Page 98 of Victorious Vice

At least I was in Vinnie’s arms.

Until I woke up, that is. And he was gone.

I could call him.

But he won’t answer.

I know what he thinks, and I know he’s right. But I’ve seen enough miracles in action to believe in them. I’ve seen myself go from a sick bag of bones to a healthy woman again.

I believe that Vinnie will come back to me.

I have to believe it.

I look toward my door when I hear a knock.

“Yes?”

The door opens, and my father stands there.

Sometimes when I look at my father, I wonder how we all came from him. His skin is fair, his hair blond, his eyes blue.

We all have darker skin and dark hair like our mother. Only Hawk got his blue eyes.

But I do see similarities between him and me.

When he smiles, I see my own smile reflected back at me. There’s a certain crinkle around his eyes that I’ve been told I have, a shared laugh that cuts through the silence on quiet days.

At times, my reflection in the mirror is like looking into a mural of our family’s history—a blend of my mother’s Mexican roots and my father’s Northern European lineage. My eyes are a deep dark brown almost identical to my mother’s.

My father has always been a quiet man, the silent observer in most situations. He speaks when necessary and when he does, everyone listens. His voice is deep and resonating, a stark contrast to his fair complexion. His wisdom seeps through every sentence, every word carefully chosen and spoken deliberately.

Hawk takes after him in that regard. Much like our father, he is reserved, content in his solitude. He shares similar interests with our father—fishing on weekends, reading countless books on history and architecture, and a deep sense of what’s good and right.

“What is that?” he asks, pointing to the pendant I’m still holding.

Why not?

I hold it out to him. “Turn it over,” I say.

He does, and his cheeks turn red as his jaw goes rigid. “Where did you get this?’

“At the auction. I won it.”

He squints at it, tracing the engraved letters with a calloused finger. “This...” he begins, “this was your grandmother’s.”

My jaw drops.

I think back. My grandmother only died a little over a year ago. I was too sick to go to the funeral, but all those years before, she was a big part of our lives. I don’t ever remember seeing her wear this bird pendant. Birds are our mother’s thing. They were never our paternal grandmother’s.

“It was?”

He nods. “Your mother and I got it for her when you and Robin were born.”

That explains the bird motif. “I never saw her wear a pendant like this.”

“She didn’t wear it much. You know your grandmother. The only jewelry she ever wore were pearls. Your mother and I tried to change that. We got her a Falcon pin when Falcon was born. Then the pendant when you girls came along. After that, we gave up.”

“But how did it end up in the silent auction?”

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