Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(66)

I thought about it for a long moment, really considering what he was asking of me, and what he was offering me in return: the unvarnished truth. I didn’t want to betray his trust, but I was afraid to offer my silence if what he told me was too big to handle. But I had to know. He wanted to let me in, he wanted to trust me, and despite everything, I wanted to let him.

“OK,” I said. “I promise.”

“It won’t be everything. It can’t be.”

“I just need enough to understand, Nic.”

He watched me for a moment more, like he was trying to read something in my eyes. Then he leaned back and sighed, finally, after all this time, surrendering. “Sophie, my family and I are in the business of protection. And what that means is, sometimes we have to hurt people, and sometimes we have to kill people.”

And there it was — out in the open at last. My unspoken fear had come to fruition. Like father, like son: Nic was an Angel-maker, too. I covered my mouth with the back of my hand and concentrated on steadying my breathing. I couldn’t speak. I felt sick.

“Let me explain,” Nic said. He reached out to me, but I edged away and he dropped his hand. And then he hit me with a fresh bombshell: “We only go after people who deserve to die.”

I gaped at him. “Is this some sort of sick joke?” I managed, my mouth still covered by my hand. “Because it’s not funny.”

He just looked at me — defiantly standing by the craziest thing I had ever heard come out of his mouth.

“You mean you go after people like Robbie Stenson?” I pressed after a beat.

He nodded — calmly. Too calmly.

“Would you have killed him if Luca hadn’t been there to stop you?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Without hesitation.”

I thought about getting up and bolting, slamming the door behind me and running far away. But I didn’t, I couldn’t — not when there was more to know. “Can’t you see how crazy that is?”

This time, Nic looked away from me, his expression twisting. “He deserves worse than what he got … If Luca hadn’t been there …”

“You’d probably be in jail,” I finished dryly.

“And he’d be six feet under.”

I dropped my hands and ground them into the leather to keep my anger at bay. “That’s what the police are for, Nic. Not normal gun-wielding citizens like you and Luca.”

There was a chasm between us. I studied my lap as the bitterness stung my throat. Even though Nic had never owed me anything, I felt betrayed, wounded by the truth of his character, and afraid of the feelings that still lingered for him deep down in spite of it.

I thought about leaving again. As if sensing my unease, he slid onto the couch beside me so that his leg brushed against my bare thigh, and I felt charged by his nearness. He rested his elbows on his knees and turned so that all I could focus on was the passion in his voice and the fire in his eyes. “Do you think Robbie Stenson would have never tried to hurt someone again just because his attempt didn’t work on you?” he asked, his voice subdued. “Because I don’t. Someone had to put him in his place before he did what he tried to do to you to someone else. Someone who might not have been as lucky as you were. This is the kind of thing we do, Sophie.”

“What do you mean, the kind of thing you do?” I reeled. “Are you trying to tell me your family is some sort of self-righteous vigilante force?”

Nic laughed unexpectedly; it was a foreign, misplaced reaction, and I wondered how he could be so lighthearted considering what we were talking about. “When we decide to combat a certain problem, we don’t do it within the confines of the law. For us, it’s that simple. There’s an entire underworld of crime that can’t be accessed by the police. Criminals who won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in the way of profit — the kind of people who have more judges and lawyers in their pockets than cash. They don’t play by the rules. They’re the kind of things we deal with.”

I fell back against the couch, groaning under the weight of everything I was being asked to understand. “But why do you go after people at all? What does it have to do with you?”

Nic dropped his voice, and quietly, like he was revealing a great and terrible secret, he said, “This has everything to do with us, Sophie. It’s in our blood.”

“The same way managing the diner is in my blood?” I would have laughed if I wasn’t so full of horror.

“Sort of.” Nic smiled. “My people are descended from Sicily. From the very beginning every member of my family has been born into the Mafia. Not inducted. Born. For us there is no other choice, no alternate way to live.”

I felt a pang of uneasiness in my stomach. Did that mean he was stuck in this life? Did being a Falcone mean he was destined to kill, the same way being a Gracewell made me bad at math? How was that even possible?

He continued, undaunted by my silence. “The Falcone traditions are unique, our membership confined to blood, and our actions informed by honor and solidarity. We are on earth to make the world a better place. We give everything for the family, and in turn, everything in the pursuit of good.”

“That’s all very poetic,” I said after a moment of consideration. “But when are you going to explain the killing part?”