Page 72 of Vow of Silence

What father does that?

He spins toward Ivan, finger jabbing the air between them. “My daughter doesnotleave this house again without my permission. Understood?”

The big lug nods.

“You are to stay here, Nastasya, until I get this under control.” Papa snorts his disgust. “You havenoidea the damage you’ve done with this reckless ignorance. None.” His nostrils flare, gaze searching mine before he turns away and, this time, continues into his office.

The door slams behind him.

Not another word. No other explanation. Like he’s done so many times before, he takes the pride I feel in my accomplishment and crushes it in his fist until I’m left a shamed child, embarrassed for my naivety.

I’m no less confused than I was when I slipped in the door two hours ago. My father brokers deals with the enemy, and my lover is as manipulated in all of this as I am. Does Benito face the same mystery at his house?If he even returned to his parents’ place.He may have gone back to wherever he lives and avoided his uncle entirely.Fucking Ignazio.This whole mess revolves around him. It did ten years ago, and it does now.

Somebody needs to make that bastard talk because the only other person who can make sense of this mess—my father—won’t.

Throat thick and tears burning at the back of my eyes, I pivot to head for my room, only to find Ivan still watching from my offside, a smug smirk across his thin lips.

“What?” I holler the word at the horrid killer, wondering how many more lives I must take before my twisted choices show on the outside, just as his do. “Was that entertaining enough for you?”

“You need me for protection.” The statement is a victory for the asshole, not an observation of my father’s woeful behavior.

Ivan sweeps his hand to the side, asking me to go first.

I pass with a growl, feet hammering the wooden floor toward some semblance of privacy. At least in my bedroom, I can be alone; he’s required to stay outside the door. A necessarydistance given the difference in our sexes, of course. God forbid one of Father’s men took a bite of this cherry. I snort at the thought. Although looking at Ivan, I don’t know if he’d have a passionate bone in his body. I get the feeling he’d be just as satisfied releasing the tension into a pocket pussy as he would the real thing.Fucked up, Stas.I shouldnotbe thinking about a bodyguard old enough to be my father in that way.

I slam my door in the jerk’s face before the rage and frustration melt into a pool of despair and panic. The water bottle hits the floor first, my granola bar flying off the end of an angry arm to land against the wall with a dis-satisfying tap.I need something heavier.Something like myself.

This whole past week has been nothing but a slideshow of fucking nightmares. I keep smacking at the goddamn viewfinder called Life, and all I get in response is more horror and pain. I don’t resent what Benito did for me today; those assholes deserved what came their way. Caroline won’t have been the first life they took for a measly payday—I could guarantee that. Nope. But that woman… Why can’t I get her out of my head? Chest heaving for air, I stare at the patterned carpet beneath my bare feet and allow the numbness to creep in. Coping this way isn’t healthy; I know that. The emotions will multiply once confined, only to spill out later tenfold. But I can’t do this now.

I can’t do this alone.

Scrambling into action, I dart across the room to retrieve my phone from where I left it on the set of drawers. My thumbs fly, vision clouded as I expedite a message to the only person with whom I want to share this moment.

Benito.

His reply isn’t instant, and I don’t expect it to be. Still, the wait has my fingers tapping, toes curling where I stand. I dive across and retrieve the broken granola bar, unwrapping it and sending crumbs tumbling around me, only to set it down againwhen I realize my appetite has vanished. A sip of water goes down, but the goddamn liquid pools in my acidic stomach and threatens to rise again.

My phone chimes.

I dive on the damn lifeline and swipe the message open.

You need to be with me.

God, he gets it.He fucking gets it.

I collapse to the floor beside my bed and type a response through blurred vision.

I always needed to be with you. You were the only place I ever felt safe.

The truth of the statement hits me hard as I send the message, the words documented and real.

Life within Bratva walls was never going to be easy, and I never assumed it should be. I made peace with who I was early on. But that didn’t mean I could ignore the need always to be wary of who I meet and interact with. Where I was and what I did. Every fucking aspect of my life had the possibility to conceal danger, and whether I realized it or not, I’ve spent my whole existence watching over my back.

I knew the time Benito and I had as teenagers was precious. But until now, I couldn’t pinpoint why.

It was because, with him, I fully felt trust for the first time in my life. I felt free. Unshackled from the burden of always staying at arm’s length from people. Of always needing to read between the lines and double-guess others’ intentions. When Benito hid me away, when he took the risks to be with me, I felt peace. Peace that I crave now. He wouldn’t have gone to those extremes if he didn’t genuinely care for me—want me. I ache to curl against his side like I once did. To run my fingertips acrossthe broad expanse of his chest and listen to the gentle rush of his breaths while we exist in silence.

My hands drop to my lap, nostrils flaring as my eyes burn with unshed tears.

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