Page 37 of Vow of Silence

What the hell does that say about loyalty? Trust?

The screen goes black, yet I stay with the redundant phone hanging in my hand for a moment longer. In a few short days, the man who broke my goddamn heart has already done more for me than my father.

I’d be a fool if that didn’t make me love Benito a little more.

SIXTEEN

Benito

Every bone in my wrist cracks when I straighten my fingers and twist my hand. The assumption has always been that any Italian working within the city belongs to our establishment. The theory couldn’t be any more wrong. Yes, there have been many a family settle within the suburbs who have hereditary links to our dynasty, but it appears there are just as many who aren’t.

Outliers. Outsiders who’ve found each other and started something new. Something less traditional and less respectful from what the guy strung in the stables says.

Within our organization walls, we have standards. Morals? Sometimes. But we respect those around us, including our adversaries, until they become enemies. Family is off-limits. No man is disturbed at sacrosanct occasions such as a wedding or funeral. Age demands a unique level of respect, and our elders are treated with a little more care—a little less brutality.

If you’ve managed to make it to your seventies before betraying the family, then it’s only natural you meet a softer end.

But fuckers like this guy? I scrub the blood from under my nails while I reflect on the bullshit excuses that he cried throughhis broken smile. They’re all about the money and the fame. Fuck the honor.

He was right: his brother is a whole foot and a half taller than him. I’m still not convinced he isn’t connected to the shooting. He might not have been the goon who pulled the trigger, but I could place money on the fact he knows who did.

“Any breakthroughs?” Dion asks, crossing behind me to throw his soiled shirt in the wash basket.

The housekeeping staff here are the best for a reason. Blood is a fuck of a thing to get out of a fine weave.

I shake my head and sigh out my nose, inspecting the cracks in my hands.

“We got what we needed anyway.”

Yeah, we did. But I couldn’t give a fuck about the names of the fuckers dealing on our streets. They would have tripped up sooner rather than later. I’d prefer to have a fucking name of the men who are overdue a visit from The Janitor. Me.

Theirs are at least two twisted souls I’d take great pleasure in snuffing out.

“Nastasya wants you to call her again.” Dion slides my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.

I shake my head, eyes wide as I shrug.

“I don’t know what the fuck about.” He lifts one eyebrow. “What am I? Your secretary?”

I snort a laugh. I’d pay him to be just so I could see the asshole in a skirt.

“Handle her with care.” Dion slaps a friendly hand on my shoulder while I dry my hands.

I bristle at the inference that I would have handled her any other way.Well, wait. I did.Fuck. The past is the past. I didn’t break her heart on purpose; I broke it trying to save it.

“You want me to let that fucker loose?” My brother jerks his head toward the stables.

We’ve never had a horse set a single goddamn hoof on the property. The stone building is far more functional in other ways.

I shake my head and bring one hand to my mouth, fingers clamping shut.

“Fine. But if he shits himself while you’re starving him, you can clean it up.”

I rub my fingertips together.

“We don’t pay them nearly enough,” Dion quips, alluding to the staff.

Pointer finger extended, I gesture to my eyes and mouth before checking my reflection in the night-blackened window.We pay them enough to keep them quiet.I push the messy black locks on my head in some semblance of order and then turn for the kitchen. The smells of fresh-baked apples have tormented me from the moment I stepped inside to wash up. The drive home isn’t long, but it’s far enough to regret not stealing a piece before I go.

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