SILENT VOWS

3

The Mafia twisted men into monsters. It drained all their humanity and left their souls hopelessly disfigured. I couldn’t think of anything more horrendous than Sante being made. But he idolized our father and the Mafia. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say. I would have told him the truth about what had happened right away if I thought he would believe me. If I thought it would save him.

I wanted to help my little brother, but I’d have to find another way. I hadn’t made much progress solving that particular problem, but at least I’d convinced him not to drop out of school. I had argued via scribbled notes that Mom would have been heartbroken if he had left before graduating. He had reluctantly agreed to attend his senior year in another month when school started. It was a small win but a victory, nonetheless. And until I won the war, I would continue to fight my silent battle against my father’s influence. It was what my mother would have wanted—what she would have done if he hadn’t killed her.

Giving Sante a sad smile, I pointed up to indicate I was headed to my room and retreated upstairs. Once alone, I flopped onto my bed, lifting my hand to look at the book I was still holding. I studied a small tear in the hardback’s jacket cover, though my mind was busy envisioning a pair of captivating blue eyes.

It was so typical that a man like him would scoff at the idea of romance. He probably doubted the existence of anything he hadn’t experienced himself—like empathy and compassion. Such a bleak, narrow-minded view of the world. If it hadn’t been for a spark of heat I sensed beneath his icy blue stare, I would have sworn the man was hopelessly detached from humanity.

A knock sounded at my door, startling me from my thoughts and causing me to drop my book. My father, Fausto Mancini, the most powerful capo in the Moretti family, stood in my doorway. For years, he was more of a name than an actual presence in my life. Mom and Sante and even our cook were more of a part of my life than he ever was. His absence left me struggling with feelings of abandonment and hurt when I was younger. Now that I’d had six months of his tyrannical attention, I thanked God that my father had ignored my existence for as long as he had.

“I have to be out of town for the next two days. I don’t want to hear that you’ve stepped one toe out of line.” His corrosive voice hung in the air around me like a noxious gas, poisoning my insides.

I hadn’t had a day of reprieve from his sinister presence since I left the hospital. The thought of two days away from him made my heart flutter with anticipation.

He must have sensed my response because the corners of his eyes tightened. “Don’t try me, Noemi. Bad things happen to people who defy me.” He stepped closer into my room. “I think you know that, don’t you?” He studied me, and I tried to regulate my breathing, though my lungs seized at his insinuation. It was the first time he’d ever indicated he suspected that I knew the truth. Why now? Because he was leaving town and wanted to ensure I behaved?

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he continued. “You don’t have to say a word for me to read your thoughts.” His deep mahogany eyes dropped to his hands as he casually assessed the state of his manicured fingers. “Two days. I’ll be watching.” He gave me one last glare before walking away.

His not-so-veiled threat was unnecessary because he was right. I knew exactly what he’d done, and I was plenty terrified of him already. If he thought there was any chance I’d tell someone what he’d done, he’d kill me in a heartbeat.

I couldn’t fathom what my mother had ever seen in him. Had he always been so heartless? Was it possible for someone to start out as sweet as my brother and be transformed into something so cruel?

My stomach clenched tight at the possibility.

It would break my heart to sit by and watch Sante morph into something unrecognizable.

They aren’t all so bad as Dad.

True. Uncle Gino was decent enough. He seemed to care about Aunt Etta, Mom’s twin sister. But if he was faced with choosing his wife or his ambitions, which would come out on top? I wasn’t sure, and that spoke volumes. The answer was no clearer for any of the family men I’d grown up knowing. Sure, they were friendly enough at gatherings, but they could also be frighteningly cold.

I wasn’t willing to bet my life on the outcome of that question. I wanted no part of the mafia world.

I didn’t have my own money or an obvious way out, but I wouldn’t give up. An opportunity would present itself, and I’d be ready when it did.

One Week Earlier

“You know we won’t quit until every last one of them stops breathing.” I held tightly to Aunt Fiona as the last of the family filtered to their cars after saying their final goodbyes to Uncle Brody. Only the immediate Byrne family remained, which was still about three dozen of us. Hundreds had turned out for the funeral. Even my grandparents had been driven the hour outside the city for their son’s burial, though they rarely left their house anymore.

My uncle’s widow shook with muffled sobs. It made me want to light the entire city on fire.

The Albanians had put five rounds into Brody’s chest outside one of our clubs. We’d immediately gone after them and struck back, taking down a half dozen of their men, but those fuckers were like cockroaches. We hadn’t seen the last of them.

“Come on, Ma. Let’s get you home.” Oran, the eldest of Fiona and Brody’s kids, took his mother into his side and gave me a grim nod of thanks before leading her to their car.