Page 10

10

Andre

“W e need to talk,” I inform Creed when I burst into his office the day before my wedding. I’ve had nagging thoughts for days, my mind coming up with all the ways this marriage could blow up in my face.

“You’ve got cold feet?” he asks from behind his desk.

“No. It doesn’t have anything to do with the wedding. It’s a loose end with the Bertellis and the Rovinas that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. One that could ruin everything.”

“A loose end?” he repeats as I take a seat in one of the chairs before his desk.

“Emilio told Zara Bowen Bertelli was involved in setting us up at the club, in getting Carmine killed, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what he told her.”

“So, should we be concerned about Bowen telling his father or Saint we might have something to do with Izaiah and Emilio’s deaths?”

Creed considers that for a moment while his fingers tap on the top of his desk. “I doubt Bowen would own up to making that big of a fucking mess with his father. What does he have to gain from pointing a finger at us?”

“I don’t know. The same thing he wanted when he tried to help Izaiah take us out?”

“You think he wants us out of the way so he can take over? What about his father? Weston’s still running things in their family.”

“But he’s getting older. Bowen knows he’ll be his heir, since Serafina is adopted and female. You don’t think there’s any way Weston put Bowen up to the raid, do you?”

“No,” Creed answers without hesitation. “That’s not how a man who runs a hitman-for-hire organization does business. If Weston wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. That’s how I know he wasn’t involved.”

“So, you think because Bowen went behind his father’s back that he won’t confess to being involved or share his theories on Emilio and Izaiah’s deaths for fear of Weston’s wrath?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” I sit back against the chair, calming a little. “But what’s to stop Bowen from going to Saint?”

“The same thing — Bowen’s father’s wrath for being a shit stirrer, making the family look bad.”

“I don’t like that he’s a loose thread. One that could unravel everything we’re trying to do here with the Rovinas.”

“You really think he’ll run his mouth and ruin your shot with Stella?”

“Yes! Bowen is one of a handful of people who could accuse us of being involved in Emilio’s death and Izaiah’s disappearance. There’s nothing for him to lose by telling Saint he was involved with Izaiah in the raid.”

When Creed strokes his bearded chin, I know I’m not just being paranoid. No, he’s starting to look concerned too.

“After things settle with the wedding, we’ll handle Bowen,” he declares.

My shoulders slump in relief. “Yes. Thank you. Not only does he deserve to die for the role he played in getting Carmine killed, but he’s the one person we can’t trust not to run to Saint and ruin our alliance.”

“Taking out Bowen could save us from a bloody war,” Creed agrees. “And that asshole belongs in the bottom of the ocean with Izaiah for killing my brother.”

“Agreed. Let me know if you need my help.”

“It’ll have to look like an accident. One that won’t come back to bite us in the ass. I do not want to start a war with Weston Bertelli. He’s a good man who never threatened the Ferraros for the top spot, even though he’s possibly the only one who could pull it off.”

“Why hasn’t he?” I ask, curious.

“No clue. Maybe because he wants to keep a low profile for his business interests, or he doesn’t want the responsibility. Either way, we’re lucky he’s running things in the Bronx. Once Bowen is out of the picture, maybe he’ll make Serafina his heir and say to hell with the patriarchy. But if there’s even a whisper that we were involved in him losing his only son, there will be hell to pay, and it’ll cost us dearly.”

“I’ll think on it after the wedding.”

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ve been so busy with Zara and the baby…”

“I get it. And we’ll get Bowen,” I promise him before leaving his office.

* * *

Stella

I can’t believe in a few short weeks my sister was able to make all the arrangements for a rather large wedding and reception.

Soon, way too soon, I’m waking up on the big day.

There’s a cloud of dread hanging over me.

I remind myself of all the reasons why I agreed to this marriage, but even those things don’t seem to help.

Why should I be the one to make such a giant sacrifice for the family? Why can’t Saint find the money somewhere else?

Right, because two hundred million dollars is so easy to obtain.

Besides, my mom and Cami are so excited about this wedding that I think they would be disappointed if I bailed.

Worried about how my mom is holding up, I check in on her before I begin getting ready. I figure she’ll be sound asleep in bed, but I feel better when I see her and am able to watch the rise and fall of her chest. It makes the pain in mine lessen for a few minutes.

I know she’s suffering, that she’s ready for the end, but I’m not because I’m selfish. I’m just not ready to let her go. I probably never will be, though.

At least I can give her the illusion I’m marrying a man I love before I lose her.

Time to put on my fake, happy smile. It’s firmly in place when I step into her room, then abruptly falls when my jaw literally drops. I’m certain I must be dreaming.

Not only is my Mom awake, but she’s also out of bed, sitting at the vanity while some strange woman combs her hair.

“What are you doing? How?” I ask, unable to believe my eyes.

Mom turns and smiles at me over her shoulder. I’m not sure if it’s the makeup or what, but her face is slightly less gaunt and her eyes more lively than I’ve seen in months, since before my brother disappeared and father died.

“It’s your big day! I want to look my best.”

“You’re coming? To the wedding? The outdoor winter wedding?”

Facing forward again so the hairdresser can do her job, my mom waves a dismissive hand. “Cami said the ceremony will be short and sweet. I’ll wear a heavy coat, scarf, and hat. Janet here is going to fix up my hair for just that.”

“Are you sure, though? The high today is only forty-six degrees.”

“Of course, I’m sure, honey. I wouldn’t miss your wedding day for the world!”

“Oh…okay.”

“Aren’t you excited?”

“So excited,” I lie rather than tell her I was racking my brain, trying to figure out a way to make a quick two hundred million.

“Is everything okay?” Mom catches my eye in the mirror, most likely seeing the conflicting emotions on my face.

“Yeah, just a little bit of cold feet. Mostly, I don’t want yours to get cold.”

“I’ll be fine. And all you have to do today is sit and let everyone make you and your day beautiful, then walk down the aisle on Saint’s arm.”

“Right.” I fake a smile. “I’m glad you’ll be there, if you’re sure you won’t be overdoing it? Maybe we should ask one of your doctors…”

“I don’t need my doctor’s permission to go to my daughter’s wedding,” Mom huffs. “I’ll stay for the reception long enough to see your first dance and get a piece of cake, then I’ll come straight home.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” I agree.

“Nothing will stop me from seeing you get married.”

Her comment reminds me of what Saint said about my father trying to arrange a marriage when I was young. “Did you convince Daddy not to make me marry Cecilio Ferraro twelve years ago?”

“Well…I had forgotten all about that,” she replies after a moment of thought. “But I do remember your father getting all worked up about an alliance with Ferraro. I didn’t understand why he wanted you to marry the father instead of his son, who was only a handful of years older than you. Thankfully, that cruel bastard died not long after your father brought it up.”

“Yes, thankfully.” I had no idea I was so close to being stuck in such a god-awful arrangement. I can’t suppress my shudder from the thought of having to wake up in that old man’s bed or endure him climbing on top of me.

My pajama top suddenly feels too tight around my throat. I tug on the buttons to try to alleviate the pressure, then have to unbutton it all together to get any relief.

Unsure what to do with myself, I return to my room and run into Cami. My sister is already dolled up, hair styled, makeup done, and wearing a pink satin robe. “There you are! Sabrina and Kandice are looking for you. You’re up next and…you” — Her gaze travels up the length of my pajamas and then my unbrushed hair before she shakes her head, swishing her perfect curls over her shoulders — “You haven’t even showered yet, have you?”

“I’m on my way to do just that. I’ll make it fast.”

She grabs my arm and drags me past my room and into the bathroom as if she’s worried I’ll get sidetracked. “Good, because it’s going to take them twice as long with you as they took with me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I huff.

“It’s your day. You’re the one everybody will be looking at, so your hair will be more complicated and your makeup a little heavier.”

“Right. So that wasn’t a remark about how I’m older and uglier than you?”

“You may be older, but you’re not uglier, sis.” She grins. “Now hop in the shower. I’ll show them into your room so they can get set up.”

“Okay.” When she starts to hurry off, I tell her, “Thanks, Cami, for your help with everything.”

She stops and turns around, giving me a sad smile. “I know you haven’t been thrilled about this wedding, and that you’re only doing it for whatever schemes Saint is up to and for mom.”

“How did you…”

“Because I’m your sister! I don’t have to be your twin to know you haven’t fallen in love with a guy who just so happens to be the second in line to the most powerful family in the city. Right?”

I give her a nod but don’t elaborate on what Saint wants from the family.

“I also know if you hadn’t agreed to the wedding, it would’ve landed on my shoulders. So…thank you for protecting me. I can never repay you, but I hope planning your wedding is a start.”

“You don’t have to repay me for anything,” I assure her. “And I appreciate all your help. Just…please don’t tell Mom.”

“God, no! Besides, even if someone let it slip, she’s convinced you’re in love with the hot mobster attorney. At least he’s nice to look at. You could do worse as far as arrangements go.”

No kidding.

I don’t mention how our father nearly forced me to marry Cecilio fucking Ferraro, when I was twenty-one and he was in his late forties or early fifties.

“Would you marry Andre?” I can’t help but blurt out.

She bites her bottom lip as she thinks about it. “Maybe. I don’t know. To see Mom out of bed, probably. Same as you. But it all worked out, since Andre Ferraro wouldn’t have wanted to marry me anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because that man has had it bad for you for years. I think you’ve maybe had an interest in him, too, but you wouldn’t let yourself admit it. The insults and throwing drinks in his face was a nice act, though.”

“I really do hate the Ferraros.”

“Then you’re on your way to loving him already,” she remarks.

“What?”

“That line between love and hate is so thin, it won’t take much for you to cross over.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Why not? The emotions are basically the same. Love and hate both cause you to be obsessed and think about the other person constantly, whether you want to or not. In fact, I think the only difference is one forgives fuckups and the other holds grudges.”

“I’m certain it’s more complicated than that. Not that either of us have any experience with love.”

“True. But we saw Mom and Dad together. There’s no doubt they loved each other, right?”

“Yes, of course they did. Losing Daddy nearly killed Mom,” I whisper.

“And Daddy wasn’t even close to being the perfect man or perfect husband. He wasn’t a good man to anyone but us. He made mistakes, likely more than we even know about, but Mom always chose to forgive him, to love him no matter what he did. That is love.”

I don’t tell my sister, but I think maybe she’s right.

Hating someone is just holding a grudge you can’t let go of, while loving them is being able to accept them as they are, flaws and all.

But there are some things that are impossible to ever forgive.