Page 23 of Vito

"Stranded, huh?" I scoff. "That Uber just happened to peel away; the driver looking like he shit his pants?"

"Well, it looks like I did you a solid, saving you from a car that smells like shit."

"My knight in shining armor."

"You're welcome, by the way."

I ignore that, looking out the window. "Head north."

"I know."

He knows where I'm going.

Did he know where Aiken lived? Had they been friends? Was Vito possibly involved in his death?

Over the past nine years, I've become a pro at trusting my instincts. For some reason, my instincts are telling me that I can trust Vito and that he didn't have any role in Aiken's murder.

I turn, eyeing him, the streetlights illuminating as we pass under them. His hands are strong and scarred. One has a thick scar under the knuckles and at the base of his thumb, and his other hand has a myriad of thin, crisscrossing scars.

This is a man who doesn't shy away from violence.

He turns, heading in the direction of Aiken's place. "I got the address from the Uber driver," he explains. "Aiken and I weren't… friends."

"What were you, then?"

His jaw shifts as he stares ahead. "What we were supposed to be."

I watch the city pass by in the night.

"I'm sorry about earlier." His voice is quiet. "At the graveyard."

Where he drew my parents' attention to me and our following altercation.

"You'll find many things are off-limits for discussion with me, Vito. Edna and Peter Fallen are at the top of the list."

He studies me but finally nods, letting it go. "How well did you know your brother?"

I stare straight ahead as I consider my response.

"There's an age gap of twelve years between us, so we weren't close in that regard. I left nine years ago, but he eventually found me. After that, the only contact I've had with him was to send an annual text to tell him I was still alive. So honestly, you probably know him better than I do."

The muscle at the back of his jaw bulges and then relaxes. "Friendship in the typical sense—"

"You're implying there is a typical."

He grunts. "It wasn't possible to have any sort of friendship with Aiken, but I felt we had…" His scarred hand rubs his face. "I don't know. We got along, respected each other."

A smile tugs the corner of my mouth. "Are you telling me you had a bro-crush—"

"No," he barks, but then laughs when he realizes I'm taunting him. Then, he suddenly pulls over on a deserted stretch of dark road, and turns to me.

Feeling alarmed—both at being alone with him on the dark, empty street, as well as his intense look.

"He calledme, Eden."

My eyes dart between his, trying to understand. "What do you mean?"

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "When he was bleeding out in the bar."

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