Page 28 of Savage Enemy

I owed her as much if not more than she owed me.

“I didn’t let any of this shit happen, boy.”

Enzo came down and made a beeline for me.

I reached for the bruise around the gash on his temple.

“Are you hurt anywhere else, Enzo?”

My son jerked away from my touch, letting his emotions cut loose. He cocked back a fist and punched me in the gut—a solid hit, fueled by rage, fear, and sheer determination.

An image flashed through my mind. I had done the same to my father. He had laughed at me, turned his back on me.

I caught my son’s next punch, pulled him into my arms, and held him while he screamed and struck me wherever he could reach. And I let him.

“She’s gone again, and it’s all your fault!” he screamed. “You said we would all be together. You promised to make her better and keep us safe in this house. You promised!”

I held him tighter and let him use his rage to work through the pain. He needed to process what had happened.

More than that, I deserved his anger.

I hadn’t let them take her, but they took her all the same, and I couldn’t stop them. To him, in this moment, there was no difference between me letting her go and me failing to stop them.

Enzo fought my hold until sobs overtook him.

I welcomed it all, keeping him safe inside my arms.

Never would I laugh at my son or turn my back on him.

After showing him to breathe slow and steady, he finally relaxed. Then he pushed himself away.

“Why did they take her?” he asked.

Thoughts of killing Moscatelli flooded my mind, forcing a wry grin onto my face. I could feel it taking control of my facial muscles, and I couldn’t make it stop.

“Because they made a mistake, son.”

“What mistake?”

“They thought they could come into our house, take what’s ours, and walk away.”

My son nodded, his eyes getting darker, his expression mirroring mine. He took my meaning. And he meant business in his own right.

Another swell of pride grew inside my chest, but Christ, how the fuck old was this kid’s soul?

“What are we going to do, Mr. Vignali?”

I frowned.

I wanted to shake him. I wanted to make him call me Dad or Papa or evenmio padre.

Anything but Mr. Vignali.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.

Then, right there, in the middle of all the destruction, I dropped to my knees and made my first solemn vow to my son.

Not a fucking promise, but an unbreakable vow.

---