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I laughed harder, wrapping my arms around my stomach. “Is that any way to talk to your fiancée, Sandro?”

His jaw clenched, and his hands descended on my shoulders. “You need to get ready.”

“Oh, are you here to make sure I’m going through with this farce of a marriage?”

“Yes.”

That one word stabbed me with so much pain, I almost folded over. Tears scalded my eyes and blurred my vision. “Well then, let’s make this perfect.”

I was going to show them what perfect was.

“You look like the bride of Dracula,” Renz croaked from the bed.

I turned away from the mirror. He insisted on sitting up while I went through the motions of getting ready for the ceremony. I’d sent away the makeup crew and told them I could do my own damned hair and makeup.

“Bummer it’s not Halloween.” I walked to his side. “How are you feeling?”

“Floating…” Even in his morphine-induced haze, I could see the pain in his glazed eyes. His lips were almost white. They’d given him a blood transfusion and had him on an IV. The wound was between his shoulder and upper chest. There was swelling around it, and he was running a low-grade fever. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he needed better care, better meds. He would have them tonight. He opened his palm, and I responded by lacing our fingers.

“Stay alive, Smurfette. Don’t do anything stupid.” He pushed those words out with effort. He winced slightly and cursed before trying to focus on me. “We’ll get you out. I swear.”

“I know. Don’t worry about me.”

A knock sounded on the door before Tommy stepped in, dressed in a formal suit and tie.

“Are you here to give me away?”

He gave a slight nod.

“Why not Sandro?” I taunted. “Then this circus would be complete.”

“He has to be elsewhere.”

“Figures.” I didn’t know whether I was relieved or hurt, but my feelings about him shouldn’t matter now. Dead to me, remember?

Renz’s grip tightened. “Say no.”

I pried my fingers from his. “It’ll be over soon.”

“Bianca…” He leaned forward. I wasn’t sure if the agony on his face was from his wound or his emotions.

“You’re going to tear your stitches.” I pushed him gently against the pillows. “Don’t make this all for nothing, Renz.”

“Damn you.” He turned a murderous glare at Tommy. “You’re all going to regret this.”

“Not your place to threaten us, baby De Lucci,” Tommy mocked.

“Don’t rile him up.” I approached the Rossi underboss.

He scrutinized my face. “You look terrible.” He didn’t look pissed, he looked amused, and a note of admiration tinged his voice. “Are you making a statement? The boss won’t be pleased.”

“Does it look like I give a fuck?” I retorted.

Tommy crooked his arm, but I didn’t take it and marched ahead, not bothering to look at the mirror on my way out. My hair was a rat’s nest. I showered, blew it dry, and tossed it in a topknot. I didn’t even bother with the veil. Every single person in the room was going to witness my misery.

I could be vindictive.

People thought I was the amiable Bianca who got along with everyone. I tried to get along with everyone because I was blessed with the best family a girl could have. I didn’t lack for love or money, and I tried to put myself in the position of the less fortunate. But make no mistake, I could be as sweet as pie or as scrappy as a junkyard dog when I needed to be. I grew up with three older brothers, and although their tendency was to spoil me, they were still boys. Playful, wicked boys who honed my skills for psychological and physical warfare.