Page 13 of Stolen Vows

“Do you know what your father does?" I asked her as I leaned in the doorway to watch her eat. Now that I knew she had escape on her mind, I was even more determined to keep my eye on her, and it gave me a chance to shake loose some information about the Leone business. She glanced up at me, mouth set in a hard line.

"You think I’m that naive?” she fired back. "I know he’s—I know he’s mafia. I’m not stupid."

I eyed her for a moment. Mafia, sure… but what does she know about how he makes his money?

"How much are you involved with?"

"What do you mean?”

"Exactly that."

"Why are you interrogating me like this?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her food away from her.

"I can leave, if you want," I replied. Her jaw tensed. It was obvious she didn’t want to be left alone.

"I’m... I’m involved with the business," she told me, almost defensive, as though she didn’t like the thought of me imagining her as some useless damsel in distress.

"You are? In what capacity?"

"Why do you think I agreed to marry Mario?”

The words seemed to catch her off guard, even as they came out of her mouth. She swiftly pressed her lips together again, and turned her attention back to the food. But the sentence hung there between us, heavy with meaning, as I tried to make sense of it. That was why she had been marrying him? Some business deal? With the age gap between them, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but I thought his daughter would be off-limits when it came to buying and selling.

With how defiant she has been, I can only assume that she doesn’t really know how much danger she’s in. That her father never told her that she should keep her mouth shut and her head down when she had been taken by someone, and not to piss them off. He would have told her that, if he had thought she would need to know, if he had imagined for a second that she might one day be in danger.

But he didn’t. Which means he has kept her out of it. Which means...

She might be innocent in all of this.

Even as the thought crosses my mind, I brush it away with irritation. No. I am not going to let myself think like that. As far as I’m concerned, she’s as much a part of it as her father is. She has benefited from it, hasn’t she? She’s lived a life of luxury built off the back of the suffering that he has inflicted on other people, and she’s an adult. She can’t be so ignorant as to truly have no idea.

A sound draws me out of my thoughts, and I look over to see the pot on the stove nearly boiling over. I curse and head over to grab it, quickly serving up the pasta I made for us tonight.

There’s something strangely domestic about cooking for her like this—something I’m not entirely averse to. Living at home with my father and my sister, it’s not like we’re spending time together Brady-bunch style. All we talk about is work, what we’re going to do next, how we’re going to handle whatever threat has been aimed in our direction. But this? This feels almost peaceful. Almost pleasant.

I could get used to it.

I head to her room, pulling back the lock on the door and then stepping inside. She is perched on the edge of the bed, a book in her hand. She pleaded with me for something to read, and, unable to see any reason why I shouldn’t, I brought her some stuff to flip through.

She stands up and reaches out for the bowl. Her eyes are wide as she looks into it, and she flicks her tongue over her lips.

"God, that looks so good." She sighs, as she sinks down again to start eating. I’m about to head back out to have my own dinner and leave her for the night, but before I can, my phone buzzes.

As soon as it goes off, I snatch it out of my pocket, and lift it in front of my face. There’s a message. It's not from a number I know, but that’s not entirely unheard of. Maya uses burner phones often enough...

But, as I tap open the message and scan through what’s waiting for me on the other side, my chest tightens. It’s not from any member of my family. But I can’t say the same for her.

This is Lucio Leone,the message reads.And this is the only warning you’ll get from me.

That’s it, the whole message. Not as bad as I had been expecting, but somehow, even more chilling for its brevity. I push my phone back into my pocket, staring straight ahead, my ears pricked for any noise outside. I don’t know if they are already nearby. Maybe they found my unlisted number by getting it out of one of our confidantes. I have no idea.

But I am going to have to find a way to be ready for them, one way or another. Just as I’m about to head out the door, a voice pipes up from behind me.

"That message. It was from my father, wasn’t it?”

I freeze. Did she see the screen somehow? There’s not a chance she could have seen it from where she’s sitting. I look over at her, confused.

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