It was the dark impulse I’d relied on back in the day. The cruelty that led me to do more than just kill a man. No, I had to make him suffer. Make him bleed.
Ensure that anyone watching would swear then and there to never cross me.
If I were still that man, Mischa’s silence would not be tolerated so kindly. I’d march up to the bastard, put a knife to his throat, and demand he faces me like a man and states his issue outright. It’s the way things should be fucking done…
“Don?” I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until Vin sprawls out on the seat across from me.
“Some party,” he gripes, oblivious to the danger. Or so one might assume by looking at him—but his brown eyes are alert, darting toward the windows at the imposing manor looming above.
Tension stiffens my muscles, and the twisted thoughts come faster. I’ve raised Vin too soft. Too weak. He has to learn for himself that nothing in this world comes for free. You’ve got to fight for it. Rip from the bastard who has it. You win.
Sweat dribbles down my neck. I’m clutching the end of the seat just to keep myself in this car. I feel like I’m damn near close to exploding from this goddamn suit entirely by the time Fabio wrenches open the door and sticks his head inside.
“Sorry to cut your fun short,” he says to Vin. “But I need your uncle to handle some very important business for me. I’ll make it up to you, though.” He tosses something to him that I can’t make out in the dark. “Take my card for the week. Have some fun on me. The kind of fun stuffy Donatello might disapprove of.”
“Thank you, Uncle Fabio.” Vin grins though I suspect the boy’s idea of a good time is far from what Fabio may have in mind.
“I bet you’ll find a series of charges from a bookstore,” I taunt.
But as Fabio meets my gaze, I realize the true depth of the situation he has the sense to hide from Vincenzo. He’s worried. Judging from the prominence of the wrinkles around his mouth, I suspect this little incident will take all of his cunning to smooth over.
I don’t even have the chance to ask him why before he leaves, closing the door behind him. Just as quickly, the driver takes off, whisking us away from Stepanov manor with a briskness that significantly improves my chances of offering him a job.
“I would have liked to see what she looked like,” Vin says wistfully. “Given all the pomp and circumstance, I bet I dodged a bullet. Rich men tend to overcompensate, and going off the expense of that party, that guy must have a lot to make up for.”
He sounds so damn confident that I snort, shocking myself. Gradually, that icy, unfeeling thinking process gives way to the warmth I’ve clung to all these years. It’s like I can breathe again, and I eye the boy, feeling an ache in my chest. If my love for him could grow any more, I’d explode from the force of it by now. God bless him; he’s kept me sane.
“You’re quiet because you know I’m right,” he teases.
“I hear she’s beautiful,” I counter. Beautiful, rich, and off-limits to him.
Fuck. If anything, tonight proved that securing his future won’t be as easy as catching the eye of some spoiled debutante.
But I’ll find another way.
Any way.
“You have that look again,” Vin scolds, crossing his arms, already over the fancy event. His posture slouches as he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. I recognize that studious expression—the second we return to the hotel, he’ll probably sequester himself in his room, eager to pore over whatever medical texts he lugged on the plane ride here.
Just like that, I have to question if he truly is my nephew.
“What look?” I demand.
“The ‘woe is me. I’m Donatello, the toughest, saddest son of a bitch in the world. I do things like dragging my Vincenzo to extravagant birthday parties even though I can count the number of times I’ve worn a suit on one hand.’” He hams up his performance, mocking my voice, and puffing up his chest. “‘I beat myself up for every little thing because I don’t know how to operate outside of perfection.’ You can relax, Don. I’m not mad.”
His smile wrings a similar one out of me, and I choke out a noise that could be a chuckle. The little bastard. Ever since he was a boy, he’s had a knack for cutting to the heart of a situation and turning it on its head in one go. He certainly turned my world on its head—for the better.
He deserves so much more than I can give him.
More than some spoiled mafiya girl.
“You can be sappy when you want to, you know that?” I toss back.
“Yeah. And I’m fairly sure that your matchmaker story was bullshit. Just admit it. I think you wanted her for yourself.” He wags a finger disapprovingly at me. “You’re old enough to be her father. That’s gross, Don.”
“Sure, Vin. I wanted a spoiled little socialite nearly half my age. The girl wouldn’t know what to do with me.”
“Maybe she could get you a better suit for one?”
“Oh? Is this your way of coming out to me, Vin? Turning down a beautiful, rich brat in the name of fashion? I’d love you all the same if you were gay, you know.”
He laughs harder. “No. This is my way of saying you need a woman in your life. At least then I won’t have nightmares while I’m at university of you waking up in a pool of booze mixed with your own vomit. It’s time to settle down, old man.”
“Why settle?” I raise my hands and lean against the leather seat. “I already have an heir to carry on my legacy. Besides, I was married once. What use is another woman? You’re all I need, Vincenzo.” I’m not laughing anymore. I don’t think I’ve ever been so serious. So earnest. Vin squirms in discomfort, but I don’t shy away from adding, “You are my heir. My legacy. The future of the Vanici line rests with you. You will carry it all, and look damn good doing so. I don’t need anyone else.”
“You do,” he says softly. His eyes take on a distant gleam that triggers an ominous dread. I’m tensing before he even whispers her name, “What about Safy?”
Every time, it hits with brutal force, this pain—affecting me more than the remnants of my old icy mindset. I crumple beneath the guilt. Like a wave, it crashes down, drowning out everything else. The need to breathe. Think. I can’t even see as the world goes black.
In the midst of that darkness, her face appears in my mind. So innocent. So trusting. My little Safiya.
Only Vincenzo can ever bear to say her name. Why? He doesn’t know the truth, believing she died in a horrible accident all those years ago. I fed him that lie myself.
“Don?” I blink to find Vin nearly leaning out of his seat, his eyes on my face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you don’t like to talk about her.”
I look away, fighting the emotions down to the depths of my soul where they belong. The guilt, and the pain, and the regret. Gradually, I forget her—that face, those eyes. I banish her memory—for now. She always comes back.
Every night. Every nightmare. She always returns.
“You’re here now,” I rasp, turning my attention back to Vin. “You.”
He nods solemnly. “You’re lucky to have me,” he says. “I, at least, know how to wear a suit.”