SILENT VOWS

37

“Well, we could at least go to dinner,” he countered.

“That’s a lovely idea,” Dad said, making the hair on the back of my neck stand tall. “Why don’t you find Umberto and tell him to clear my calendar? Then you can see about a reservation at Carbone.”

Sante winked at me, oblivious to the tension in the room. It was as though we lived in two separate parallel dimensions. In his, Dad was a tough but loving father who did his best to be strong for his family. In mine, we were both just puppets dancing to our father’s maniacal melody.

Of course, as the male heir, Sante had always received more of Dad’s attention. In a way, we had grown up in two very different realities. When I got the chance to tell him what I knew, I hoped he’d be willing to consider an alternate truth.

I reached for my water glass, hoping my tremble was too slight to notice. The table served as a barrier between my father and me. It was something, but I would have preferred several feet of reinforced concrete instead.

“Don’t think I can’t see beyond the coincidence in your voice returning right before you’re about to leave this family.” His softly spoken words snaked around my throat and squeezed.

If I played dumb or refuted him, I’d make myself a target. All I could do was play dead and hope he moved on quickly.

“Maybe you believe you hold some sort of power with them at your back.”

My head shook a fraction, desperate to keep him from getting angry.

My father lifted his phone and glanced at the screen. “I suppose that would be easy enough to fix, if it were the case. I could always remind you of the precariousness of your situation.” He typed out a short message, then set the phone down, his soulless stare returning to me.

I cleared the terror from my throat before speaking. “I love my family too much to ever put them at risk,” I offered softly. My words seemed to freeze in the arctic air around us and clatter to the floor. It meant nothing to a man who trusted so little.

A roaring curse sliced through the tension from down the hall, snatching my heart straight from my chest. I shot to my feet, recognizing Sante’s voice. The murmur of his continued curses coming closer was the only thing that kept a total meltdown of panic at bay.

“You okay?” I called out, hearing my brother enter the kitchen.

“Yeah, just my hand,” he grumbled back. “Umberto accidentally caught my fingers in the door. Just an accident, but it hurt like a b***h. May have broken a finger.”

The freezer door and rustling in the ice box drifted into the dining room. The entire time, Dad never moved a muscle. I glanced over at him, my eyes flicking to his phone and back at him in time to catch a glint of spite flash in his eyes.

He’d done this.

He’d hurt Sante—his son and heir—as a message to me.

I wanted to vomit all over the pristine white tablecloth. A part of me had hoped he wasn’t truly as ruthless as I suspected, but he successfully shattered that delusion. Fausto Mancini was a pure-blooded monster.

My jaw clenched against my rebelling stomach, and a sudden urge to hurl a stream of insults at my wretched father. I couldn’t let him see the defiance boiling up inside me. If he ever suspected I’d act against him, I couldn’t predict what he’d do.

“Perhaps it would be best if you waited in your room for your ride to show up. It would give you time to think about the precariousness of your current situation.” A not-so-subtle order but I was more than happy to comply. I wanted nothing more than to escape his toxic presence forever.

An hour later, I slid into Keir Byrne’s gunmetal-gray Mercedes. I’d practically dragged him from the house after Umberto let him in. Dad had disappeared, and I’d had no desire to wait around and chance an awkward encounter. Fortunately, Umberto hadn’t argued when I’d fled with our guest, and Keir had wisely waited until we were in the car for questions.

“Call me crazy, but weren’t you mute just yesterday?” he asked without even looking my way.

I took a deep breath, relaxing into the leather seat with each turn of the wheels taking me farther from home. “Yeah, it’s kind of wild, but I had a nightmare last night that drew out a scream. It seemed to jar loose my voice.” I shrugged.

“Sounds like a reason to celebrate.” His eyes cut over to me, keen intelligence reflecting in those blue depths.

I got the oddest sense he wasn’t remotely surprised, as though he’d already known. Had Conner told him? They seemed to be more rivals than confidants, but what did I know? These Irish men were such a flipping mystery.

“It was unexpected, for sure.”

He slid on black sunglasses that wrapped around the sides, acting as a barrier between us. Not that it made much difference. His eyes were more mirrors than windows. Everything about him seemed designed to shield and confuse, like those 3D images you had to cross your eyes to see the hidden image. He was mirage and illusion, decked out in dark jeans and leather boots. His tight T-shirt exposed a plethora of colorful tattoos that were a stark contrast to his tightly controlled persona—yet another piece of the Viking’s puzzle. I wondered if anyone ever saw the full picture.

“You know, not many people would push my dad like you did, arguing against his request to send one of his men with us.” I was curious about him. Enough to embolden me to ask questions.