Page 20 of Fierce Vows

Once, his son was also counted as family at our table.Today’s meeting, after Willow’s not so subtle declaration of war, is to see which side Germundi sits on, and if Eduardo is going to be able to handle him on his own.

Every time I sit for a meal in this house, in any room, Armand’s ghost haunts me, looking over my shoulder, second guessing my decisions.The table is embossed with his seal, the damn chairs, too.

At this point I am so desperate to leave the place that only reminds me of my father with every step I take that I’m more than happy to end the man and his entourage here and now, and get my sleeping wife on the plane to go home.

Regina weighs on my mind.Konnor is not a patient man.Willow ...she doesn’t know what she started.I do, and that’s okay.Even Luca didn’t think to stop her.But fighting a war on two fronts stretches me thin.Too thin.I left my wife in our bed, sleeping deeply and purring in her tiny snores, because I couldn’t bear to wake her.

A sacrilege when she suffered and played so beautifully for me the night before.My queen.

I rake a hand through my hair and fix an eye on Germundi.“More wine?”

I top his glass up—again—and then mine, my stomach revolting at the reminder that U.S.wine is a watered version of the Cyprus type.At this rate I’ll be stumbling to the jet.

Damnit, I need to see if my sister is all right.

Konnor...If Willow is my ace in the hole, he’s my wild card.

Explosive, and about as trustworthy as a rat in a candy bucket.And right now, Rhode Island, with only Dom to defend the joint territories, is the entire fucking sweets store.

“Please, boy.You know, it’s not me you need to be courting.You do understand that, don’t you?”He peers at me through rheumy eyes that might or might not already be glazed from the night before.

I stare at him a moment before it hits me.“How long?”I ask softly, upending the bottle into his larger glass.

He shrugs a meaty shoulder.“A few weeks, perhaps.The doctor says I need to eat fruits and vegetables every meal.No more meat, no pasta.No sauces.”He guffaws.“I say fuck you and I’ll have sauces and wine every meal.I meet my death head on.”

And drunk as a Cyprus skunk.But hell, in his position, who’s counting.If I’d lived a good seven decades, seen my children live and my wife die, I might court death in the same vintage.

“And your wife?”

His joviality dissipates.“Jonina.I lost her, ahh, six years ago.A not so random shooting, eh?Something to think about.Your beautiful wife, yes?Babies?How long until you lose what you love, Rafe?”He watches me knowingly.

I frown.“This isn’t the conversation I invited you here to have this morning.”

The clock in the town to our west chimes noon, the Cyprus colors at their best at the height of the day.I’ve barely begun to sweat in my jacket.

Germundi shakes his head.“No, but it is one you should have had with Armand.Or didn’t he have time to tell you?”His breath catches.

I look away from the glistening waters sharply.“Tell me what?”

But the ink isn’t the only thing staining Germundi’s dirty napkin.

Fluid sprays from his mouth, a mixture of black death and red life.I stare at the spreading crimson patch as Eduardo grips my shoulder in a bruising touch.He yanks me down and away, dragging me across the rooftop flagstones into the cooler shadows.

“We need to get you back to Willow, Rafe.”He gives me a shake and a hand slaps my face.

The town clock falls silent as Germundi’s body slumps into his pasta.A hit.

“It was a fuckinghit.Ahit in my home,” I roar as I stare up at him, my brow creased.A breath and my rage is quiet, considering.“Why is it every time I try to have a meal, someone fucking well dies?”

Eduardo.“It will be hell, my Don.Remind me never to sit down.”The corner of his mouth lifts as his hands fill not with my shoulders or my jacket but with two scarred, matte handguns that have seen plenty of use.

“As long as you don’t intend to shoot me or mine, I believe you were indeed the right pick for this handover.”I pull my gun from behind my back and stand, heedless of Eduardo’s agitation.“Where did the shot come from?”His jaw works, teeth grinding until I’m ready to knock them loose myself.“Where?”

“Behind me.”

I hold his gaze, and my heart stills.

“The house.”

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