Page 116 of Stricken

"The hell you should. You made it seem like this is—" my hand bounces back and forth between us "—nothing."

"I want to do better. I promise."

"Don't promise something you can't follow through with, Hot Shot," I say with a sad smile on my lips.

"We can talk about us more, but I need to know if you want to do something about your uncle. Time is running out and if you want my help, I'd need an answer now. So we could plan accordingly.

I square my shoulders. No one else can make this decision for me. "I don't know what to think," I admit firmly. "Tony and I, we've had our differences. He's set in his ways, stuck in the past. But he raised me. Gave me everything. He's the closest thing I have to a father. Hell, I'm not sure my own father would react differently to the truth about who I am. Old man hasn't done anything to deserve a death ordered by his son."

My eyes lock onto Vlad's and for a split second, his face pales into a lifeless shade of gray. He did the exact thing he's trying to prevent right now from happening. He removed his father from the chessboard to win the game.

Is it him wanting to help me or is it him needing salvation in this life, needing to undo what he's done?

"I'm sorry," I whisper at him, not even sure why. Maybe for the fact that life gave him no choice.

Vlad's features harden. "Unlike Tony, Yuri deserved to be sent to hell."

There's a moment of silence.

Then he adds, "Family is complicated. Some bonds run deep, even when they're threadbare. And some bonds are broken to begin with."

I nod, grateful for his understanding. "I can't let Salvatore win, can't let him tear our family apart."

"And tear the entire city apart," Vlad supplies. "Consider this alliance between me and you for the good of all."

"Works for me."

Vlad's brow warps in concentration as he walks past me and toward the window overlooking the Strip. I sense a thought takes shape in his mind. "What about that Sicilian you mentioned?" he rasps out. "He's been summoned from Italy recently, hasn't he?"

I pause, considering the possibility. The Sicilian, a figure who's always been just a dark afterthought, is supposed to be loyal to Tony, but now, I'm not so sure. "You think he could be the mole?"

Vlad shrugs, his expression grim. "It's possible. He's been added to the equation recently."

"He's my uncle's man. At least he always has been. I can't imagine the reason he'd side with my cousin. People like him don't care about power or money. They only care about following their orders and the well-being of their master. And Tony is his master."

"We don't know where his allegiances lie or what's happening in your family. You didn't know the Morelli had a rat in their house either. But it looks that way."

I clench my fists, trying to come to terms to the fact of betrayal. "We need to find out for sure," I say, my voice steel-edged and resolute. "We need to stop this."

Vlad tips his chin in agreement and marches over, his hand grasping mine. "We will." It's warm, his touch, warm and familiar and very human. And I realize I miss it. I miss it so much it hurts to breathe.

I squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence.

"We can discuss my being an asshole later," Vlad says. "Let's go meet the boys and discuss the plan of action instead."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Vlad and I are in the warehouse behind Purgatory. Despite the late hour, the place is a hive of activity, the Hellhounds already gathered and waiting. Summoned by a single phone call from Ivan to Ricky while we were on our way from the Royal Arms.

I sweep my gaze over the assembled crew, taking in their stiff, suspicious faces. Ricky leans against a stack of crates off to the side while Marco paces restlessly in front of the row of bikes. Seven is sitting on a small step stool, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on his thigh. Hector stands apart, his expression inscrutable. There are a few others. I met them during the shipment retrieval.

Roughly a dozen men.

All loyal to Vlad.

And none loyal to me.

Exhaustion tugs at my bones. The sleepless night spent strategizing is taking its toll. But there's no time for rest, no room for weakness. Not when my uncle's life is just another number for his own son.

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