Page 63 of Sapphires and Snakes
“The other half!” Jimmy snaps.
“Alonso had less power than he does today and still decimated the Russos.” I keep my voice level and soothing, unwilling to let this devolve into an actual argument. Too much is at stake for that. “The only thing keeping the Accardis in check is the balance of power among the Cardinal Families.”
Jimmy pulls his energy in, smoothing his face into a more neutral expression. “She’s right, David. All we did was muzzle him after the war.”
“And he’s about to unleash himself all over again,” I say.
“He’ll come after you, Andrea.” David points a look at me that might be concern. “It’ll be the Russos all over again.”
I sigh and shake my head, letting the honest defeat at the reality of my—our—predicament show. “Seems to me that’s the case no matter which path we take.”
David stares into his drink for too long. Maybe he can see the future there, scrying in liquor rather than blood. Jimmy and I let him, neither of us pushing, both of us recognizing the need to step back and shut up.
Instead, we wait. The fire pops and crackles. The clock ticks, counting the seconds between us and the inevitability of this decision. There’s no other path forward that doesn’t end in Louredo’s destruction. Because Alonso Accardi will not stop until he sees the vision he set out to make a reality decades ago come to fruition. And neither will Marcus.
David Capone heaves a sigh so heavy, it fills the room with resignation. “I’m too fuckin’ old for this shit.”
ZARINA
Ihate this dress. It chafes against my skin, the sheer panels sitting wrong on my torso. I would have never chosen it for myself—short, black, and snug to my body, mesh pieces revealing too much of my skin. It screams male objectification. And since Marcus chose it, it carries an undercurrent of possession. Like a collar cinched too tight.
But with the most tense rehearsal dinner party that’s transpired since the turn of the century, I opted to wear the cursed thing rather than offend my future abuser. The thought would make me laugh if that reality wasn’t about twenty-four-hours away.
I drain my wine. Who cares about being sober and well-rested for their funeral, anyway?
“Keep drinking like that, and we’ll have to open another vintage.” Marcus eats a bite of steak off his fork, not looking at me directly as he speaks low under the chatter of the long table. Windows line the wall of the large dining room, the full darkness of the new moon painting the Gallo estate an inky black. “And you know Ricci can’t afford it.”
I signal to one of the servers along the edge of the room. They step forward, bottle in hand, to refill my glass. Once they stepback, I reply out of the corner of my mouth, “I think it’s less to do with the vintage and more to do with the company sharing it.”
Marcus cuts asparagus into a bite-sized piece, unhurried and supposedly unbothered by my sour mood. “You know, we don’t have to be at odds, Zarina. This could be enjoyable for you if you just?—”
“Lie back and think of England?”
He shrugs. “Basically.”
I’d rather die than shrink myself to fit into Marcus Accardi’s life as his bitch. Not even his wife, not even his friend. Just a bitch he can mount whenever he pleases until I bear him children. Mount and fuck and break—that’s what I have to look forward to.
It’s a resoundingnofrom me.
Down the table, Danny leans back in his seat and smacks a server’s ass as she leans over the table. She yelps, almost dropping the dirty plates she’d gathered to clear the table. Danny laughs as she scurries away, and I meet Father’s gaze where he sits at the head of the table. Our people would never behave this way, wouldn’t beallowedto. But all Father does is offer an infinitesimal shake of his head, cautioning me against the rage barely contained within my frame.
“I don’t think my drinking is anything to be worried about considering,” I snipe with a raised brow at the antics unfolding around the room.
Marcus keeps eating, the aura of harassment tinged with the threat of imminent violence normal to him. “It’s a celebration.”
Pigs. They’re all pigs.
I down half my glass. My head is buzzy, my tongue on its way to numb, and even in this handkerchief of a dress, I’m overheated with wine.
Father’s consigliere, Jerry, leans over to speak into his ear. Father nods, placing his silverware across his plate to signal he’s finished eating, and raises his glass. “A toast.”
The room quiets as the servers hurry to make sure each glass is full. I let them top mine off.
Father stands, buttoning his suit jacket. “We’ve had some ups and downs?—”
Danny snorts. I shoot him a glare.
“But all good things come through trial and tribulation. And this wedding will be a culmination. Tomorrow, Marcus and Zarina wed. Tonight, we enjoy one final meal as two separate families before we combine as one.”