Page 41 of The Mafia’s Bride (The Women of the Mafia #1)

SLOANE

W hen Nico said he was taking me target shooting, I thought he was kidding.

Apparently, men and women in this family, learn to hold a gun early in life. It becomes imperative for survival. Although Lex makes comments about not understanding why Maeve never let me touch a gun, Nico stays silent and has me concentrating on hitting the target.

Three days spent learning target practice in the spring air, three nights of doing research and figuring out price points for Nico’s auction, I’m falling into a sort of rhythm.

The dresses he has are gorgeous, valuable, and highly illegal.

Nothing for me to worry about. This is just business.

I spend my time making the starting bid list, sending out invites, instructing Nico on the best way to display the items. I’ve always had a thing for fashion and have been to all the shows growing up thanks to Pops’ money. I want this gala to rival one of those shows in Milan.

I’ve also enjoyed three nights of love with Lex.

I didn’t even look at my phone until Monday morning. I had a serious number of missed texts and calls from Danica after texting her last week. Finally .

The length of time she went silent wasn’t the scary part. What was scary was thinking my husband hurt her. Clearly, she just needed time to relax, to calm down, and come back around.

I know Lex didn’t want her around me—hell, everyone didn’t. But I wanted to see my only friend. Lex would understand once I explained it.

Yea… he probably wouldn’t. Not really.

I couldn’t just cut her out so quickly, though.

That’s why I was at a local pub in the Little Italy, midafternoon, the place practically empty. The cold martini in front of me was strong and so was my eyeliner.

Danica walked through the doors with a flourish, her blonde freshly dyed, her lips a pale pink.

She looked every bit the Barbie she idolized, her skimpy red shorts and lacy white top more overdressed than the bar needed.

I was basically casual in my high-neck designer teal dress and slip-ons.

They’re Jimmy Choo though, so I’m not a complete monster.

As soon as she sees me, she pulls off her too big for her face sunglasses and runs into my arms. She smells like sex and bubblegum, something I used to miss.

Now, it’s off-putting. I never realized how much it bugged me.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, hugging me tight. “I was so happy to see you get back to me. When I didn’t hear from you, I expected the worst.”

I feel a pang of guilt at that. Of course, she’s worried about me. I’m married to a mafia heir being groomed to take the throne, who supposedly killed his last lover. Obviously, she’s worried.

It’s the first time she’s shown me that. I wonder why that is?

“I’m alright, promise.”

We sit down at the bar, crossing legs bumping each other. She orders two shots and a Cosmo.

I don’t take the shot when it comes, leaving it for her.

At the refusal, she cocks an eyebrow. “What? Too good for a lemon drop now, Mrs. De Luca ?” She makes me name sound like an insult .

I sip at my martini. “No. I just have to see my sister tonight and can’t be bombed doing it.”

Maeve had requested a meeting between us again. Lex didn’t look thrilled about it, but by the way things ended last week, I didn’t expect him to be. The tension had followed us back to our home, hanging over us like a thick fog of apprehension.

He had raged about her treatment of me. I felt vindicated that someone— finally —saw what I had to deal with at home. That I was always just pushed away, the outsider within the family.

“If I recall that’s how you always wanted to be when you saw her.”

I smile because she’s right. “Things change.”

She scans me, as if seeing someone for the first time. It’s critical and not the least bit nasty. “You’re different.”

“Different how? Bad different?”

Danica shakes her head. “Not bad. Just different.” She takes her shot, then mine, glancing around, judging the classy décor.

I chose this place because I know the De Luca’s use it as a front.

Lex told me of all the safe places if I needed to go somewhere or had to conduct business. These people knew me.

Danica taps her chin. “The old Sloane would have been all over those two handsome men in the corner by now. This Sloane is nursing her drink that looks to already be an hour old. A shame, really, to let a drink sit that long, darling.”

“Maybe I don’t really want to drink tonight.”

“Blasphemy,” she snorts. “You always want to drink. Drink and fuck and cause a ruckus. That’s half of our relationship.”

“I was thinking about that.” The glass clinks on the bar as I put it down. “Maybe we can reinvent our relationship.”

“Reinvent it?” She looks unsure. I mean, I would too. This is a sudden development and I’m hoping I can bring my friend along with me.

I can’t keep drinking, doing drugs, and getting into trouble. I had to evolve to fit into this marriage, this life, if I wanted it to work. Before I told Lex I loved him, I needed to make sure I was the wife he needed .

“Yes. Instead of always going out and getting into trouble, we can do other things. Shopping, trips, movies, shows. That sort of thing.”

Danica shakes her head, looking as if her Cosmo was made with sour mix. “I’m sorry, what? Who are you and what have you done to my friend?”

“Danica, listen?—”

“Wait.” She pulls out a small baggie. More pink pills stare back at me.

“You’re probably stressed. Marriage, new house, uptight in-laws.

We haven’t seen each other. Hell, the guy probably doesn’t even know how to get you off properly.

” She couldn’t be further from the truth.

“One or two of these, and you’ll feel like the old you. ”

The old me who used to make a mess out of herself for attention and the spark of fire that would burn with all of the gossip. The old me who used to get so fucked up she couldn’t remember her nights.

The old me, the one who would end up passed out on the front steps, only to somehow wake up in her bed with a bucket beside her.

The old me who didn’t feel like she could be loved for being herself. Until I met Lex.

I push the bag back toward her. I don’t even miss them. “No. I’m good.”

The look she gives me is lethal. “You’re good?”

I nod. “I’m turning over a new leaf, Danica. I’ve got a husband who cares about me, a great family now. I’m even working on this charity auction. It has all vintage designer clothing. You’d love it?—”

“Is this a joke?” Her words are dripping in acid, blonde hair falling over her shoulder.

I never noticed how fried her hair was until now.

“You’re talking about charities and love like it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You never wanted this. You wanted fun and chaos, you wanted to party.

And I’ve always been there, enjoying the ride, embracing that mess.

And what, you just want to forget that? Forget what we’ve been through together? ”

“No, Danica. I would never want to forget you.” I shake my head vehemently.

“That is the furthest thing that I want. I just thought we could do something different together. Instead of drugs and alcohol or hooking-up, make a new path. You use as much as me. We could detox together.” I push the alcohol away to make a show of my intent.

“I just want a friend, a real friend, leave our toxic relationship behind and finally bond, like true friends do.”

She’s not having it. Her face reddens, a mask of anger growing over her cheeks and nose.

“I am not an addict.”

“I never said?—”

“He did this.” She seethes, leaning forward. “That fucking man, he’s changed you. Made you into the perfect mafia wife like some preppy girl from our high school. They hunted for husbands, but we wanted more.”

“I have more?—”

“No!” She crosses her arms. “You’re as bad as them. I want my old Sloane back, not this new imposter.”

She acts as if the old me was better. Like she didn’t constantly ditch me when something better came along. Or left me so she could go get high with strangers.

She left me with Lex, not knowing if he would hurt or help me.

It took her weeks to reach out just now.

A true friend doesn’t do that.

Realization hits my heart like a dart, and my mouth drops open, tears pricking at the edges. Collins was right. Danica was never a great friend. She was never even a halfway decent one. I was just too drunk, too depressed to notice it.

I clung to the image of what she was—my past, my security—that I didn’t want to see the signs in front of me. I’m so stupid to not have noticed until now.

She stands, lifting her large white purse over her shoulder. It’s a beast of a purse, a few seasons old of a Louis Vuitton. I never noticed how all her clothes seem to be a season or two behind.

Grabbing her arm, she whips away, her things scattering over the sticky floor. “Shit. I’m sorry. I just wanted to explain.”

We both drop to the ground, picking things up.

I grab her phone, the screen having been unlocked in the tumble. I wouldn’t dare look, but I see her photo app is open. And there are a lot of pictures staring back at me.

I can’t help it. I click on it as she rifles for her lip gloss and mirror, shoving them away.

They’re all of me.

Some of them are of me when I was high out of my mind. On her bed. My face between her legs.

That was a few weeks before I married Lex. She took pictures of me during one of our most intimate acts. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and needed to forget the break-up.

There are more. One of me making out with two men at a raid in the warehouse district. My father died three days later.

Why would she do that?

“What is this?” I ask, anger and sorrow pitching my voice louder. I’m still swiping, unable to stop looking.