Page 17

Chapter Sixteen

Sophia

“You look beautiful,” Justine says to me, fussing over my long hair, which she has been putting into an updo.

I look at my reflection. I’m pale, but the lack of color in my skin somehow makes me look starkly attractive paired with the lacy, white wedding dress that Justine and Franco somehow tracked down this morning.

My morning sickness has taken a break for the day, which is a blessing. I can’t imagine anything worse than having to run to the bathroom to vomit in the middle of the wedding ceremony. A shotgun wedding ceremony would never be improved by a puking bride.

“Are you sure about all of this?” Justine asks me. Her color is back today and I think that her renewed calm has something to do with Franco. He stayed with her all night last night. I hope he helped her to forget the horror of yesterday with some affection.

“No,” I say honestly. “But there’s nothing else that makes sense. I have to do this, whether I want to or not. I have to see this through, for all of us. I’m the only one who can keep us all safe.”

“But do you want it?” she asks me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

I know what she’s asking. Do I want Angelo? Do I want to lead the Agostini family?

The truth is that I think that I do, much to my surprise. I hate how this is all unfolding, hate that we are in danger, hate that I have to fight tooth and nail to assume my birthright.

But I still want all of it. I think I actually want to be the don of my family, and I know, with every fiber of my being, that I want Angelo. Just the sight of him this morning in the kitchen with his hand in a splint, his hair a mess, sipping his coffee, made me ache with longing.

For some reason, I don’t feel alone when I’m with him. Justine is the only other person who has ever been able to fill that gap for me. The fact that Angelo makes me feel seen and loved is a rare gift. I know I would be foolish to throw that away.

“I do want it,” I tell her. “All of it. Even the horrible parts. I don’t know what that means about me.”

Justine smiles softly. “It means you’re a tough cookie,” she says fondly, leaning over my shoulder to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

I feel a bit warmer hearing her praise. I put on some lipstick as Justine finishes her work on my hair.

“Are you going to tell Angelo about…you know?” Justine says to me, stepping back to look at her work.

“I have to, I know,” I say with a sigh. “But I want it to be the right time before I do. We have so much to worry about right now. There’s no room for one more worry. And I need to be able to do my job. No one will take me seriously if I’m pregnant, Justine.”

“I hate all the big-dick energy crap around here,” Justine says tartly, and I giggle. “Well, I do!” she insists.

“You did wonder over and over what was in the water around here,” I chide her.

“Big dick energy?” she says with a laugh. “Maybe that is what makes them all hot…and so scared of women.”

“What about Franco?” I ask her carefully, rising from my spot in front of the mirror and wandering carefully across the room to put on my shoes. Thankfully I owned a variety of white heels that were all perfect for an impromptu wedding.

She’s quiet for a moment and when I look over my shoulder at her, she’s decidedly pink. “Big dick, eh?” I quip and she dissolves into giggles.

“And how,” she agrees, pressing a hand to her mouth as she stifles her laughter.

I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t disappointed,” I say.

She shakes her head. “Not at all, but it’s more than that,” she tells me. “He’s so kind. I know he doesn’t seem that way, but he has a heart of gold hiding under all that bravado.”

A couple of weeks ago, I would have argued with her about this, but I realize that she’s right. Franco has been willing to take care of both myself and Justine for weeks now, and he hasn’t complained or shirked his duties. I know he has other things to do with his time, but he’s always around when we need him, always eager to do what is necessary.

And his loyalty to Angelo is important to me as well. I know all too well how hard it is to trust the people around you when you’re the don. Franco is entirely trustworthy and I’m grateful for it in every way.

“Come on,” I say to Justine. “Time to get this taken care of.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Justine says with a little grimace.

I laugh lightly. “Sorry. I’m just…focused on what comes next.”

“Your wedding should be special,” my friend says sadly to me. “You shouldn’t have to feel like you’re just going through the motions.”

“Maybe someday we can renew our vows at some kind of beautiful beachy location or something,” I say with a shrug. “You know me, J. I’m not a romantic, not really. I care about trust and I can trust Angelo. That’s enough for me for now.”

We make our way out into the living room and I see that Angelo has his back to us. He’s talking to the Catholic priest he has gotten to marry us. Franco, however, is looking right at us and his eyes widen with appreciation as he takes in Justine in the beautiful silky blue dress she put on.

He clears his throat and Angelo notices the sound. He turns, and his eyes land on me. His light green eyes widen in surprise and a sudden flare of heat makes my core clench with sharp desire.

The designer suit he is wearing flows over his lean, muscular frame perfectly, and his glasses make him look like some kind of computer genius or NASA engineer rather than a mafia boss. He looks good enough to eat, and my eyes travel hungrily from his long, strong legs to his broad shoulders, finally locking onto his green eyes that are filled with heat.

The priest moves to greet me, taking my hands in his slightly cold, dry fingers. “I knew your father well,” he says to me. “I christened you, as a matter of fact.” He steps back and looks at me without releasing my hands. I swear that I see tears in his eyes. “Your father would be so proud of how beautiful and strong you have grown up to be.”

I’m not religious at all, never went to church as a kid, but I appreciate the affection I can feel coming from the priest. I realize how many other people missed out on my childhood who might otherwise have been able to bear witness to it. This man is just one of the many people who still remember me fondly and who never got to see me grow up.

I ponder this, thinking of the tiny life nestled within me. Will he or she get the chance to stay in one place, to grow up safely? Will they get to know this man when they are christened? Will they play with Franco, ride bikes with Angelo, learn to bake with me?

It’s hard to imagine a normal childhood. I hope that I’m capable of being a good mother to this child.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say to the old man holding my hands. I glance over at Angelo, who is still staring at me, rooted in place by the windows.

“Come, bella ,” the priest says to me, leading me toward Angelo. “Let’s get you two kids married.”

“Oh, one moment!” Franco says abruptly, hurrying from the room.

I look at Justine, who shrugs. She’s not in the loop about whatever he has planned either, apparently.

Franco shows back up a moment later with a bouquet for each of us. To my surprise, my eyes fill with tears at the thoughtful gesture. I take the flowers and breathe deeply of their scent.

“Thank you,” I manage to say around the tightness in my throat.

“You can’t get married without flowers,” Franco says. “Or at least, that’s what my mother always said.” He clears his throat again, looking a little uncomfortable at having revealed so much about himself. Justine tucks herself in next to him, looping her arm through his.

“You look gorgeous, Tesoro mio,” Angelo says to me as I join him by the huge windows on the other side of the room.

“So do you,” I say, then I laugh.

He smiles at me. “I’m glad to see you smiling.”

“Shall we begin?” the priest asks.

I look at Angelo, and nod. He tilts his head to the priest and the man begins reading the words of the wedding ceremony to us.

The sound of his voice washes over me, my mind busy with questions about the future, my fingers tingling at Angelo’s touch. The past month has been a whirlwind. I barely know how to feel about any of it.

But something about all of this has felt right, from the first moment that I saw Angelo standing by my mother’s grave in his black suit and those glasses. From the first moment that I met his glade-green gaze, I knew that I belonged with him. Getting married just feels natural, inevitable, and right.

I realize I’m supposed to be repeating my part of the vows, and I quickly say my part, looking at Angelo steadily.

He holds his hand out to Franco, who passes him a ring. I realize with a jolt that it’s a different ring. It’s not the same ring I have been wearing for a couple of weeks since we publicly announced our engagement at the meeting with Guiseppe and the other men.

“How...?” I start to ask.

Angelo looks over at Justine with a smile.

I grin at my friend. “Oh…I see,” I say. Bless Justine for knowing me so well. The ring is beautiful and exactly what I would have chosen for myself. It makes this all feel so much more like the real thing. I’m grateful to her and to Angelo for knowing that she could help make this part of the ceremony much more special for me.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest says to us.

I look up at Angelo through my lashes, suddenly shy. Always before we have kissed in the cover of darkness, or in the wildness of emotion after something dangerous has happened. There have been few interactions between us that anyone would think of as normal. I realize that I don’t quite know how to kiss Angelo in front of other people like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He seems to be feeling the same reservations, or maybe he’s just reacting to my own shyness. He reaches out and lifts my chin with his finger, smiling crookedly at me as he looks down at me from his greater height. He looks very young in this moment, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses and his well-cut mouth begging to be kissed.

“Shall we?” he asks me teasingly, bringing his mouth close to mine.

I look at his lips as they get closer, then close my eyes, surrendering to him, to this moment. His lips are soft at first, just barely touching mine, but then they move more insistently, and suddenly, he’s the Angelo that I know, the Angelo who plunders my body in a fit of emotion, hurting and pleasing me in equal measure.

I kiss him back for a moment, already wet for him, feeling my heart racing in my chest. There’s a small cough beside us and we jump apart abruptly as though we have been caught doing something wildly inappropriate, which maybe is what we were doing after all.

The priest winks at us, then walks away, gesturing to Franco. He takes Justine’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, before getting into the elevator with the priest to take him back home.

“That was hot,” Justine says to us in her best Paris Hilton imitation. It’s an old joke between us and I dissolve into immediate giggles.

Angelo shakes his head a little. “Come along, you two. Let’s have some champagne to celebrate.”

“Do you feel married?” Justine asks me as we wander into the kitchen.

I step out of my shoes and just leave them in the middle of the marble floor. I pad into the kitchen, which is spotless again, but my mind keeps seeing the red of Gianni’s blood spreading over the white counter, spilling onto the starkly white floor. I blink a little to remove the vision from before my eyes and manage a smile.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Everything has been moving so fast.”

“You just need the wedding night to make it real,” Justine says with certainty, nodding to herself as she pounds the first glass of champagne she was poured. “More please,” she says, offering up her glass to Angelo again.

He lifts a brow at her, but fills her glass again. “Mind that you don’t get in too much of a hurry,” he says to her. “That stuff isn’t cheap.”

She laughs and waves a hand. “I know, sorry. It’s just, being in here…” she gestures around the kitchen with a moue of distaste.

I nod, since I myself have been struggling to spend any time in the kitchen at all since last night.

“Let’s go sit in here,” Angelo says, grabbing the bottle and leading the way over to the formal living room. He turns on the gas fireplace and settles into one of the leather chairs near it. He grabs my wrist as I get closer to him and tugs me into his lap. I spill into it in a swath of heavy lace, giving a little squeak as I land.

I wriggle a little and grin. He’s already hard for me.

Justine eyes us speculatively, but just sips at her drink. She turns to look at the fire, her beautiful profile lit with the orange glow.

“Is it ever safe?” she asks abruptly, pressing the glass to her lips as she stares into the flames. “I mean for people like you two. Is it ever not dangerous?”

Angelo sighs, rubbing a hand over my back. I resist the urge to purr like a cat at his touch.

“This is not normal, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies. “But it’s never actually totally safe, I suppose. That’s why we have guards, security and all the rest.” He gestures around the room vaguely with his free hand.

“What about when you have kids?” she asks, and my heart squeezes in my chest. I know she won’t tell Angelo our secret, not without permission, but this feels too close for comfort.

Angelo is silent for a moment, also looking at the flames. “I suppose I hadn’t ever thought I would have children,” he finally admits. “But if we do have children, we will do our best to keep them safe. Just like your parents did their best to keep you safe,” he says to me.

I crane my head to look at his handsome face and I see the sincerity in his gaze. He means that, and I relax some. He might not know that we are going to be having a baby, but I can hear and see the sincerity in him now, talking about children we might have.

Justine nods. “That’s all anyone can do, I guess.”

“Do you want to go home now?” Angelo asks her without looking at her. He’s still looking at me, drinking me in. The air between us changes, filling with sexual tension. I feel him lift his hips slightly, nudging his hard-on against me where it’s disguised by the fall of my wedding dress.

Justine glances over at us, then smiles a little. “I haven’t decided yet,” she says, rising to her feet. “However, I know when I’ve worn out my welcome.” She waggles her fingers at us before walking toward the elevator. She drops her glass off in the kitchen on the way by, then gets into the elevator and leaves us alone.

“So,” Angelo says to me, adjusting my weight on his lap. “What shall we do with our evening?

I giggle and roll my eyes. “Oh, fuck off,” I tell him. “You know I’ve been dying to have you rip this dress off me and fuck me senseless since the ceremony.”

His laugh is loud and full, and it warms my heart to hear his joy. I have realized just how fleeting happiness can be in our world and I don’t want to waste a drop of it.

“As ever, Sophia Agostini, your wish is my command.”