Page 51 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

“Wait, how long have you known Kira?”

I’m pretty sure I’ve known her longer than you, I want to snap, but somehow I sense he’s not trying to mock me.

“Since college,” I admit, feeling like the idiot who missed the joke. “We were roomies.” His eyebrows almost rise to his hairline and something tells me I don’t know Kira Sibel at all.

“I mean, she went back home to Chicago shortly after we finished college while I stayed back. We only just reconnected a few months ago when she returned to Boston.”

And by the time Kira returned, she’d somehow become a nightclub sensation.

Zedd’s nod is weighted as if debating what to say.

“In that case, you should ask Kira who her people are when you get back home.”

“Zedd, come on. Please.” I give him my best puppy-dog eyes.

“Okay,” he mutters, his resolve instantly crumbling. “But you didn’t hear this from me.”

“I swear,” I say quickly, my eyes still pleading for him to spill.

“So,” Zedd begins, “does the name Vito Vitelli mean anything to you?”

I stop breathing. Please. No. Hell fucking no.

“No,” I squeak. But it does. It really, really does.

He continues in a hushed tone. “Well, Vito is the patriarch of the Vitelli crime family—he’s retired now. His son Nico is in charge now. I only got to know this myself when I was DJing in a Chicago club a few years back. Kira was new to the scene, and I think she was a little starstruck by me. We got talking, and she got tipsy. Nothing happened between us,” Zedd puts his hands up when he sees my expression morph into disgust.

“Anyway,” he continues, “Vitelli is Kira’s godfather or something.”

I snort out a laugh, my tension dissipating. “Oh, please. A drunk Kira told you that? And you believed her? Kira has a thing for Italian men and the mafia.”

Absently I run my fingers through my curls, lifting the strands off my shoulders to let cool air reach my skin. The instant I see Zedd’s heavy-lidded gaze heat up, I snap out of it. I’d hate for the guy to think I’m flirting. “Look, The Godfather is like her scripture, so I’m not surprised she’d fantasize that Vito Vitelli, a retired mafia don, is her godfather.”

Zedd only gives me a wry look. “Alright. I see how that might be a stretch to believe. Can you at least believe that her mother is the Vitelli’s housekeeper?”

The smug smile falls off my face.

Seeing he’s got my attention, Zedd presses on. “Did you also know Kira’s mother was trafficked from Turkey to America by a rebel syndicate, and Vito intercepted the cargo and saved them? Kira was so young and had no way of coping with her new disability.”

I clasp my hands together in my lap to stop the trembling.

“Vito Vitelli took them in and raised Kira like a daughter, or well, like a god-daughter,” Zedd finishes as if he just told me that Kira won a spelling bee.

My heart breaks for what Kira and her mom went through, and I am unable to imagine what would have happened to both of them had Dante’s father not intervened. Yet hot betrayal burns in my chest at Kira’s deception.

Kira’s obsession with the Mafia isn’t some audiobook fantasy. She lives with them.

Kira knows Dante Vitelli.

Kira knows I’m pregnant with Dante Vitelli’s baby.

And suddenly, I feel like I’m the punchline of a joke I didn’t even know I was part of.

I swallow my rising panic and the urge to run out of the club and out of Chicago like a crazy woman.

“So back to him,” I nod at the tattooed guy still standing next to Kira. He appears to be whispering something to her. “You said he’s one of Kira’s people? Is he here to support Kira?”

“No, he’s some sort of mafia genius and he designed this place.” Zed throws an arm out. “His boss, Dante Vitelli, owns the club. Or maybe Nico does. Anyway, one of them does. It’s hard to tell which way is up with the Vitelli brothers.”

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