Page 117 of Wounded King

The others—Edoardo, Margarita—they're still playing old games with knives and threats. I've already moved past that. The real power is in pharmaceuticals, logistics, and politics. No one questions a man with a white coat and a board seat.

But before I make the next move, before I announce what's coming, I want her by my side. Violet. She's the only thing I didn't plan for. The one piece that doesn't fit into the empire I built, but now I can't imagine the throne without her next to me.

She's the one thing I didn't conquer.

But for some reason, she's mine.

And I'll be damned if I let anything—old ghosts, power plays, or even the wreckage of my past—keep her from me now.

Alejandro told me the verdict while Pippa and I were having the time of our lives shopping. I still felt a little betrayed that Marcello didn't want me there with him, that he didn't want to share this important moment of his life with me, but I thought I understood. Having been in the same room with Carlos once had really been enough for me. Maybe that made me a coward, but part of me was also grateful that I wasn't there.

My phone dings with an incoming message; thinking it's Marcello, I pull it out. I'm right, it's from him, but not what I expected to see. He says nothing about Carlos. Instead:

Marcello:

Change of plans. No ball this weekend.

Me:

What do you mean, no ball?

Marcello:

We're going to a wedding instead. In the Maldives. Pack light.

My heart goes from regular excitement to palpitations within a fraction of a second of reading his text. I'm not sure if I'm elated or stunned. Yes, I'm wearing his ring, yes, I said yes, and yes, I know we're getting married soon, but this…

Me:

Wait… what??? ARE WE GETTING MARRIED IN THE MALDIVES???

Marcello:

Not yet, tesoro. This one's for Toni and Scarlet. But I wouldn't mind the idea…

Oh! Now I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed. Whatever it is, nervous embarrassment is mixed in with it. An honest mistake given our situation, still.

First, I type,

Me:

Marcello! You can't just casually drop that into a conversation!

But then I think better of it. He has no idea about my emotions when he sent me the text. No reason to embarrass myself further. So I add,

Me:

Also: do I need a gown?? A bikini?? Both???

How does one dress for a mafia beach wedding??

Marcello:

Something that makes every man look and immediately know you're mine.

Me:

So… black silk with a slit up to my hip? Or ivory lace with scandalous cutouts?