear my goddamn pajamas to receive whoever my father summons for all I care. My stomach has refused to unknot since I lifted my head on my best friend’s demise, my legs perpetually tired. I want nothing more than to wake up and find this has all been a bad dream.

Mimi emerges with a cream blouse and sand-colored slacks over her arm. She lays them gently on the foot of my bed and then gestures for me to stand. I do as I have hundreds of times before, rising to my feet and extending my arms like I did when she dressed me as a child. Her gentle hands sweep my blonde locks behind me, securing them in a loose ponytail. I shut my eyes—hard—to force the recent memories into the black of my closed lids so that all I see are the dancing colors of the pressure on my eyeballs.

Mimi removes my torn black blouse and sucks a breath between her teeth. “Child. Youhavebeen in the wars tonight.” Her warmth briefly leaves before she returns and gently applies something cold and slightly stinging to the back of my shoulder. “You will have quite the bruise for the next week or two.”

She hasn’t reached the worst.

I relax my features, allowing my eyes to remain closed while I focus on finding my center. Papa will want me to be gracious and courteous as always, and my shock has yet to wear off. If I intend to make it through the rest of the night without collapsing into an inconsolable mess, I need to find calm within the storm.

Thoughts rage through my mind as Mimi removes my stained and torn clothing. Images mix with words. Phrases that lambaste me for not doing more to save my girl. For not protecting her from the perils of my world.Ibrought her into this and failed to save her from the consequences. What sort of friend does that make me?

“Oh, child.” Mimi’s lament comes from low in front of me. Her fingertips graze the cuts on my leg. “I’ll need to dress this.”

Finally, I open my eyes and take in the truth of where I’ve been and what has happened. A gash lies just above my left knee, three smaller cuts crisscrossing it toward my shin. The injury still weeps, blood springing forth each time the barely formed scab is disturbed.

“Perhaps we’ll find something more concealing than pale colors in case it should bleed while you’re with company.” Mimi lays one hand on her chest as she rises. “May I suggest something black?”

I huff a distressed laugh, tears burning at the back of my eyes. “Why the fuck not, right?”

I am in mourning, after all.

FOUR

Benito

Numerous times I've told that fucker, Pietro, not to block the goddamn garage when he visits. I shake my head, raindrops dispersing from the ends of my hair all over the pristine polished timber of the entrance foyer. Perhaps, after tonight, he'll get the message. If he insists on blocking our basement parking entrance, he may as well do it for good. My hand aches from the pressure required to shove the blade into the sidewall of his goddamn tire, but the satisfaction of the air leaving the rubber was well worth the discomfort.

Fucking Petey.His husky words bark over the chaos of my father and youngest brother engaged in a fierce argument. Leaving my wet jacket on the floor by the double doors, I nod at one of Vinny's men and make my way through to the source of the commotion.

"Fuck what they say," my father hollers, one elbow resting on the mantle of the burning fire. "I didn't give the order, and onlyIcan give an order like that."

"They did what they're supposed to," my baby brother Alessio argues from his spot lounged in the leather wingback. "You can't punish the men for somebody else's mistake."

"What men?" Papa roars. "Tell me, boy, if you know so much. Which one of my soldiers did this, huh? Because as far as I'm aware, they were all accounted for." He spins to face my uncle, finger poking the air between them. "Thiswasn'tour men."

I stroll to the corner of the luxury sitting room and turn a clean tumbler right way up. Uncle Naz stands to Papa's left, arms folded, with a shit-eating grin on his weathered face. The fucker will get off on this chaos, always around when there's blood in the water.

"Benito." Papa pushes off the mantle and gives me a curt nod. "Good that you've arrived."

I tip two fingers of whiskey into the glass and then pick a position beside my middle brother, Dion. He stands with his backside perched on the credenza, arms folded to match our Uncle's defensive position. A family weighed heavy by men. My father is one of two sons, and I'm the oldest of three. The bloodline is secure with the propensity for our family to produce many heirs. The part that gets messy is deciding who gets the throne.

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