Page 22 of Death Of A Sinner

“How old are you?” Vin asks.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to ask a woman her age?” Esther fires back at him.

“Never had a mother, and you’re not a woman. You’re a little girl.” He smirks at her.

“Is it true?” Esther turns to Mary. “I have brothers? Granted, they all look like right cunts but really? I have five brothers? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Okay, I think we should all sit back down.” Tommy wraps his arm around his wife before turning his glare on his daughter. “Esther, sit.”

I wait until all three of them have taken a seat. I considered just leaving. I knew it was a bad idea to come here, but this is more fucked up than I even thought it would be.

“I, ah, please, let me explain what happened. I know that what I did is unforgivable and I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” Mary says. “I just need you all to know the truth.”

I look to my brothers and nod my head. This is for them. They want to know. They have questions. And for them, I’ll sit my ass in this chair and listen to whatever shit this woman is gonna try to spew. Then we can all move on with our lives. Just like she fucking has, clearly.

“Thank you.” Mary sighs when I reclaim my seat and the other four follow my lead.

“Why?” Vin says. “Why would you leave us and start a new family?” There’s no emotion in his voice. No accusation either. It’s just a question. Same as if you’d ask someone about the weather.

“I… I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to leave you. Any of you. I love you. All. I tried to take you. He was meant to be out of town. But Giovanni was there. He caught me. And the guard who was helping me…”

I figured as much.“I heard the gunshot. The day you died. I heard the body drop to the floor in his office,” I tell her.

“He didn’t shoot me. He beat me until I was barely conscious and then he banished me. He told me if I ever came back that he would…” Mary shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “He said if I came back for any of you that he would cut your throats in front of me.”

“And you believed him?” I ask.

“Giovanni never delivered empty threats,” she replies.

“You married him, you should know,” Gabe scoffs. “You still left us. Most mothers would fight for their children. Not just leave them to grow up with a monster. Do you have any idea what he did? What happened to?—”

“Gabrielle,” I snap, cutting him off before he can say more. That isn’t our story to tell. It’s Vin’s.

“For years, I didn’t remember who I was. And then, slowly, it started to come back. At first, just faces—your faces—and then names. By the time I remembered everything, I was scared. Giovanni was never going to let me have you.” Mary takes in our surroundings. “I never thought I’d ever be back here.”

“That makes two of us,” Marcel mutters. “Fucking place is cursed.”

“Okay, but why didn’t you tell me about them?” Esther turns to her mother.

“Because I knew you’d seek them out and put yourselfand your brothersin danger. I was just trying to do the right thing. For all of you,” Mary says.

ChapterSeventeen

“Who is my father?” I ask Mary.

I feel my brothers’ eyes turn to me. All of them. I don’t look at them, though. They don’t know what I know. They don’t know that I spent years listening to the old man tell me I wasn’t his. That the woman in front of us cheated on him, and because of that, I deserved what he did to me. What he let those bastards do to me.

“What?” She has the decency to at least appear taken aback. “Giovanni is your father, Vin.”

“Really? Because he always claimed otherwise. You fucked around on him.” I narrow my glare. “So just tell me who the guy is.”

Mary shakes her head. “Giovanni was paranoid,” she insists.

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Santo mutters under his breath.

“I never cheated on him, Vin. Giovanni is—wasyour father. He accused me of cheating. He was positive that I did. But it didn’t happen. I swear,” she says.

I laugh. I can’t fucking believe this shit. I don’t know if what she’s telling me is true or if it would have even made a difference if Giovanni knew I was his biological son. The sick bastard still probably would have done what he did.

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