Lorenzo loosened his grip a fraction.
“I don’t understand.” She gulped a breath of air.
Fin kept his hand in a halting motion but remained silent.
“Oh, dear girl.” Reveling in the moment, Vito grinned a sinister smile. “Your mother was a cheating little whore, but she got her dues.”
It felt like the ground swallowed her whole, and Sacha focused on taking another deep breath.I must’ve misheard him.
“No.” Her hands clenched her skirt. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear his explanation but was compelled regardless. “Whatexactlyare you saying?”
Dead, brown eyes landed on her face. “I took care of her.” Her father even sounded like a corpse. “The car wreck was for show. She embarrassed me one too many times.”
“Babbo, no. You didn’t.” Agony tore inside her chest, and she wanted to scream the pain into the sky. “Couldn’t . . .”
Her eyes met Fin’s, and something unspoken passed between them. Longing, sorrow, or resolve—she wasn’t sure.
A red stare narrowed on Vito. “She fell in love with my father because she knew affection was something you were incapable of.” The forefinger of his other hand pointed at the older man, and he met her eyes again.
He wore the ring on his finger now, instead of around his neck, and the little pea glowed with light. “Vito not only killed your mother, little Princess”—his attention shifted to her father, but he continued to speak to Sacha—“At his command, his men held me down, andViciousVito Ninnette, King of Chicago’s infamousCosa Nostra, inflicted his rage on the face and chest of a helpless teenage boy.” Fin spit in Vito’s direction. “After the torture, he left me for dead and murdered my father.” The movement pulled the skin of his cheekbones tight and clouded his face. “Such amightyman.”
It felt like Sacha’s heart drained of blood, becoming a dry, shriveled, empty vessel.
Surely, my own father wouldn’t—couldn’t—have done all these evil, vile things.
“Is this true,Babbo?”
“I should’ve finished the job.” Vito’s fingers twitched and moved toward his waist.
“Don’t even think about it,” Fin whispered.
They stilled at Fin’s words. “What’re you gonna do? Shoot your fancy light again? You’re nothing but an illusionist, a charlatan, a snake-oil salesman like your pathetic little daddy.”
The corners of Fin’s eyes narrowed at the man’s words. He threw a quick glance to Sacha, and something like sorrow sparked in their depths. His arms trembled, and it seemed as if he wrestled with trying to control himself.
“No, Fin.” She shook her head. “It’s not worth it.”
“You wanna know what your father’s last words were before being dropped into the lake”—his voice contained an eerie calm—“with several fifty-pound blocks of concrete?”
“Shut up.” Sacha jerked her body from Lorenzo’s loosened grip and marched in Fin’s direction. She wanted to shield him, to kiss away the downturned corners of his mouth.
“Get back here.” Lorenzo caught her wrist in a painful vise and yanked her back into the fleshy folds of his arms.
Fin’s attention bounced between both men, as if trying to decide which one was the bigger threat.
“He was quite pathetic. I’d have been embarrassed for him if I hadn’t just caught him screwing my wife.” Vito, on a roll, had no intention of shutting up. “The man cried and begged for his life. Said he couldn’t leave you alone in this world.”
“Stop.” Sacha fell to her knees. “Please.”
Through her tears, she watched Fin’s face pale and his eyes darken.
Something within her soul shattered with his torment.
“Get up.” Lorenzo yanked on her hair, but she refused to stand.
Vito’s head turned in her direction. His mouth twisted but he said nothing else.
A violent tremor shook Fin’s arms, and he let out a deep, primal yell. The metallic scrape and click of a gun sounded from her father’s direction
