Page 33

“Are they?” My wrists ache under the weight of the fabric book she places in my hands. “Is Dad exactly like his reputation?”

Bianca pauses between me and the table filled with catalogs of flower arrangements and sighs. “We both know what your father is like.”

“Exactly, and his reputation isn’t entirely true. The same can be said for Roman.”

“But darling…” She turns to face me with tears swimming in her eyes, and my heart immediately lurches.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I dreamed of such a magical wedding for you, with a decent man that we thought was a good match. And then your father picks someone we’ve been at war with for years.” She presses her fingertips to her mouth and shakes her head. “It’s not how I dreamed this at all.”

Moving to the table, I set the book down over the other catalogs and take her outstretched hand. “Trust me, it’s not what I want either.” Although for different reasons. I don’t want to marry Roman any more than I want to marry whichever random man they choose for me. I want to find my savior and marry him instead.

“Perhaps we can talk to your father.” She places one hand over mine and squeezes, blinking away her tears. “He might listen if we both speak to him.”

Memories of listening to the Mancinis talking about killing us burst to the forefront of my mind. If I tell her the truth, will she be more understanding? Doubtful. Despite her irritation with my father, I know she will tell him everything, and then he will try to find a way to twist this situation into wiping out the Gattis. He won’t believe that both of our heads are on the chopping block and this marriage is the only way we can keep everyone alive.

Enemies included.

“Mom, think about it. I have to marry someone, right? You said yourself that we’re worn thin. Marrying Roman takes one war off the table, which means Father will be able to focus on other things. Isn’t that something you want? You’d be able to spend more time together if he wasn’t so focused on fighting, right?”

Bianca sighs deeply as if she’s reminiscing. “You don’t know your father like I do,” she says, patting the back of my hand. “He will just look for another project.”

A flash of sadness enters her eyes when our gazes meet, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m seeing a hint of my real mother. Not her floaty moods, her wandering mind, or her fluctuating emotions. That sadness is honest and real, and my heart clenches.

“I want to sit in on the meeting with Father, you know I’ve been pushing for a meeting with the Yakuza for a long time, and he’s finally giving me an answer,” I say gently. “But I value your thoughts on the wedding. There’s more to think about than I could ever imagine, and I would be honored if you would lead the planning for me.”

“Really?” The sadness vanishes in an instant, replaced by utter delight. “But I will still need your input, darling.”

“You know what I like,” I say with a smile. “I trust you.” It’s a half-truth. We differ a lot in fashion at times, but this wedding is a means to an end, so I don’t care about any of the details. Plus, giving her something to focus on will surely keep her mind off of everything else.

“Oh Jasmine, you’re going to look so utterly radiant that Roman won’t know what hit him!”

“See? That’s the excitement we need at this wedding.”

Laughter comes easily after that, and I spend twenty minutes appeasing my mother by poring over place cards and cake designs until a guard gently alerts me to the meeting my father is hosting. Despite Bianca’s pleas to stay, I kiss her cheek and scurry away to my father. This meeting is important. I haven’t been clued in on all the details, but he did tell me it’s my answer to my Yakuza requests. To him, I’m looking out for the family’s interests, but my real desire to meet with the Yakuza remains hidden.

Unfortunately, the meeting is incredibly brief, and my father merely states that Alto Gatti is to attend a meeting with theYakuza as a show of good faith between us and the Gattis, to present terms and bring this whole mess with them to an end.

A face-to-face meeting with the Yakuza.

I have to be there.

What if my mystery savior is there? Would I even recognize him? Those tattoos are burned into my mind and so ingrained in my everyday thoughts that it would be terribly painful if Ididn’t, which means I have to be there. Any contact with the Yakuza is something I need to be a part of.

Securing Alto’s number is easy, and he answers on the third ring as I wander through a greenhouse filled to the roof with more plants than I could ever name.

“Who’s this?” Alto barks down the line.

“Do you answer all your calls like this?” I ask, my gut clenching faintly at the sharp irritation in his tone.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Fucking hell, it’s me, Jasmine Falzone.”

“Oh.” Alto’s tone changes immediately. “Sorry, didn’t have your number.”

“Clearly.”