Page 15 of Vow of Silence

“Moya malen’kaya roza,” Papa greets. “We need to talk, my girl.”

I prop myself against the headboard and sigh as I pat the bed at my side.

Papa crosses the room, still in the clothes he wore to the meeting with the De Santis family; he hasn’t slept either. His black slacks remain crisply pressed, the gray button-down undone to his chest, showing the thick gold chain he wears around his neck every day.

The last gift from my mother before she died.

“I need to tell you what I discussed with Don Gennaro.” He settles himself on the edge of my mattress, reaching out and positioning my comforter higher around my waist. “It concerns you, my love.”

I don’t know what to say; I’ve never been privy to the family’s dealings. Women aren’t welcome at the table. Too emotional, the men say. Too prone to thinking with heart over head.

“I asked Gennaro for a promise,” Papa explains. He watches me with shrewd brown eyes. “Assurance that our families will never again be on opposing sides.” He sighs, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “They outnumber us, my love. A war with the Italians would never end with us as the victor—not on American soil.”

“I know.” I might not understand much about the family business, but I know plenty about our organization.

Bratva tried to take power in the U.S. decades ago. They almost succeeded until several Italian Families banded together with a common cause: us. The killings were discreet, and many, our numbers quickly declining until we were no more than a pesky playground bully to ignore. We lost many blood relatives during that time.

My grandparents were among them.

“Gennaro offered a solution.” Papa meets my gaze. “A promise that they hold no ill intent toward us.” He lifts his chin before continuing. “Marriage to one of his sons.”

“Excuse me?” Pressure ravages my temples. He didnotjust say what I thought he did.

“He offered a way to unite the families. With this kind of connection, they have an unbreakable and traditional bond with us.”

“And you agreed to sell me off like a goddamn peace treaty?” I pull my legs in, folding them before me. “Are you serious? Gennaro suggested this?” I never took the don for one who would barter such an archaic agreement.

“He has his reasons for why this would benefit them.”

“Which are?” I want to know why the fuck our fathers would think arranging marriage between two grown-ass adults is a good idea. “Wait. Which son did he offer?”Dion. It would have to be Dion. As the second born, he has no other prospects in the business than to shadow his big brother, Benito. Unless … “Not Alessio.” Please, God, have mercy. “He’s barely a man.”

“No.” Papa chuckles. “I have some standards, my love. That boy is a loose cannon who’ll soon find his place with the fish. If I’m to do this, you need stability.”

Thank Heavens for some rationale in this madness. “Who?” The thought flutters in my subconscious, yet I refuse to give it light.

Gennaro wouldn’t have offered such power.

“Benito.”

I fist the comforter in my lap, the sudden rush of blood to my head dizzying. “Benito?” No way. Papa never knew. He doesn’t have insight into the history, but Gennaro… he knew. “Are you sure? Would he not want a better suitor for his heir?”

Papa frowns. “Benito will never head the table. I thought you knew that?”

I know fuck all about the man who broke my heart for that very reason. “No. Why won’t he become don?”

“He is…” Papa flinches. “Compromised.”

I sit higher. “How?” I mentally sort through the snippets of him from last night. He seemed perfect—too perfect.As he always was.

With dark eyes that promise wicked things, a solid physique, and a commanding presence, he’s every part the intimidator that springs to mind when I picture a mafia don. Why would he not be promised the role?

“It had been a while since we’d seen their family, I know.” Papa twists his hips to face me, lifting a bent knee to my bed. “Something happened to Benito. I don’t know what.” He raises his hand, pre-empting my question. “They keep it quiet, but he was sidelined in the family business some time ago.”

“Which means?—”

“Dion is the heir.” Papa nods. “That is why Gennaro offered Benito. He has limited prospects, and the don needs him married if he wants the family to appear as strong as possible.”

“And you need me married to someone suitable for the same reason,” I whisper, piecing the puzzle together.

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