Page 12 of Vow of Silence

“The way you continually close your eyes and frown, touch your temple, and move with distinct precision.” Dion grins. “Shall I go on?”

I storm to the far side of the room and slump onto the sofa, pissed my brother noticed details I overlooked. She blinded me with her aura when we were kids and stole my breath as a teenager. It appears even now that she can disarm me with her presence alone.

“Have you been checked over?” Dion continues. “Surely your father took you to the ER before bringing you here.”

Stas stares up at my sibling, her eyebrows raised, before snorting an un-ladylike laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am.” He circles her, pulling the collar of her jacket down her back to assess a burgeoning bruise. “You’ve been through a traumatic event. There may be injuries unseen.”

“I’m fine.” The Bratva brat strides to a clear space near the door, placing a chair between herself and Dion’s curiosity. “I have a few scrapes and aches, but nothing serious.”

“And up here?” Dion taps his head. “You shook when you got here. Clearly, the shock hasn’t worn off.”

“Is there a time limit when it should?” Her shrewd gaze cuts through him, and she swallows. “I witnessed my best friend die. I failed to save her.” The words stick in her throat.

I long to say something to appease her conscience—but I can’t. The leather arm of the sofa creaks beneath my fist.

“It’s not your responsibility to prevent tragedy,” Dion says quietly, positioning himself beside the fire.

“It makes sense, though.” Alessio leans over the arm of his seat, nonchalantly staring up at the ceiling as he speaks. “It’s her fault the woman was there.”

I pick up the nearest thing to me—a cushion—and throw it at his stupid skull.

He flicks his middle finger and then places the pillow beneath his head. “Can’t hate me for stating the obvious.”

Nastasya’s nostrils flare, her gaze locked on the edge of the Persian rug between us all.

“Whoever shot the bitch wanted her.” Alessio points to our guest. “It wouldn’t have happened if she weren’t in the car.”

“Stop it, Alessio.” Dion watches the flames dance over blackened logs.

“I’m right, though.” Our reckless little brother rights himself in the seat. “The mutt makes friends knowing she invites them into our world. We don’t live by the same rules as anyone else. Things happen that we take for granted as par for the course, butif this Bratva bitch hadn’t been so selfish, her friend would still be alive, leading her boring life.”

“I said stop it.” Dion turns and pins Alessio with a hard stare.

Nastasya continues to stare at the floor, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

“You’ve got to get used to being alone,” Alessio presses, addressing Nastasya directly. “If you give a shit about people, you’ll cut them out of your pathetic life before somebody else does.”

She vaults from beside the chair, hair flowing behind her as she launches across the room. Alessio’s lips split into a shit-eating grin reminiscent of our uncle as he prepares for her attack. Hands before him, he fends off the worst of her rage, but Nastasya still manages to get her hands around his throat. When he fails to show any signs of distress, she straddles his lap to rear her right hand back and prepares to strike the smug look off his face.

I sigh when Dion captures her wrist; Alessio deserved it.

“This doesn’t solve anything.” Our middle brother pulls the enraged guest off Alessio.

Nastasya’s eyes remain wild, her lips parted as she pants through the anger fueling her veins. I shift in my seat, remembering when she looked at me with such unrestrained emotion.

“Truth hurts, hey little girl?” Alessio touches two fingers to his neck, massaging the skin.

“Nadeyus', ty umresh'. (I hope you die).” She spits the words at him with a fluency that would suggest she was born in the motherland.

I know otherwise.

The crack of the office doors jolts us all to attention. Alessio sits a little higher, and Dion and Nastasya stand ramrod straight,shoulder-to-shoulder. I rise from my seat and straighten my collar, ready for whatever the bosses wish to share.

Arseni exits first, closely followed by his detail. He snatches his daughter by the sleeve, dragging her behind him without a word. My brother and I stay rooted to the spot, each turning our heads to track the guests from the room.

Papa stalls in the doorway, hands on the lapels of his coat. He draws a deep breath, shoulders rising as the slam of the front door echoes through the room.

---