Page 2 of Victorious Vice

“To the contrary,” he says, “your father is the strongest man I know.”

“But you just said?—”

My flesh goes cold as ice.

Oh my God.

What my mother was trying to tell me…

What my grandfather just said…

I feel my blood draining from my face.

There’s a reason I look so much like my mother, so much like my grandfather.

And my father doesn’t know.He doesn’t know.

And all mafia brides are supposed to be virgins…

Nausea grips me, but I resist the urge to double over and retch.

“You fucking bastard,” I grit out.

A wicked grin crawls across his wrinkled face. “Now, Vincent,” he sneers. “Is that any way to speak to yourfather?”

I grab his shoulders violently. “You raped your own daughter?”

“And that surprises you?”

“Wasn’t she supposed to be a virgin?”

He shrugs. “She was. Until about a month before her wedding. I waited until I knew she was ovulating.” His grin widens. “I suppose one could say I invoked the right ofprima nocta.”

My stomach is twisting into a pretzel. “And you knew… You knew she was pregnant…”

“Yes, I lucked out.” He smirks. “Your grandmother couldn’t give me any more children, but I knewIwasn’t the problem. I had to make sure my line continued.”

“My father…”

He clasps his hands together, frowning. “Do you know how difficult it’s been, Vincent? Letting you takehisname?”

“Oh my God…”

“So you see?—”

I cut him off. “You knew I was your son this whole time. You still raped me with that billy club.”

He raises a finger. “As my father did to me.”

Vomit threatens to erupt from my throat. “This is over, old man. It’s over now.”

I reach for my gun, and out of nowhere, two goons who work for the family leap into action. They must have let themselves in before I got home. They charge forward like twin shadows. The first goon lunges at me, slapping the gun out of my hand. It skids across the marble floor, stopping under a side table.

I duck as the second goon swings a fist at my head, and counterattack with an uppercut to his jaw. The man staggers back, but before I can get back to my gun, the first goon grabs me from behind in a bear hug, lifting me off the ground.

I grit my teeth and slam my head backward into the goon's face. I can hear the crunch of his nose breaking. He drops me, and I pivot on my heel and throw an elbow into the man’s throat for good measure. He gags in response.

The second goon recovers and charges like a bull, tackling me into the staircase. The impact sends a painful jolt up my spine, but I wrap my legs around the goon’s waist and flip him into the other one. They both crash to the floor, and I slam my fist into the goon’s temple once, twice—until he goes limp.

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