Page 68 of Vows Made in Silence
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Empire of Lies
My thumb hovers over the screen, Giuliana’s message burning a hole in my chest.
Sal.
My mind goes quiet. Not blank—sharp. Focused. Every word, every gesture, every quiet moment over the last six months replays with surgical precision. His loyalty. His silence. His place at my table.
One still on your payroll. One close. Too close.
The worst part is how easy it is to believe.
Behind me, Gaetano’s body is still cooling on the floor. But the rot didn’t die with him.
It’s still breathing.
I turn slowly. Sal stands just outside the threshold, jaw locked, eyes steady. He’s not hiding. He’s not running. He’s waiting.
Waiting for it all to catch up to him.
Gaetano sold us out for greed. But Sal? Sal did it for something colder. He believed in the deal.
The New York families wanted expansion—west coast territory in exchange for blood-soaked loyalty. Vegas was always the crown jewel. My father promised them a piece, but Tommaso refused. He saw the danger in aligning with the Bratva, knew their brand of loyalty was a lie wrapped in a contract.
He tried to cut them off. Tried to warn Vittorio. But my father—he was already too far gone.
He thought Tommaso was reckless—too idealistic, too bold for the world Vittorio believed in. A world where survival came before morality, and compromise was king. Vittorio believed in the old ways and that the alliance with the Bratva alliance would preserve the empire, even if it meant giving up a piece of our soul. And when Tommaso pushed back—when he refused to play along—my father didn’t stop what came next.
He knew who killed his son. He knew the Bratva ordered it. But he did nothing. Because admitting it would have meant confessing that he let it happen.
He carried that guilt until the end. Along with the guilt of separating me and Giuliana. Of tearing us apart to shape me into something I never asked to be.
I was never supposed to be the Don. Tommaso was the firstborn. The favored. The one with the heart and the fire to lead. But when he died—when the Bratva took him—my father pivoted like it was strategy. Like it was destiny.
Suddenly, I was the next in line. Not because I was ready. Not because I wanted it. But because I was all that was left.
And nothing was going to stand in his way. Not love. Not Giuliana. Not the plans I had for a life outside this empire. He ripped her from my world the same way he buried Tommaso—quietly, decisively, without remorse. Because he needed me focused. Empty. Moldable.
He thought guilt would fade. That time would harden me into something useful.
But he miscalculated.
When he gave Giuliana the ultimatum, he didn’t know she was carrying our bloodline. He didn’t know she was already the mother of his next heir. And when he found out—when he realized what she was protecting—everything changed.
He couldn’t bring himself to drag her further into the fire, not with his grandson growing inside her. Maybe it was the last shred of conscience he had left—or maybe it was just another cold calculation. I never knew whether to see it as mercy or manipulation. But deep down, I think he was trying to rewrite one decision with another. Not to redeem himself—but to feel less like a coward. So, he made a different choice. Not a noble one—a strategic one.
He trusted his gut and stashed her in plain sight—made her the gallery curator, gave her a quiet life, and kept a file on her like she was another asset.
When he knew she could be trusted he handed her the box as insurance to keep her and Daniel safe with a way out.
He saw the pain I lived with and how it forged me into steel. He believed sacrificing her would make me stronger.
He believed wrong.
All it did was sharpen my rage.
He didn’t tell me because he couldn’t face me. Couldn’t look me in the eye and admit he’d been a coward—too afraid to confront the truth, too weak to stop it. He turned a blind eye while the Bratva murdered his firstborn, and then spent the rest of his life pretending it was part of some inevitable, necessary cost of power. But it wasn’t strategy. It was surrender in a tailored suit.
