Page 124 of The Viper's Wife

Speak of the devil.

I park across the street and walk toward Salvatore,stuffing my hands into my pockets and bowing to shield myself against the bitter mist spraying my face. Pockets of grey slush line the streets, reflecting the bleak sky above. No wonder Valeria’s been so listless. She deserves sunshine and balmy weather, not this depressing shit.

As soon as I approach, Salvatore strides down the sidewalk, demanding without words that I follow him.

There’s no pride to swallow as I trail behind. Power plays only work if you have an ego to protect, and I’d get on all fours and bark like a dog if it meant I could get back to Valeria sooner.

The cold gnaws at my exposed skin and worms through my fractured rib as we walk in silence until, eventually, he talks.

“We have the details of the drive-by.”

We pass an auto repair shop where some poor bastard huddles outside, failing to light a cigarette as a cold gust of wind whips away the flame.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve smoked a cigarette. Guess I swapped out one addiction for another, this one with red lips and a scowl.

“And?”

“Giovanni contracted those men. The pakhan claims he has no involvement in this, but we have videos of Giovanni and him meeting in secret.”

“Giovanni’s trying to start a war?” Giovanni—and by extension, my father—might have plotted the drive-by to scare me, but the Russians shooting at the New York don’s children and wife carries broader consequences.

“Potentially.” We walk down the sidewalk a while longer until Salvatore adds, “They could be scheming for an additional outcome.”

“Like what?”

“Ottavio”—Salvatore says our father’s name like he’s tasting poison—“has expressed his frustrations that you have not been fully participating in the Family business. He might feel that an enemy would be better motivation for you than a wife.”

I nearly stop in my tracks, only forcing myself to stumble forward to stay alongside Salvatore. “What are you saying?”

“If you loved her and a group of Russians killed her, what would you do?”

Rain hits my face like the spray of blood.

I’d kill them all.

I don’t need to say it—Salvatore knows. As much as we hate to admit it, we’re cut from the same cloth in that way.

“That doesn’t make any sense. If Father wanted her to be dead, she’d be dead.” Fear lances through my chest, puncturing my lungs and heart with a single blow. How many opportunities has Giovanni had? Stefano?

I thought—I assumed—that Father understood losing Valeria would be the final nail in the coffin to our relationship. That if I lost her, he’d lose me, but what have I always been to him if not a disappointment? He wouldn’t care if I rejected him. Maybe he’d kill me too and finally rid himself of his embarrassment of a son.

“What’s more motivating than the loss of a wife?” Salvatore’s tone is almost gentle.

It dawns on me.

It’s exactly what he’s been pushing and threatening Valeria to do. He wants her pregnant.

“Losing a wife… and a child,” I say. My vision narrows. Blood pounds in my ears. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Even Father isn’t that deranged.”

“He’s dying,” Salvatore says dryly. “He’ll do what needs to be done if it ensures you’re properly motivated to preservehis legacy. He’s lost a wife and a son. It could be that he believes you need the same.”

Salvatore’s mother and little brother, Matteo.

I’d never met either, but Father spoke of them when he was drunk. He said he hated Salvatore’s mother for leaving. He branded her, Matteo, and Salvatore as traitors. And he toasted to her and Matteo’s deaths more than a decade ago.

But he keeps a picture tucked into the Bible in his office library—a worn photo of Salvatore’s mother holding baby Matteo while a boy Salvatore stood solemnly at her side. Her face was faded, like a finger had been passed over it hundreds of times.

Hate and love—and a hunger for both passed down in the blood like a disease.