Page 80 of Vow of Silence

He’s always been my sanctuary. The person with whom I can be vulnerable, completely and utterly myself, without fear of judgment.

At least, he was until he tore that trust away.Not now.I shove thoughts of Lana to the back of my mind and focus on what I have before me. With me.

The man who loved me then and still loves me now.

Benito lifts his free hand to sweep wisps of hair away from my cheek, gaze hooded when he shifts his palm to cup the back of my head. I fight tears when he rests his forehead against mine. Gentle, understanding.I’m here,the gesture says.It’s okay now.

“We should move,” I whisper, glancing toward Dmitry’s den. “It’s late, but there’s still a few people around.”

His firm thumb guides my face back to his.

I lose myself in his eyes, captivated by the vivid shades of azure that are a rarity for his family. A throwback, his mother once told me. Not seen in a De Santis son since his great-grandfather.

“What?” The word cracks. The hold on my composure is even more fragile.

Benito leans forward. His lips ghost against mine. Not a kiss, but the promise of one. A hint of the reverence with which he holds me as he tilts his head and brushes his nose against the side of mine.

It’s pure need. The desire to be in one another’s presence. To remind yourself that they’re with you, and they’re whole. That nothing else in that moment matters—not even life or the promise of death.

I fist the sides of his jacket, tugging the soft fabric tight against his ribs as I hold him to me, pushing negative thoughts of his family, their intention for me, and the reason for my attempted murder aside.

I don’t want this moment to pass. This delusion of happily-ever-after to end.

My heart aches for it all to be one big fucking nightmare and for him to open his mouth and utter the words I’ve missed so dearly.I love you, bellezza.

A tear tracks my cheek.

“Not here.” I duck my chin and swipe hastily at the sign of weakness before he can question why I cry. “Come upstairs.”

Benito takes my hand with a frown, allowing me to lead him toward the staircase. I get three risers up before he halts, anchoring me with his weight. I turn, met with his rugged jaw and deepening scowl as he lifts his free hand to run the pad of his finger down the same path as the tear. A single tilt of his head. The worry in his gaze.

I bite my bottom lip, internally cursing the wobble of my chin.

I can’t look at him. He deserves better than this. Somebody strong. Somebody who can fight for and with him without folding so easily. Somebody less selfish in their grief.

Turning away, I coax him to climb the stairs and resume our trek toward my room.

Ivan waits to the left of the landing as promised, a sentinel in the dim light.

I ignore the brute and tow Benito behind me, his hand clenched in mine. The men stare each other down, heads turning as we walk until Benito’s forced to break his gaze to keep hold of my hand.

“Don’t let him under your skin,” I murmur, releasing my fiancé to shut my bedroom door behind us. “He’s doing his job.”

A huff from him is the only indication Benito heard what I said. He stands with his head down, phone already in his hand, when I turn back to face him.

Why are you sad?

The words illuminate the otherwise dim room.

“Am I not allowed to be?” I raise an eyebrow and shrug as he turns the screen back toward him. “It was a big day, am I right?”

Is it because of me?

He swallows, a small huff escaping as he waits for my answer, eyebrows peaked with concern.

“Not directly.” I ease the device from his hand. “I want to try tonight without this.” I want our communication to be bare essentials only. At least, at first.

Benito tracks my movement as I cross to the dresser and tuck the phone away in the top drawer.

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