Mikhail
The cold air bites through my clothing, sending shivers down my spine. The tension between Vito and me is tangible, like the storm overhead waiting to break. Maria has pleaded with us to work together, but I can see in Vito's dirty looks that he is not ready to let go of his anger. Neither am I.
The closer I move toward Vito, standing in the drive defiantly, the sharper my glare becomes.
"You knew what was going on," I tell him. "You hinted at it that evening at the bar, but I had to find out for myself. Well, I dug the s**t up. s**t, you could've told me."
Vito scoffs. "You would never have trusted me." He spits the words out like acid. "Do you trust us now?"
I wince slightly, and his words sting more than he had intended. Memories of what I put Maria through enter my mind—th
