Page 3 of Sinner's Vows

“Someone will be here as soon as I leave to take care of you.” In every way I can’t.Hold you, talk to you, make you laugh. Love you.

I walk out, never answering her question.

2

DOMINIC

Trust the sun to fucking shine on the day we bury Don Giuliano Scalera. It doesn’t help with my mood which has been pretty sour for the past few months. That’s not exactly new, but it’s become worse ever since the fucking Don came up with his last requests and dragged us back into a world we’ve been trying to break away from.

Dad, the psycho, has been dead a week, and none of us would have cared a flying fuck to give him a proper burial if it weren’t for keeping up pretenses and appearances. Now’s not the time to appear weak or weird.

Good news travels fast. There’re at least two hundred people here, most of them men. Beyond the swath of somber suits and bowed heads, I spot the two black SUVs crawling past. I know the cops when I see them, even disguised in unmarked vehicles. Always keeping an eye on us; even more so when there’s a shift in leadership.

My clenched fists unfurl, and I stretch my fingers to release some tension. As always, my left-hand pinky battles the movement as if the Don still restrains my whole body through this one digit alone, and I push down hard on every emotionI’ve bottled up for years. This finger serves as a reminder.Know your place.

Matteo glances at me, then at my hand. I shrug, and with a sigh, he tracks how I’m taking in the solemn crowd of mourners. People will meet his bold, confident stare, but as soon as my eyes land on them, they all look down.

“Don’t scare the children now, Nicky,” he mutters under his breath.

A smile hides in his voice, making me suppress a smirk. Seeing me here is unsettling because most people think I’ve leftIl Consiglio. Good. That’s a rumor we like to keep circulating. There’s another one keeping people on their toes around me:Don Scalera trained his son Dominic to be his interrogator.

Yep, everybody here is right to shit their pants if I so much as glance at them. And no, I haven’t leftIl Consiglio. As if I’ll ever leave my family. I’ve only been running the back office. My legit security company and thriving business is the perfect front to make people think I’ve left the Mafia…except I’ll always have a role to play.

The pallbearers lower the coffin into the grave, and eventually, the soft thuds of soil hitting the wood sound through the eerie quiet of the gathered crowd. The priest has done his thing, but we all know Don Guiliano Scalera is going straight to Hell, where he’ll be keeping seats for us. You don’t become the most feared and hated Don on the East Coast without paving the way there with sin. As for us Scalera boys, I’d like to think we’ve toned things down, though Heaven is very far from rolling out the red carpet for us when our time comes.

“Come on. Let’s go.” I nudge Matteo with my elbow. “Enough of this shit. By the time they line up, you have to be in the right headspace.”

Moving on—that’s what we need to be thinking about.

“You really want to do this today?” he grunts under his breath.

“As the new Don?—”

“I can make my own rules.”

“Maybe, but fuck it, Matty, you can’t afford to put this off a single hour.” If someone comes for Matteo, especially now he’s had the idiocy of getting a wife, I’ll protect him with my life. But fuck knows, I’m not in the mood for a blood bath. “You now have Tasha to think of, too, and appearing weak could cost her.”

Matteo draws in a sharp, if controlled, breath. “Fuck it.”

“Yep, you have no choice.”

And neither do I. I’m now his lieutenant, and the second in command. I never willingly assumed this position but was shoved into it the night our brother Alex got killed.

Matteo takes the lead as he turns away from the grave first. I fall in beside him. We’re headed for Don Scalera’s compound, where the capos at the funeral will swear allegiance to my brother. I’ll take roll call, and those members ofIl Consigliowho fail to show up today… Well, I’ll have some questions to ask. By the surreptitious glances these men shoot me, most here know better than to let me interrogate them.

As we walk abreast and part the crowd, we’re signaling the new hierarchy to everybody here.

Matteo Scalera, the new Don ofIl Consiglio.

Me, his second.

And then, the mystery of the other Scalera brothers. Luca, Stephano, and Benedict aren’t at the funeral. Lucky fuckers.Keep them guessingwas the Don’s slogan. It won’t pay for us all to be seen together, never mind being photographed so people can identify us as the core ofIl Consiglio.

Our bodyguards flank us, and soon we’re in our bulletproof SUV and heading out to the exclusive and wildly expensive neighborhood where Don Scalera had his fortress. The tree-lined road winds through a forest that camouflages the walls of one of Massachusetts’s most prestigious estates. At some point, we’ll need to decide what to do with this showpiece. None of us are interested in living in a place that holds few good memories for us.

We drive through the gates, and after another bend which hides the mansion completely from the road, the driver pulls up to the double front door. The house is ready for today, the doors wide open, letting in the summer air.

One of Don Scalera’s guards walks outside to greet us as if he’s the fucking butler, and Bruno comes to stand in the door, nose in the air, sniffing. The mutt has been roaming around the property like a lost fart for the past week, trying to figure out where the Don has gone.

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