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26

GLORIA

“ G loria, what have you done?”

“I had to, Sandra. I’m sorry,” I reply, bowing my head in shame.

“This is the worst, most horrifying, mortifying, thing that’s happened to me in years.”

“And it’s only going to get worse.”

Two bright-red, bulging pouches swing back our way, the tan, rippling muscles above and below them bumping to the beat of the blasting speakers in the party bus.

The most trashy. Sparkly. Oil-drenched stripper-packed bus in the history of sleaze.

“Come on Gloria! Put a dollar in his thong!” Lita laughs, licking the stomach of one air humping blonde.

“Better, grab that thang and give it a squeeze!” Tanya squeals, chugging another glass of bubbly. “Get you some girl! Before you have to keep it a secret from your husband!”

“Non-stop cock ’til we drop!” Lita screams, holding up a thousand-dollar bottle and spraying her immediate area with the foam.

At least it’s entertaining.

“Is there such a thing as too much cock?” Sandra mutters just loud enough for me to hear, her eyes widening as two hammocks swing dangerously close to her face.

“This is the definition of too much cock,” I snort, pretending to sip my drink and pretending to dance just enough to keep the hags from hassling me. Thank goodness he didn’t say anything to them at the restaurant.

Not that I don’t appreciate the effort. I might even enjoy doing something like this if it wasn’t planned and executed by Dom’s hand-picked gaggle of mob wives and daughters, who kidnapped me from having lunch with him.

A plan he helped put in place before he knew what I was going to announce to him over the bottle of wine he ordered at Le Bernadin. A bottle he didn’t fail to mention cost $500. Fortunately, he was so overjoyed by the news of my pregnancy that he overlooked the fact that I didn’t and couldn’t have any.

Sadly, it didn’t get me out of the silicone press gang that burst in a few minutes later to drag me to this strawberry-body-spray-scented hell.

“I will never be able to make this up to you, huh?”

“Oh you will. It just might take the rest of our lives.”

Ha. Little does she know that my life might not last much longer than it takes Dom to figure out I’m not really pregnant.

The first stop on our tour-de-slut is an upscale bar club in midtown.

At least it’s a break from the confines of the bus.

A few dances and a dozen guys trying to hit on us later, and we’re right back at it, cruising to another locale. I have to give them credit. These girls know how to live it up.

Of course, that’s kind of all they do, from what I’ve gathered.

Socialite seems to be the number one job of every mob-related woman.

Two more stops later, and Sandra’s giggling a little, giving over to some of the wacky games. Mostly to egg the other women on, daring them to more tawdry feats.

Tanya doing a champagne stand on two naked men’s backs will forever be ingrained in my memory as a highlight of the evening.

Only because the bus stopped abruptly, sending her flying into a face full of man meat headfirst.

A phone call and rendezvous with an ambulance later, the gals shouted for the driver to take us to the “Grand Finale” location.

Where they promptly forgot I existed or was the focus of this fiasco.

Slumping back on the bench at the back of the bus, Sandra downs her glass of rosé and lets her head fall to the side, giving me a look.

“That. Was?—”

“My future.”

“Oh, Glow, don’t say that. Adriano won’t ever expect you to be like them.”

“I hope not.” I wish I could tell her everything that happened.

But it’s enough that she was willing to come.

“I never got the chance to apologize,” Sandra bites her lip, looking down.

“You don’t have to. I overreacted. It’s not your fault that your business is where it is. Or that I am marrying into the family that runs the whole fucking city.”

“It’s not that bad. Or it wasn’t until recently.”

All thanks to my father.

“I’m scared, Sandra.”

“Everyone gets cold feet, Gloria.”

“It feels more like concrete shoes than cold feet.”

Sandra snorts, covering her mouth. “I know I don’t know the whole story. Including where you disappeared to for a week. But from everything you have told me, Adriano really does care about you. Talk to him. Maybe he’ll postpone the wedding, or you can work something out.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“I’m your wedding planner. I can move the date, reschedule everything.”

I smile sadly at her efforts.

“No refund on the deposit if you cancel this thing, though. Girl’s gotta live.”

We giggle a bit at her snippy comment, fading into silence again, the bus strangely quiet. Too quiet.

“I wish it were that easy, but it’s my dad that I’m worried most about. He’s?—”

The bus lurches forward suddenly, the door snapping shut.

“Hey! What the fuck, man!”

“We’re still back here!”

The black glass door to the front is closed.

And the bus accelerates, slamming us back into our seats and scattering glasses and bottles. Veering to the right, then back left, we scramble for something to grab onto, the two of us sliding wildly with the momentum, out of control. On a straightaway, I lunge for one of the stripper poles and manage to keep myself upright, making my way slowly forward.

I have to get to my purse, to my phone, stashed in the closet near the front.

Reaching the front, I’m almost thrown from my feet again as the bus screeches to a halt, thumping my shoulder into the glass door painfully. Sandra yelps behind me, crashing to the floor of the bus.

“You okay?!”

“Yeah, just pissed off! What the fuck is going on?”

Our question is answered as the glass door slides open, revealing the driver, a bull of a man with slicked back hair, a beard. Not the man that picked us up.

They must have switched at some point along our route.

That realization is only a fleeting thought as he steps closer, snatching at my dress and yanking me toward him viciously.

“No!” I scream, hammering my elbow into his chest with a resounding thud.

I might as well have punched a brick wall.

It did, however, get me out of his grip long enough to back up, make a run for the door. Two steps into my escape I’m launched across the cabin, my back on fire with the agony of his boot print.

“Gloria!” Sandra yells, rushing the massive brute, swinging a bottle at his head. He swats her aside like a ragdoll, shattering one of the blacked-out windows. Leaving Sandra in a crumpled heap on the leather bench.

“Sandra!” I cry, dragging myself back to my feet slowly, painfully.

Her lack of response blasts through me, terror flushing my body with adrenaline. Reaching for the nearest object behind me, I cut my finger on the broken champagne flute, the prick of the razor glass barely phasing me.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” the gorilla growls, his voice disturbingly calm.

“It’s my fucking party, and I’ll only die if I want to!” I grit out right as he reaches for me again, ramming the glass full force into his face.

“Ah! You cunt!” he screams, stumbling back, tripping over a purple leather handbag that fell out of the closet on the chaotic drive here.

I take my chance, dashing for the door, scooping up the bag and jamming my fingers into the door, cranking it open with every bit of my panicked strength. Outside it’s dark, the only sound I can make out is the lap of water nearby.

Behind me, our would-be assassin is gaining his feet, stomping after me.

If I can lead him away from Sandra, maybe I can get the drop on him, keep him from hurting her long enough for?—

Ten feet into my mad dash, something clips me in the shoulder, sending me toppling into the pavement, roaring as gravel gashes into my knees. A rushing hiss of blood fills my ears, dizzying, disorienting.

I have to get up, I have to?—

A hand clamps down on my ankle.

No!

Kicking, screaming, and clawing, I ram my fists against the arms and chest smashing me into the ground, pinning my legs. My arms jerk up in front of my face just in time to take the brunt of a devastating blow from my assailant, but the impact stuns me, knocks the wind out of me.

Gasping, blinded, I brace for the end, for the final blow.

He backs off, gravel crunching as he stands.

I hear him huffing and puffing, growling with every breath.

Just before I hear the click of a gun hammer.

“Not that you’ll be alive to tell him, but this is a gift to your father. Courtesy of Vito Carlote.”

A feral scream is the only warning he gets before a ball of bleeding bitch latches onto his back, tearing at his bloody face, stabbing into his chest with a dick-shaped party favor. Sandra bites down on his ear as he reaches back to throw her off of him and I watch in horror as he flings her body over his shoulder, sending Sandra soaring ten feet through the air, a trail of blood spraying behind her.

“God dammit!” he roars, slapping a hand to his ravaged ear.

The ogre glares down at me, his teeth bared, blood and spittle frothing from his lips. His hand drops from his ear, reaching for a blade tucked into his belt.

He’s going to mutilate me.

Torture me before he kills me.

In that second that lasts for minutes to my perception, I see another face, someone else’s eyes. Calm. Steady. Always steady.

Adriano.

I wish he was here.

But he isn’t. And my best friend is going to die if I don’t do something.

In my addled haze, the slow-motion fugue of the violent pause, I look down, into the purse laying beside me, my fingers wrapped around something cold and metal inside the bag.

A pop snaps in my head, almost audible in my ears.

Everything goes still.

Deadly still in my mind.

I lock eyes with the brute as he bends down, raising his blade and grabbing me by the neck, pulling me close. His breath reeks as he gets right in my face.

Right where I need him.

“Die, Vipera bitch.”

His grip tightens, the dagger flips in his fingers, ready to plunge into me.

“I’m a fucking Diamante,” I choke out.

And jam the barrel of Lita’s .38 right into his mouth, squeezing with all of my might.