Page 116 of Vow of Silence

“He’s inside the wall, Stasya!”Dmitry’s rattled cry from the sitting room shakes me into action, my hands a blur as I check and load each weapon.

Thundering footsteps sound through the halls, scrambling my brain as I slide out from beneath the bed. If Ignazio follows my path through the walls, then who the fuck runs through the house? I wedge a second clip in the waist of my pants and clutch the gun in my grasp, sidling up alongside the wall while I wait for the assailant to enter the room. They won’t expect me here, behind the door. I angle myself toward the center of the room, where I’m most likely to shoot.

The door flies open, the footsteps grinding to a stop on the other side of the panel as panted breaths echo in my ear.

They’re close. Too close. I could reach out and curl my hand around the timber to touch them. I toy with the idea of striding forward and catching them off guard, but the person moves again to enter the room. The raven hair that I expected is the first thing I see. Second, are the broad shoulders of a De Santis man. The only thing that stops me from pulling the trigger is that for this to be Ignazio, they’d need gray peppering that black.

My heart stutters and restarts.Benito.

He turns as though hearing my internal cry, his sharp eyes landing on where I stand, shaking beside my papa’s door, armed to the teeth with a weapon I’ve barely used more than twice in my life.

An exhale rushes from his nose, gaze fixed on mine as he paces toward me and takes my face in his hands. Kisses, hot and urgent, pepper my lips, my nose, and my forehead.You’re okay,they say.You’re safe.

He takes a step back, vicious with his taut black shirt pulled open at the neck, sleeves rolled onto corded forearms. Benito readjusts the pistol in his right hand and slides a blade into his left. His brow an angry slash over dark eyes, the seasoned hitman takes a step backward and turns toward where the secret corridor through the walls opens into Papa’s room.

“He won’t fit all the way through,” I whisper. “I struggled. He’s too big.”

As though to confirm my point, Ignazio’s angered words echo from downstairs.“How long do you think you can hide?”

I glance toward Benito to find him watching me. His Adam’s apple bobs slowly. He doesn’t know this house as well as I do, nor how to get out without possibly passing his uncle. The conflict is clear as day in his vibrant gaze.What do we do?The connection breaks when he spins away, striding to each window, in turn, to check what lies beyond. None of them open—sealed shut to ease Papa’s paranoid mind.

“This one.” I lead him toward the attached bathroom and a narrow, frosted window. The sole opening leads into an alcove in the design of the house, our only way to leave without backtracking through the house.

Benito waits behind me, his back to mine, while I crack the catch and thrust both hands against the frame to break it past the safety stopper. I force the tall window open as far as the short hinges allow; it isn’t enough.

“I don’t know if you’ll fit.” Cursed threats echo down the hall to where we’ve effectively cornered ourselves.

Benito eyes the narrow gap and then gestures for me to go through with the barrel of his gun. His lips firm, gaze hard, he waits for me to obey.

I reach out and give the frame another shove. It doesn’t budge. “No.” I turn to find him with his eyes closed, head tipped to the ceiling with exasperation. “I ran once before and left you to face the consequences alone. I won’t do it again.” I don’t care how much he wants to play the hero; it isn’t fair that I leave him to do this alone.

The pain highlighting his gaze sucks the air from the room when he slowly lowers his eyes back to mine. I swallow hard, solidifying the decision in my mind while Benito gently turns and sets his blade on the vanity to his right. He lifts his free hand to my face, warm fingertips trembling as they trace my jawline.Please.The silent plea lies etched in the worry lines around his eyes, the subtle downward tilt of his lips.

I understand why he wants me to go, but I also know he decides out of fear. Fear for me, for what he could lose, for what might happen.

I feel the same way about leaving him alone with Ignazio. “I want to stay.” He swallows hard, breath a heavy rush from his nose when I step against him and set my hand on his chest. “With you.” His heart is an urgent wing, beating hard and fast with its need to get us out of this. “We do this together.”

The unmistakable sound of Ignazio heading toward us echoes from beyond the bathroom doorway.

Precious seconds pass, the footsteps growing louder, yet Benito feels the urgent need to withdraw his broken phone and type a quick plea.

I can’t promise you’ll be safe if you do.

He glances up, nostrils flaring when he holds my eye, and then adds,

Please go.

“I won’t.” I let my hand slide from his firm pec, allowing my fingertips to graze his stomach on their way past.

He shudders a breath, tipping his chin to the sky and moving his lips in what appears to be a silent prayer.

“Who wants to come say hello first?” Ignazio taunts, distressingly close.

My throat tightens, my chest taut as my heart struggles to beat double-time in what feels to be an inadequate space. Fingers secure on the grip of Papa’s gun, I pull a deep breath and allow the slow exhale to bring me a sliver of calm. Men like Ignazio are so blinded by what they believe they deserve that they often overlook what they’ve lost in their narrow-minded pursuit. He’s pushed away his family, turned blood relatives into enemies, and made himself the outcast of the De Santis dynasty. He’s a one-man show, operating on pure mania.

Here I stand, with love on my side and the devotion that it provides, forming a bond between Benito and me. We’re a team with a greater chance at taking down Ignazio together than we would taking him on alone. The lone wolf may appear fearsome, but the reality of nature is that a wolf outcast from its pack rarely survives for long.

There are just some things you can’t do on your own. Shouldn’t do. Overthrowing a strong hierarchy, such as the one that rules our mafia brethren, is one of those things.

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