Page 66 of Vow of Silence

I may look fine on the outside. May be able to crack a joke. But there’s a lot of shit waiting to rain down when the distractions cease.

I turn back to Benito to find him seated on the back of the Defender again, silently watching me. He widens his legs and gestures for me to stand before him, chin slightly dipped so that the heat of his gaze sends tingles through my limbs. His focus never leaves me, tracking my movements while I shift between his knees. The outside of my thighs press against the inside of his.

Benito hangs his head further and produces his phone with a sigh. The need for it eats away at him the more we talk like this.

I don’t know what I’ll do about Naz yet. I need a while to cool down. Otherwise, I’ll blow his fucking head off before he can say a damn word.

I glance up to find Benito grinding his jaw, staring down the road.

I need him to talk so he can admit guilt.

To say I don’t want immediate vengeance would be a bald-faced lie. But I understand the situation we face. I can’t stride in and rev up at his uncle without risking what we have here. If I act impulsively and start a war before the marriage papers are signed, I might never get to try again with Benito.

I need to let him deal with this his way. Hisfamily’sway.

But if Benito takes the revelation directly to the table, then he not only risks losing his cool after the anger he’s kept inside all these years, but he risks Ignazio being prepared for theaccusation and turning it around to make himself look innocent. Benito needs time to settle his emotions and look at this strategically. His uncle is a permanent fixture in his life, a daily reminder of why he sits here now, mute. If I were in Benito’s shoes, one look at the man who continually ruins my life, and I’d be liable to snap, too.

“You’ll at least tell your father?” I pass him the phone back.

Not yet. I need hard evidence before I can raise that level of betrayal.

The breath rushes from my lungs, fists tight on either side of my thighs. It doesn’t seem fair that Ignazio gets a free pass thanks to nothing more than traditional rules around respect. Why, when he’s flouted those very things? How can it be right that the bully gets away with literal murder, well, attempted murder, and the victims stay silenced through their respect for family?

For a bullshit tradition.

Ignazio must pay for what he’s done. But first, he needs to explain why he did the things he did.

“Is your silence not enough evidence in itself?” What other proof do they need?

Benito settles his pretty eyes on me, sadness darkening the hue of the blue before he drops his head to reply.

I have no tongue. Sure. But it’s his word against mine about who did it. I have no evidence that he was the one.

“Damn it.” I frown, my gaze on the clean-up kit beside us although not taking anything in. “There must be something I can do.”

What role do I play in the De Santis family politics? If I can figure that out, then I unravel Ignazio’s motive. I. Just. Don’t. Get it.

Benito’s gentle touch breaks me from my rage-induced trance. I glance down to where his hand rests on my hip, thumb massaging my waist. He draws a deep breath and then hangs his head back while he holds the phone out for me to read.

I’m sorry.

I remove the device from his hands and set it in the back of the vehicle. “You hate having to talk with your phone, huh?”

A lop-sided smile tugs at his lips, and he nods.

I step closer, dropping my chin to maintain eye contact. The afternoon air swirls down the road, occasionally blowing gusts past the Defender. One such rush of wind catches his hair, tossing the wayward strands into his eyes. I lift a hand and gently push them aside. My fingers trace the side of his face, along his jaw, and down to his neck. He’s incredible. The strength it takes to endure these frustrations day in and day out. Amazing.

His Adam’s apple bobs beneath my touch as I ask my next question. “Are you truly unable to say a single word?”

His brow dives to an angry dip between his eyes.

“I don’t mean to question your choices,” I explain. “I’m ignorant to what this means.” I run my thumb across his bottom lip. “I want to understand.”

He traps the digit, pulling the tip against his teeth. Gentle fingers circle my wrist, and he guides my hand to his lap, encasing it between both of his. I can’t tear my gaze away from the conflict across his features. Flared nostrils, a snarl to his upper lip, an elongated blink—they all say so much.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Air rushes from his nose. His grasp tightens around my hand, but I don’t think he even realizes he does it. I force my fingers between his, holding firm while he releases me with his right hand to retrieve the phone. The screen creaks with the effort he exudes through his angry thumb.

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