Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(77)

“I do feel we can all be defined by more than one thing.”

“Unless you’re a killer. Then that’s pretty much all you amount to.”

“Maybe you should tell that to your father. Or to your handsome Hades, between kisses.”

If I could have jumped out of my seat and ripped his face off right then, I would have.

“In any case,” he continued in his patronizing way, “I’m just the Falcone consigliere. I offer advice, which is usually ignored. I’ll find someone more equipped to answer your question. Frankly, I’ve grown weary of your teenage sarcasm.”





I heard him before I saw him — the hardwood floors rumbled as he glided into my eyeline, his hands barely touching the wheels to make them move. He turned with a series of expert flicks and then he was facing me. His frame was narrow, but not hunched as I’d remembered; he was dressed in black pants and a crisp black button-up shirt that pulled across his shoulders. The occasion? My doom.

He shifted his left leg so that it stretched out toward me, grazing the floor. His right leg, which was bony and turned in at the hip, slumped against it so that he looked twisted from the waist down. He released his hands from the wheels and entwined his fingers in his lap. The first time I saw him, he was behind a table, coaxing the emotion from his absentee subjects and showing me a different world with his pencils. Now he was watching me through that delicate azure gaze, his lips set in a hard line.

“You wanted to see me?” That musical voice. I struggled to believe it could be the commanding force of an entire fleet of assassins.

“Valentino,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I spoke like I had known him for years, but his expression didn’t break. It was unreadable. “Please tell me this isn’t true.”

He shifted in his wheelchair, pulling himself up, and he was taller all of a sudden, his shoulders broader than before. I realized I had been a fool to think him weak. “What isn’t true?” he hummed.

“You’re the boss of this whole thing?” I said.

He raised his jet-black brows. “By ‘thing’ do you mean ‘family’?”

“Yes.”

“Is it so hard to believe?” he countered.

I leaned forward, like I was trying to pierce the invisible wall between us. “Yes. It is hard to believe.”

He tapped the right wheel of his chair with his finger. “Because of this?” There was a hint of bitterness in his response.

“No. Because you seemed so … empathetic before.”

“I am empathetic,” he replied. “It’s one of my more prevalent traits.”

“But you kill people.” My voice was wavering.

Again he tapped his chair by way of explanation. “I order kills.”

“That’s not much better.”

“It is a necessary evil for a greater good,” he answered evenly. “It is what it is.”

“Are you really going to kill me?” My voice cracked and a string of tears slid down my cheek onto my neck, dampening it uncomfortably. Still I kept my chin up. If nothing else, I would be brave.

Valentino was slow to respond. He shifted his gaze out the window. “Yes.”

“Even if Jack shows up?” I couldn’t believe what I was asking; I shouldn’t have even entertained the possibility of anyone’s life being forfeited for mine, but it turns out my survival instincts were crueler than I was.

Valentino turned back to me. He smiled, just a little. “Even then.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but a strangled cry escaped instead. Shaking, I buried my head in my bound hands and wept hard, trying to get it all out at once. I had to pull it together, to try and find a way out of this, but my shoulders were convulsing and my breathing was coming in thick gasps.

“If you would allow me to explain,” he said. I wouldn’t look at him, but his tone was entirely unaffected by my emotional meltdown. “I don’t want to be anything other than fair in this role that was given to me. I try to be as logical as I can when making decisions about life and death.”

“But you’re not fair,” I sobbed. “None of this is fair. I’m not a drug dealer! I’m just a girl!”

“A Gracewell girl. And a loose end, I’m afraid.”

He let me cry in silence, and he didn’t speak again until I finally lifted my head.

“Jack’s debt is owed because of his prolific drug activity and the destructive, far-reaching effects it has had. That much is plain to see. But your father’s debt to us is owed because of what he did to my father.”

“Your father was trying to kill him!” I shouted. I was shaking so bad I felt like I was going to combust. “Of course he defended himself! The whole thing was an accident. Even Felice admits my father didn’t do anything on purpose!”

“How do you know?” The impassive nature of Valentino’s response caught me off guard. For a laughable moment I found myself feeling foolish for reacting so violently, when he could have had this conversation the same way he would have talked if he were ordering a pizza for dinner.

“What do you mean?” The words quivered in my throat.

“How do you know your father was innocent?” he asked, studying my reaction. “How do you know your uncle didn’t confide in him? That he wasn’t prepared to do the unthinkable to defend his family?”