Page 65 of Vow of Silence

Benito lifts his head, piercing me with his gaze before he looks away to stash the tool. I lift my hand to inspect his work, amazed that he removed the blood.

He doesn’t answer.

“Was it before we broke up? Were you a killer then?”

He whips his head high and frowns.No.

“How soon after?” I let him put the kit away and get to his feet.

Benito runs his top teeth across his bottom lip and sighs.

What does it matter?

He punctuates the typed question with a single raised eyebrow.

“It doesn’t.” I rub my hand, hiding it against my stomach.

He coaxes me to look at him with gentle fingers beneath my chin. A soft kiss. And then one raised finger, which he tips to the right, away from us.

“One year?” I frown.

He shakes his head.

“Month?” My pitch rises.

He sighs.

“A week?” No way. “A week after we broke up?”

He nods and then reaches for the phone to explain what he can’t through gestures alone.

I was angry and in pain. Physical and emotional.

Jesus—my heart.

Papa thought it might help.

“Okay.” I lift both hands and take a step back. “That’s a little fucked up. I mean, most parents would take their kid to therapy, not offer up a man for the slaughter.”

He chuckles; the grin he sports makes him seem positively boyish.

It wasn’t like that.

My smile fades, yet I can’t look away from his crystal blue eyes. His features incite thoughts of beauty, innocence, andrespect. The way he holds his mouth, the curl of his soft lips—he’s a man built for love.

And yet, he kills.

“What do you intend to do about Ignazio?” I drop my gaze, fighting the nausea that rises just mentioning the asshole’s name.

I have no doubt the guy is involved in my murder attempt after what Benito revealed this morning, but the question is, why? What does he stand to gain from killing me? It couldn’t be related to that final night at the warehouse because he didn’t know I was there. And even if he did, why not kill me nine and a half years ago? Why wait until now?

Perhaps he wants a war with our house, but he seemed okay enough with my father being amongst the De Santis walls the other night. If he wanted us ruined, he could have shot my father where he stood. But he didn’t. And as I raise my eyes to the man I’m promised to marry, I can’t help but wonder. How much does he know about what motivates his uncle?

I trusted Benito once, and he tore that gift to shreds. Who’s to say that the man Benito is now couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do worse?

His stare remains fixed, yet the focus seems far away while he slowly turns a wet wipe in his hands. He chooses his words carefully, or perhaps he doesn’t know what to say. Either way, he needs to give me something before he lets me return home.

I step back with a sigh and lift my head to take in the stark profile of the distant hills. Hills that house Caroline’s estate. Hills where she died. Benito parked outside the city limit to clean away the evidence of where we’ve been. I wasn’t sure if it was his way of keeping me for a little longer or because he wanted to avoid another run-in with my father. I can’t decide what I want, either. The lion’s share intends to head home, seek refuge in my room, and sleep it off. But a part of me longs tostay out here a little longer because once I do step inside the sanctuary of my bedroom, I know I’ll break.

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