Page 36 of Vows of Blood

I get back in the car without a word and close the door.

Tony twists in his seat and stares at me, taking in my twisted fingers, my downcast gaze, and generally defeated attitude.

“Police station?” A pause. “Or home.” Tony catches my eye in the mirror. “You’re allowed to take your time and gather your thoughts. Weigh up your options.”

Checking for the car that appears to be following us, I know that if I spotted it, Tony surely did too. I’m pretty sure that’s the purpose of its presence.

I’m obviously being followed.

By who, I don’t know.

"Home," I say, feeling like a coward but knowing that if it is someone out to hurt me, I’m a sitting duck. With no family, no boyfriend, and soon to be homeless, I’d be the easiest person in the world to get rid of anyway. "This doesn't mean I'm helping him."

Tony pulls out of the parking lot and takes a scenic route back to my soon-to-be former residence.

"He's right," Tony says, keeping his eyes on the road. "Whether you want to admit it or not, you need his help. Better him than Alfonso."

I glare at him, catching his eye briefly in the rearview mirror, wondering what he knows about me and Luca’s history, if anything.

There's something almost sympathetic in the way he looks at me that makes me feel worse, as though he can see exactly how few options I have left and feels sorry for me. A look I've seen plenty of times before.

Suddenly, I’m struck with a memory that knocks the air from my lungs.

Apitch-black night. Driving rain and the suffocating smell of smoke.

Frantically dialing Luca’s number as I stare in horror at the man lurking outside my door, the flames licking up the side of my Dad’s workshop, knowing Luca’s the only person who can help me.

Then the gut-wrenching pain, the strangled cry that escaped my throat as my call got sent to voicemail, and the reality of how alone I was really sank in.

He wasn’t coming.

Nobody was.

Lifting my chin defiantly, I stare back at Tony, not wanting him to report back to his boss what a basket case I am. I cross my arms and slide my shaking hands under my armpits, aiming for stubbornness instead of slightly terrified.

“Luca Calvano is the last person I’d rely on for anything.”

11

LUCA

My father is sitting in my chair when I walk into my office at the club.

It's a power play, petty and obvious, but effective, nonetheless. He wants me to know that, even after handing over the day-to-day operations to his sons, he still sees this as his empire. His seat at the table.

His to reclaim whenever he feels like it.

I don't give him the satisfaction of reacting, I just enter the room and move straight to the cabinet, pulling out the paperwork that I want, and taking a seat on the large leather couch that lines one wall instead.

"You look tired," he says, not bothering to stand, just intertwining his fingers and resting them on his swollen stomach.

The urge to ask him what else he would expect given what’s happened is strong, but antagonizing him is pointless. He wants me to lose my temper. This is what he does for fun.

"I'm fine." Signing wherever Bruno has marked, I flick through the pages, glancing over the text quickly to make sure nothing new has been added.

"Hmm." His eyes, dark like mine but dead inside, sweep over me with that judgmental look I've known since childhood. "I trust the investigation is ongoing. The Irish are getting impatient."

I grit my teeth. There are expletive-laden messages coming in hourly from Finn. I’m more than aware of how they feel.