Page 7 of Vow of Silence

"I don't see what the issue is," Naz says dismissively. "She's alive, isn't she?"

I tilt my head and frown.

Papa catches my silent question and sighs. "The Kuznetsov girl was targeted tonight."

Nastasya.I frown. I haven't seen her in years. I assumed her old man had her stashed away somewhere safe, somewhere off the radar after what happened between us—if he even knew.

"In our brief call," Papa continues, "he made it clear that the assailants were Italian. Ours."

"Which may be a lie," Petey points out in his gruff timbre. "He could say that to bait you into admitting fault."

"Why would I?" my father roars. "It's not our fault to own. We didn't order this." He paces the room, finishing off the dark liquid in his glass.

I take a sip of mine.

"How do they know the men spoke Italian for sure?" Dion asks, always the devil's advocate. "Do they know what was said? Can they positively identify it was of our origins and not Spanish from the cartels?"

"What issue would the cartel have with Arseni?" Naz asks, detailing the head of the local Bratva. "They see him as nothing more than a pesky pup yapping at their heels. They wouldn't waste the respect on going after his family."

"Yes. It's all speculation," Papa snaps. "But the message was clear."

"They shot her through the eye," Dion whispers over his shoulder for me.

My heart thunders as I mouth"Who?"with my free palm raised.

"Nastasya's friend. The fucking idiots got the wrong girl," he murmurs. "Shot the woman because she was in the driver's seat of Nastasya's car."

I breathe a sigh of relief. Whoever did this must be new on the scene. I grew up with the Kuznetsovs, as did most of our soldiers. Anybody who's lived around these parts long enough knows which families rule the streets. It wouldn't be hard to identify the Bratva princess positively.

"Boss." Papa's topcapo, Vinny, steps into the doorway. "Pardon the interruption, but we have visitors."

"What the fuck?" My father strides out of the room, Petey hot on his heels. "Who the fuck would be here at this hour?" He tugs at the sides of his dark gray vest, adjusting his three-piece suit to appear as put-together and in control as possible as they cross into the foyer.

Naz grins, his gaze lifting to meet mine across the room. I raise my middle finger. I might have looked up to the guy when I was a boy, but the day he used me as a pawn against my father cemented him in the first place on my shit list. If I could pop a family member without repercussion, he'd be my only request.

"VorArseni is at the gate." Vinny's explanation drifts back into the room.

Alessio rises from the chair he'd lounged in and strides to join Papa. "He comes here? After accusing us of this?"

"How many?" Papa's question echoes around the entrance, the man already in control.

"Arseni, two guards… and his daughter." Vinny turns his head briefly to look at me as I edge through the door to join them.

"He brought Nastasya here?" Dion bellows behind me, voicing my question as he pushes off the furniture. "Is the guy insane? He thinks we tried to kill her, and now he drags her into the wolf's den?"

I chuckle, shaking my head as I find a suitable vantage point to watch this madness unfold. Arseni was always a crazy motherfucker, one wrong decision away from completely losing respect as a mob boss. Bringing his daughter to confront the family he thinks tried to smite him doesn't surprise me. Nope. My curiosity and reason for following the others out to the front step isn't what Arseni wants to do.

It's Nastasya. I haven't seen the woman since she was a teenager. She trailed my brothers and me when the families would meet during more amicable times, always one step behind since we were kids. Curiosity got the better of us as we grew up, ruining what could have been a tight alliance between the family heirs.

"Gene," Mama calls from the top of the sweeping staircase. "Why are the Kuznetsovs here?" She hurries down the broad marble steps, silk robe flowing out behind her.

"Nothing for you to worry yourself over,mi amor." My father takes Mama's face in both hands and kisses her forehead. "You may remain upstairs."

She nods, catching my eye as she turns. "Come join me when you're finished here, Benito. I haven't seen you in so long."

I give her a nod and touch my fingertips to her cheek. She tilts her head and kisses my palm before returning the way she came. My mother is a beauty—one my father and uncle fought over in their heyday. She's mob royalty, a woman raised and versed in the lifestyle from a family who can be traced back to Sicilian roots. I love and respect her, which is why it hurts to stay away unless I'm called home on occasions like tonight.

The blacked-out SUV—blood red as is custom for the Kuznetsov family—stops at the base of our wide entrance steps. The rain has eased to a fine mist as though anticipating their arrival, the lamplights on either side of us shimmering where it strikes the drifts. I pull my shoulders back and run my fingers through my hair to ensure it sits pulled back after the mess the heavier rain made earlier. My knuckles crack as Arseni's man, Dmitry, climbs out of the front passenger and moves to open the rear door. The man they dubbed the Iron Jaw steps out first, his shrewd gaze on our house rather than the host waiting dutifully at the head of the steps.

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