Page 64 of Vicious Secrets
“I can’t tell Siro the truth, Robyn. I— We need you too. He deserves to know,” Tiff says with a sniffle. “And he has to protect himself from this evil.”
A tremor starts in my chest and runs down my arms. My joints shake hard enough to contract and flex like someones testing my reflexes.
“Tiff... what-what is this?” My mouth dries, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I know what I’m looking at.
“Reg is not Siro’s father—there’s an old photocopy of a paternity test somewhere in your hand. And the Bratva don’t want the secret exposed.”
I throw the stack of documents back into the metal box with enough force to create aclangthat echoes across the stone balcony. My chin snaps up as my spine goes ramrod straight. I don’t know what to do with my hands. They bounce between fisting in my yoga pants and clutching the edge of the chair.
The information is rudimentary, but I’m struggling to wrap my mind around it.
Tiff lifts her head up and looks at me. “Renzo told me weeks ago that Reg has never not considered Siro as his heir. My heart tells me Siro’s paternity wouldn’t have spared him from most of his upbringing. But it might have lessened what drives him to constantly prove himself.”
“You think Reg knew?”
She nods. “Knowing and believing are two different things. And someone gave Renzo the paternity test. I don’t think it was the Bratva or Carista.”
I shake my limbs out as a chill runs through me. “Okay, right. Great. Um, Siro’s either going to fly into a rage or demand more information. So, two things I need—proof he’s not a Dirosa by blood and proof the Bratva don’t want the secret to get out.”
Tiff crosses and uncrosses her legs. One of her knees bounces as she eyes the box. She shivers and rubs her upper arms. “One of the Bratva called me after they killed Renzo. He told me why, and that this secret would cause an uprising that would fracture both sides. Then he got flustered with me when I couldn’t answer a question I didn’t fucking understand and hung up.”
Tiff presses one hand to her mouth and the other over her heart. “I didn’t believe it. I thought he was fucking with us. Then I saw the paternity test.”
The glass sliding door opens, and Ari steps out. Wet blonde strands cling to the crown of his head while dry patches frizz around them. His gray jeans and white t-shirt stick to damp patches of skin. As he approaches, I see shallow scrapes on his hands, and his fingernails are torn. Did he pry up the floorboards by hand?
He sits down next to Tiff with a few inches between their thighs and puts his hands on his knees. The stiffness in his arms tells me he’s having the same “I don’t know what to do with my hands” problem that I’m also suffering from.
“Thank you, Tiff. And Ari.” I smile at the enforcer. He eyes me but looks too exhausted to react, like he’s only awake and upright for Tiff’s sake. “I’ll go tell him now.”
“If Siro wants to swing at someone, Vittore’s prepared to take a punch. Leave the door cracked so you can yell for him.”
“Who knows the truth?” I ask and point at the box.
“Us, plus Vittore, Danny, and Fabi. Alic knows the guy on the phone taunted Tiff with nonsense. In fairness, Alic didn’t have time to collect details before Siro and I flew off the handle,” Ari says through tight lips.
I stand up and smooth my hands over my front. I nod my thanks and force one foot in front of the other.
“Hey, come here. I’ve got you, and Siro’s got Robyn. We’ll be alright,” Ari says in a soft voice.
I cast a glance over at them as I open the slider. Tiff leans against Ari. He has an arm around her and rests his temple against the top of her head.
In the living room, I pass a quiet yet jittery Vittore. He’s sitting on the sectional, his eyes on the vaulted ceiling and his knees bouncing. Fabi leans against the entryway to the kitchen, and his eyes follow me as I cross the room.
“I’m going to tell him now. I’ll leave the door cracked in case I need to call for help.”
Both men nod. Vittore slumps down, fisting his fingers in his hair as he presses his palms into his eye sockets.
I try to walk calmly, but my legs itch with an urge to run. They want to propel me into the bedroom so I can unleash a word salad on my husband.
Instead, I calmly step into the room and turn to face Siro as I close the door behind me. He’s doing exactly what I asked—lying in bed under the covers.
“How do you feel?” I ask, my lips stick together as I speak.
“Sore, tired, restless. The usual, really.” He lets out a short laugh. “You look like death warmed over.”
I wring my hands together as I move closer to him. As I take a seat on the edge of the bed near his hips, Siro sits up. I don’t have the heart to chastise him for doing so.
“It’s not Vittore or Alic’s fault. I made the decision to hide my injuries. I made the decision to raid the warehouse immediately.”
