Page 110 of Blind Devotion

“No.” Considering his need for timeliness and order, I always thought Renzo was undiagnosed with OCD to some degree. He never would have missed his flight, and certainly not without telling me. “Someone, pass me my phone.”

One of my friends from California, who’d traveled over for the wedding, handed me my voice-operated smartphone. I tapped the screen.

“Call Renzo.”

The call rang and rang until it reached his voicemail. I tried again. Same result.

“Someone else try.” It wasn’t like my brother not to answer the phone. That thing was pretty much attached to his hand or hip, wherever his gun wasn’t, something I used to make fun of him about. Several phones rang out calls on speaker at different intervals. Each got his voicemail.

“He probably just made the next flight out and has his phone on airplane mode.”

I bobbed my head slowly at that suggestion. It sounded plausible if this were anyone besides Renzo.

A heavy knock pounded on the door.

“Persetta,” Erel called, voice muffled. “Your brother.”

Oh, thank god. I crossed the room in a rush. Thankfully, the bridal party cleared the space earlier to make sure nothing stood in my way. I opened the door, expecting something, anything, besides the sullen silence of the hotel hallway.

“Where is he?”

“Here. On the phone.”

He clapped it into my palm. I raised the device to my ear, my hand shaky.

“Renzo?”

“Ehi sorellina.” Hey, little sister. He didn’t sound injured, only annoyed.

Wherever he was, it was super loud in the background. People were jeering and yelling. Loud buzzing.

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Something came up. I’m not going to make it.”

“What the hell do you mean? You promised you were putting aside this animosity with Adrien for the sake of the wedding.”

“This has nothing to do with Adrien.Te lo giuro.” I swear. “I wish I could be there for you. I know you would be the most beautiful bride.”

Wherever he was, dozens of conversations echoed in a cacophony of jumbled words through the line.

“You’re supposed to be here to give me away.”

“I know, but I can’t.” With him being so tight-lipped about whatever the reason was, my guess was it was Cosa Nostra business. Stuff not for a woman’s ears, one of its many antiquated rules.

“When are we going to get a chance to see each other?” The day after we returned from our honeymoon in the Maldives, I started classes.

“I don’t know yet. I just wanted you to know I love you, and I wish I was there with you.” Someone called his name, deep and harsh. “I have to go. Give the phone back to Adrien’s man.”

“Renzo, I don’t under—”

“I don’t have time, Persy! Hand the phone back.”

Taken aback by his brusque tone, I handed the device back to Adrien’stémoin, his ceremony witness, since the French didn’t traditionally have bridesmaids or groomsmen. My brother was supposed to have been mine. Anger rushed through me, and I slammed the door shut. Flipping asshole men.

For a second there, Renzo almost sounded like our father—his biological father and the man who did a shit job of raising me before selling me off.

The wedding went off without a hitch. In traditional French style, Adrien met me at my suite and escorted me procession-style through the streets toward the city hall with all our guests following. Together, we cut through a sheet draped vertically in our path and walked through the window we created. We signed the marriage certificate at the town hall with our witnesses, Erel and Alizé, before saying our vows in church. And when we kissed and said our “I dos,” it was better than every fantasy I had as a girl.