Page 4 of Venomous Vows

“To get him deeper in the hole and start moving on personal items,” I divulge solemnly. “Like the daughter.”

“She’s twenty, Adrian. A girl like that, if she looks anything like Elena, is going to get them bank.”

Without a doubt.

The last time I saw Elena, she had dark curls, freckles, and blazing blue eyes. The girl would battle with the best of them—me—and had no problem suffering the consequences for her actions due to the abundant amount of pride that coursed through her veins.

“What do you want to do, Zane?” I inquire evenly. “You want to save the girl?”

“I want to meet up with her, get the backstory, and then we’ll discuss it.”

A slice of pride hits my chest because there’s still hope for my brother, after all. He might think with his dick quite a bit, but he still remembers who he is.

Who we are.

Zane and I are the Bernardi Band.

The merciless category of the Italian mob in Bellbrooke, Massachusetts. The driving force and law of the county and beyond.

“Go ahead,” I conclude, rubbing my fingers together in curiosity. “I’ll have Alesso do some more research and get the scoop while you hear her side of the story.”

“Lunch at Silvio’s tomorrow?”

Rolling my eyes, I nod, even though he can’t see me. Another thing my brother ponders about all day long is where his next meal is going to be. “I’ll see you then, brother.”

2

ELENA

I fidgetwith my fingers underneath the wooden table of the coffee shop where Zane said he’d meet me at.

He’s late.

With each passing second, it reminds me of how desperate I am for help and I’m fully aware that my childhood bestie’s family was—is—involved in some shady shit. And I dare not Google or get too swept up in current events because I might change my mind.

However, it’s my only hope.

I’ve already been warned away from the cops—well, more like threatened by the band of thugs my dad owes money to. I get a random text message from strange numbers every day, asking me for details and dates on when I’m going to have the money to bring Marcella home.

I have no answers.

The amount of cash they’re asking for is ungodly and I don’t think I’ll ever see that much in my lifetime.

One million dollars.

Six zeros and a one.

The Disciples are no joke around Sutter. They don’t live in town, but they surround the outskirts and slide in once in a while to deal drugs to the local kids. It’s creating issues, a fear in the community for parents because Sutter is a quiet place that’s football-crazed and family-oriented.

Nonetheless, the tides are changing with these money terrorists and I have a bigger problem than cocaine and the steroids they’ve been giving high school kids.

My sister is in their grasp and I don’t know what they’re doing to her.

I don’t know if she’s alive or dead.

I’m not sure if they’re pulling my leg and attempting to get me to hand over cash when she’s no longer alive. I could kill my father for what he’s done and the danger he’s put us all in, but I’d have to answer his phone calls to arrange that and we’re not on speaking terms.

I can barely manage as it is right now and then have to deal with his too-late apologies and loaded messages if I’vefound a solutionyet.

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