Page 362 of Vicious Saint
Bex turns me around by the shoulders, but my gaze lingers on Archer a bit more before it gets to her.
“Why the hell would they lie to you about this? Especially Saint?”
“The wordprotectiongot thrown around a lot tonight when Dante showed up at the mansion.”
“That’s bullshit.” She scoffs. “Straight bullshit.”
“Bullshit or not. I’m the reason for all of this. Nikolai Ivanov wants me dead for what Luca Salvini did to his son.”
“But that murder wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, well, the mafia tends to abide by their own laws, especially when it comes to the sins of the father.”
“Oh my God.” Bex covers her face with her hands. “So does this make you a mafia princess?”
“I really need you to sound less excited.”
“Sorry, babe. It’s just wild to think you’re like an heir to some mafia throne.”
Well, shit.
I’ve been so focused on betrayals, I didn’t stop to think about semantics. Not that semantics would matter because I’d rather die than associate myself with such despicable people.
Blood or not.
“Bex…don’t you get it? They’ve been trying to kill me this whole time. The war was never about Vic, or propositions, or helping the Salvinis. All the violence…” I shudder before adding, “The death. It was about getting to me.”
Any sign of excitement falls from Bex’s face, in its place, a sad recollection. “Oh my God, babe, come here.” She pulls me in for a side hug, then rests her chin on my head. “Carlo’s death is not on you, okay? None of this is on you.” She pauses, tossing a pillow at Archer. “Right, Arch?!”
“Of course it’s not,” he says after clearing his throat. “Your mom should’ve told you the truth the second Dante proposed marriage.”
My entire body stiffens before sitting up straight, leaving Bex dumbfounded as I turn to face Archer with narrowed eyes.
“What did you just say?”
Color returns to his face, but it’s vomit green. “That it’s not your fault?”
“The other part.”
“About Dante’s proposal?”
“That’s the one,” I grit out. “I never mentioned anything about a proposal.”
Archer looks as though he may actually throw up all over his hideous pajamas. “I could’ve sworn you did…”
“Yeah, well, you swore wrong.”
“What the hell is going on, Hendrix?” Bex chimes in. “Why do you look seconds away from asking me to dig an Archer sized hole in the ground?”
My best friend.
My best friend.
My best. Fucking. Friend.
“How long did you know?” I ask Archer, more as confirmation than an actual question—because when you get betrayed by as many people as I have, shock gets old real fast.
Sadness washes over Archer’s face, leaving him on the brink of shedding the same tears as I am.
