Page 44 of Savage Enemy

“Here’s the thing, sister. I can’t go back out there empty-handed. At the very least, Father wants to know who helped you. You couldn’t have done all that by yourself.”

“You know what? I’ve come to realize I’m veryresourceful when I need to be. It’s amazing what a woman can do on her own, when she isn’t existing under the constant control of a man who sees her as a shiny object meant for brokering deals. But yeah, Santo, I did have help faking my death.”

“Who did it?”

I shrugged. “It was Nonna.”

Then I took another greasy bite.

I hated betraying her, but she’d been dead for years. Saul couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Santo’s immediate wince was even more noticeable than his grimace of pain, though it too disappeared in a flash. Just like every other expression he displayed.

“What really happened to you?” I asked. “To the bright little boy who was always smiling and laughing?”

He shrugged, and resentment filled his eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? You left. Nonna died. Marco took on more responsibility. You all left me here with Father and Aris. Alone. That’s what happened to me.”

I took several tries before I finally swallowed my mouthful of pizza. To my surprise, though, my voice held steady.

“I’m so sorry, Santo.”

Then the sad truth fully hit me.

What I did from then on didn’t even matter. Not really. Even if I hadn’t faked my death, the Russians would have hauled me away, and still, I never would have seen Santo again. Nonna still would have died. No one could have protected him from the reality of our family.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I do just fine. If you should feel sorry for anyone, it’s your son.”

I froze. A piece of crust fell from my fork.

“Marco said you’d leave him alone. I’m here. I’m not running. I’ll do as I’m told. Leave him out of this.”

Santo laughed, and not the joyful, genuine laughter of his youth, but something dark, twisted, and cruel.

I set the pizza down and looked him in the eye.

“Let me make this perfectly clear, little brother. If you or anyone else goes near my son, I don’t care where I am or what it takes, I will find a way to kill every one of you.”

He arched his brows at me.

“We don’t have to do anything to your kid. He’s being raised by a savage New York boss. What kind of life do you think the boy will have?”

The greasy food in my stomach churned.

I had wondered the same thing countless times.

To deepen my fear, Santo echoed the deeper question I had agonized over since the day Enzo was born.

“I mean, come on, what kind of man do you think Stefano Vignali will make out of his son?”

I didn’t have an answer, but Santo did.

“Take a good look at me, sister… I’m your son in ten years.”

CHAPTER 9

STEFANO

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