Page 361 of Vicious Saint
“They’ve all been lying to me.”
Bex drops in front of me. “Who’s been lying to you, babe?”
“My mom, Auntie, Vic.” I sniffle, rubbing the back of my hand across my wet nose. “Saint.”
For some reason, hearing me admit this out loud hurts even more than when he did. Like there’s finality to our relationship now that my friends know too.
“About what?”
“Everything.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Literally everything.”
Bex sits next to me again, rubbing the tears from my eyes the same way Saint did earlier—and the fact that I’ve gotten to a point where her touch is more comforting than his guts me even more.
Saint is no longer an anchor, he’s a stranger.
As much as I am to myself.
Which, outside of Carlo, may be the saddest part in all of this.
“What are you mumbling, babe? We can’t hear,” Bex says, making me realize I’ve been thinking out loud too.
Or partially at least.
“My entire life…it’s been built on lies.”
“What? How so?”
“Well, for starters, my father isn’t some low life fall guy for the Salvinis doing life in prison.”
“Oh?” Bex raises a brow. “So he was more involved?”
I scoff. “You could say that.”
“So…is he like…” Bex pauses to air quote. “A ‘made man’ or something?”
Movement comes from my other side, where my gossip guru best friend is uncharacteristically quiet, but I don’t get the chance to pick Archer’s brain before Bex repeats her question.
I answer her as plainly as my disgust will allow. “My father was Luca Salvini.”
“Luca Salvini? As in the deceased head psycho of the family?”
I nod.
“There’s no way. Nuh-huh.” Bex shakes her head. “That’s impossible.”
“You have no idea how much I wish you were right.”
I watch Bex as she blinks a few times, then reaches over me to Archer and slaps his arm. “Dude! Look alive! It’s not like a bomb didn’t just drop on our best friend or anything!”
Not a peep comes from Archer, which has Bex straightening and me turning to face him.
“Uh, Arch, are you okay?” Bex questions. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”
She’s not lying, the peach tone of his skin has been drained completely into an alabaster white. Even Archer’s eyes, which are usually a vibrant brown, seem depleted of hope.
“I-I’m fine.” He attempts to shrug it off, but the deep swallow of his Adam’s apple screams otherwise. “Just processing, that’s all.”
“Well, process faster, you dope. Hen needs us.”
