Page 62 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

“Oh God. It should have been me,” I mutter. “It should have been me.”

“Addy!” Sal’s voice is like a whip, snapping me out of my guilt-ridden chant. I straighten and his eyes meet mine again in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think you realize how lucky we all are that it wasn’t you.”

His words are drowned out by the ugly voice in my head screaming that this is all my fault. The stench of smoke and rubber from the explosion clings to me and Sal, a constant reminder. It’s in my hair, on my dress, on Sal. My lungs burn with the need for fresh air, for escape.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe anymore.

“Stop the car,” I gasp, my voice tight with panic.

“I can’t do that, Addy,” Sal says, but his words barely register. The need to get out, to escape the guilt and fear, beats down on me. My fingers scrabble clumsily at the door handle but it’s locked.

“Please, Sal,” I plead, bile rising in my throat. I clamp a hand over my mouth, my stomach roiling. “I’m . . . I’m going to be sick.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, with a curse, Sal wrenches the steering wheel to the right. The SUV lurches, tires screeching against the pavement as we veer off the road. The sudden movement sends me sliding across the leather seat, my shoulder slamming into the door.

Before the vehicle has fully stopped, I fumble with the door handle. This time, it gives way, and I tumble onto the rough asphalt. The impact jars through my body, but I barely notice. I’m too focused on the burning in my throat, the acid taste in my mouth.

On my hands and knees, I retch violently. The contents of my stomach splatter onto the ground, the acidic smell mixing with the exhaust fumes. I heave until there’s nothing left, until I’m bringing up nothing but bitter bile.

My body shakes with the force of my sobs, tears streaming down my face to mingle with the mess on the ground.

I’m vaguely aware of Sal a few yards away, a silent shadow in the darkness. The cool night air raises goosebumps on my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of shame burning through me.

When the heaving finally subsides, I remain on all fours, gasping for breath. My arms tremble with the effort of holding myself up, my hair hanging limply around my face. I’ve never felt so utterly wretched, so completely undone.

After what feels like an eternity, I hear Sal’s footsteps approaching. He crouches down beside me, and when I finally gather the courage to look up, he’s holding out a bottle of cold water, his face filled with quiet concern.

With shaking hands, I take the water and rinse my mouth then drink, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat.

“Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely.

Sal nods. “Think you can stand?”

“Yes,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure I can. When I wobble on my feet, Sal puts an arm around my waist and guides me back to the SUV.

The car feels less confining now, more of a sanctuary from the harsh reality outside. As Sal shuts the door and rounds the vehicle to the driver’s side, I lean my forehead against the cool window.

We continue on in silence, the only sounds are my ragged breathing and the muffled rumble of the engine. I close my eyes, and my thoughts center on Dante. Need, hot and fierce burns inside me. It’s the same inexplicable heat I felt when I saw him roar in anguish at the parking lot. I want to be with him right now.

Soon, the glittering city lights fade, replaced by sprawling estates and perfectly manicured lawns. We pass through wrought iron gates emblazoned with a large crest and start up a winding driveway, but I barely notice them.

Not until a mansion rises high out of the ground and above us do I sit up and look at a fortress of stone and glass. The silhouette of turrets and high walls stands out against the night sky. The moon casts a silver glow over the landscape, highlighting the gnarled branches of ancient trees and rolling hills.

“Where are we?” My words come out as a hoarse whisper, my throat raw from crying.

“Dante’s family home,” Sal answers as he takes a detour off the winding driveway to the side of the main building. He stops in front of what seems like a solid stone wall, but as Sal gets out and gestures for me to follow, I realize it’s a hidden door.

My legs feel like lead as I exit the car, the cool night air a refreshing balm on my heated face and stuffy nose. Immediately, the door opens to reveal an extremely tall man with snow-white hair and a stooped posture. He ushers us inside quickly, his movements sharp and efficient despite his age. He and Sal only exchange nods as he stands to the side, and Sal leads me deeper into the dimly lit hallway.

The old man, the house butler, perhaps, shrinks into the shadows as we pass, but when I glance back, his eyes are wide with shock as he stares at me. Unnerved, I turn away and follow Sal into the maze of corridors, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my chest.

The carpets muffle our steps as we move deeper into the mansion, taking flights of stairs down. This house seems like a scene straight out of a gothic novel, with cold stone walls and sconces of flickering yellow light casting eerie shadows. The air hangs heavy with an oppressive silence, as if the mansion itself is holding its breath.

Sal guides me through the maze of corridors, his hand a steady pressure on the small of my back. Finally, he stops before an ornate door, its dark wood gleaming in the low light. He pushes it open, and I step inside, my breath catching in my throat.

It’s a large but windowless room, having air conditioning vents in the walls instead. A king-sized bed dominates the space, its dark silk sheets an invitation to indulge in luxury. But it’s the mirrors that catch my eye—floor-to-ceiling, they reflect the room back at me.

“You’ll be safe here,” Salvatore says. He gestures to an intercom panel just beside the bed. “Food, clothes, anything at all, just call. Falzone, the old butler, will get you anything you need.”

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