She shook her head, not hearing me at all, her face scrunched up in confusion.

I noticed the book on the floor beside her then. The book of the great Benedetti family. Our family crest—no, not fucking ours! When the fuck would I get that into my head? When the fuck would I stop calling it mine?

“You knew all along,” she muttered. She looked up, her eyes red and puffy.

But I had to look at the book again. At the open page. At Franco and my mother, standing there holding their second born, Salvatore. Sergio standing beside them, his hand in his father’s. Dark wood paneled the background, and above it a painting of the damned crest. Franco stood taller, straighter, his face beaming, so fucking proud. The perfect fucking family.

“The blood, it’s when you tried to kill your brother.”

Her words broke into my thoughts. Forced me to hear.

“You think no one knows, but we all know. I should have recognized the names.”

I turned my gaze to hers. I had no defense.

“You must have thought me pretty stupid, huh?” she asked.

“No.”

“You’re sick, Dominic. You’re a sick, sick bastard.”

I felt myself go still, my chest tightening. She was right. Every word she said, truth. My guilt must have been etched on my face, because Gia reached out a hand to shove me backward.

“You’re a hate-filled monster.”

She rose onto unsteady feet, and I followed, shaking my head but unable to speak, stepping closer to her as she pounded a fist against my chest.

“Sick.”

I shoved her against the wall and closed my mouth over hers. It wasn’t a kiss, it was to shut her up. I would eat her words, so I wouldn’t have to hear them. Because what she said was true. I didn’t deny the facts. But to have someone say them. To have her say them—

Her hands came to either side of my head, and she tugged at my hair, her body yielding just a little even as she tried to push me off. She turned her face to the side and spit, as if the taste of me repulsed her.

“You’re a murderer.”

I gripped her jaw and forced her face back to mine, looking at her, holding it tight enough she couldn’t speak. I then wrapped one hand around her waist and lifted her, carrying her the few steps to the table, laying her on her back.

“Shut up,” I said as I moved my hands to undo the buttons of her jeans.

“You betrayed your family.”

“I said shut the fuck up.” I tugged them and her panties down.

She grunted, pushing herself upright. Her hand came up, and she slapped me hard.

“What do they do to those who betray their own family?” she hissed. “A snitch loses his tongue. What do you lose?”

Everything. Every fucking thing.