Page 91 of Vow of Silence

Ignazio staggers back a couple of steps, hand lifting to pat his lips and check for blood. “Maybe we aren’t so different,” he leers. “Both breaking the rules when it suits us.”

Respect your elders. Respect family. I’d say I get a free pass on ignoring those traditional customs, considering he’s repeatedly flounced them over the years.

“They’re no loss to me,” he says. “Neither of those men. Or their whore.” He shakes out a handkerchief, using it to dab at the barest trickle of blood on his lower lip. “You think I’d place my best men on that job?”

His best men? I frown.Damn it.The fucker smiles when he catches my slip-up.

“That’s right.Mymen.”

The pieces swirl in my brain, shifting around until the picture slowly forms.

The killers spoke Italian when they shot Caroline.

The man I strung up in the stable talked about a league of dogs working the street, proud to have no association with a Family.

Arseni’s panic when Nastasya was targeted.

The way his wife, Irina, died.

Fuck.I don’t give a shit if he hates me using my phone—the asshole needs to have me say this.

Did it hurt when Giovi passed you over, huh? Did you have to start your own little playgroup? Pay for the friends you have?

Fucker swipes the device from my hand, the plastic making a horrific snap as it hits the concrete underfoot. “Does it not hurtyou?” He leans in, hissing the question in my face.

The elevator re-opens the doors, hopeful we’re ready this time.

“Tell me, Benito. How does it feel to miss out on your birthright? How will it feel to watch Dion take that role, knowing how you would have done things? Knowing you would have done it better.”

That’s where he’s wrong. My father believes my impediment makes it difficult for me to be respected due tomyinsecurities, not his. He never denied me for the role because he felt I wouldn’t be any good at it—like my grandfather did to Ignazio. He’s dismissed me out of respect formydesire to keep out of the spotlight.

Not anymore. Strange things happen when you find something to live for. Someone.

You stop giving a fuck about everyone else.

Iwillbe don, and this motherfucker won’t know what the hell hit him when the day comes.

Because grief from injustice never heals. It festers. Grows and multiplies until it sickens everything it touches. That kind of trauma never goes away, and the ache for compensation never dulls.

“You’re still a child.” Ignazio turns away, fidgeting with his cufflinks. “Still dreaming of things you’ll never have. Still believing youmattersimply because your parents tell you so.”

I bend to retrieve my phone as he rants, grinding my jaw at the spiderweb of cracks across the screen.

“You’re pathetic, Benito.”

Learned from the best, then.

“I sometimes think I should have just killed you that day.”

You and me both, buddy.

“It’d make what I’m about to do much easier.”

I stall in assessing my phone’s functions and lift my head.

“Ten years is a long time to wait, but the payoff for my patience will be worth it.” He huffs a little laugh. “So worth it.”

You don’t say.

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