Page 11 of Sinner's Vows

Distractions I can’t afford.

In our line of work, this means nothing but our downfall. Failure, at best. Death, at worst. Weakness throughout.

As for Gigi, something happened to her before she fled Lake Como and Franco Fiore. She probably ran because of what Franco did to her. Even if Stephano would never say a thing, I can read between the lines. I can see it in the way he is protectiveover her. She’s been a rabbit caught in a snare, ready to chew off her own leg to ensure she got away from Fiore. It makes my blood boil.

The newlyweds leave Matteo’s apartment, and once Tasha and Carla have taken the stairs to their bedrooms, it’s just me, Matteo, Luca, and Benedict left at the dining table.

“Franco Fiore.” Now isn’t the best time, but I’ve spent the past week upgrading Stephano’s apartment’s security system and getting things in place to protect Gigi from that devil’s inevitable arrival in Boston.

“Really, Dominic? Now?” Matteo says with a groan as he picks up his wineglass. “You’re like a fucking dog with a bone sometimes.”

Yep. I’m extra because I know what happens when things go wrong. Out of habit, I reach for my left-hand pinkie and start to massage the stiff little fucker.Things don’t go wrongunder my watch.

“Keeping my finger on the pulse, Matteo. Do you have anything new, Benedict?” We can’t afford to let any details slide just because we had our first family wedding today.

“The mole says that Franco is losing his shit. His ‘fiancée’ is on the run, and he doesn’t like it. He’s hunting Gigi down in every corner of Europe where his network extends to. For now, the only thing we can do is wait.”

So much for Franco’s fiancée. She just married another man. And it’s going to be our problem.

I hate being a sitting duck. Plus it stalls other projects I have going. Ever since the Don’s funeral whereIl Consiglio’scapos lined up to swear theiromertàto Matteo, I’ve been uneasy. Too many eyes stole to corners of the Don’s office to figure out the setup and how to gain access to serious confidential paperwork in said office. For all I care, we can put a match to the whole lot, but Mom’s things might be in the mix.

“We’re ready,” I say and shoot a glance to Luca. “Best you lie low for now.”

“Sure,” Luca says with a shrug. “I’ll hang out with Benedict.”

The twins were split apart early on to the outside world. People might know the Don had six sons, including one set of twins, but images of Luca and Stephano together are nonexistent, and the fact that they are identical has been a closely guarded secret.

We were homeschooled, because ‘the system’ didn’t teach us the shit we needed to know to survive in our world. Stephano is the only one who went to a private school due to his behavioral issues, and then got expelled from said school for beating a kid to a pulp. It was a bad move on the Don’s part, as it put us on the radar of social services and everybody else wanting a sneak peek into our lives. Stephano paid by spending two years in a juvenile facility just to keep the rats out of our business.

The Don roped in some of the best tutors in Boston who knew how to keep their mouths shut, reinforcing the mystery around the Scalera brothers. Benedict scrapes the internet for images of us daily. The twins are never together in public, and ever since that fatal night, when six became five, we’ve been even more careful. Benedict is probably the biggest enigma of us all. Going from homeschooled to hacker, if it wasn’t for a birth certificate, he might not exist at all.

As for Luca and Stephano, it’s always handy to have two of the ‘same person’ when you deal with fuckers like Franco Fiore. There’s no chance Franco will know what any of us looks like if he tries to hunt us down. We know what we’re up against. He doesn’t. I know one when I see one, and images of him are just as impossible to find. The question really is whether he is a psycho by nature or by training.

Time will tell.

“I’m heading out,” I say, standing up.

“You’re still at the Don’s house?” Luca asks.

“Yep.”

“Have you found anything interesting?” Matteo asks.

I might be like a dog with a bone, but Matteo is like a hawk, scouting for prey. I can’t shed this feeling he’s waiting for me to discover something only so he can swoop in and snatch it away. This feeling has been lurking around for weeks now, ever since he came back from Sicily.

“Nothing noteworthy. A lot of dated documents I doubt have any value.”

The only thing with value for me would be Mom’s journals. What I really want is to extract everything of hers from that house and put it in a shrine, but her journals, in her handwriting, is even more personal. I used to love watching her write and the calmness that seemed to descend on her when she did.

I don’t know if her journals are even still around, or if I’d have the stomach to read any of them, but she had to deal with her circumstances somehow, and a lot of shrinks would tell you totry journaling.

Fuck me. Maybe I should take up the pen.

“Keep me posted if you find anything—” Matteo breaks off with a shrug. “Just keep me posted.”

“Will do.” There are too many cabinets with paperwork to sort, so I moved back into the old family house to save myself the drive and make a dent in the paperwork.

Whatever I’m looking for, I bet Matteo is banking on me finding it before anybody else does. He’s looking for something, but he won’t say what. Maybe he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for.

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