Those two letters remind me that soon my own initials will change.
Something unpleasant stirs in the pit of my stomach. It’s been doing that all morning. I hope it’s not the fish I had for lunch. It tasted slightly off.
I turn in my seat and survey the rest of the guests. There’s at least a hundred people, most of whom I don’t recognize. Vale told me that Damiano invited all of the capos and their immediate families, as well as made men who’d been close to his late parents. Some apparently had a problem with the wedding being in Spain instead of Italy where Vale and Damiano live for most of the year, but Vale explained that the location made the event far more secure. The only person with a private army on the island is Damiano.
A prickling sensation spreads over my neck. Someone’s watching me.
I turn in time to see Ras walking down the aisle, his ma by his side.
Our eyes meet, and my breath catches.
He looks damn good.
His suit is a masterpiece, fitted to highlight the broad, powerful lines of his body. A crisp white shirt collar peeks out and contrasts with his skin, making his tan stand out.
But no matter how perfectly his clothes sit on him, there’s something disconcerting about him looking so put together. It feels like a disguise meant to make people think he’s civilized, when I know he most certainly is not.
A few of the other female guests turn to watch him. Someone whispers his name.
He and his ma turn into the pew across the aisle from us, and he helps her sit down before taking his own seat. She says something to him, but he answers without looking at her.
His gaze unabashedly lingers on me.
My cheeks heat.
We haven’t spoken since the kiss, which is exactly what I wanted. Being alone with him isn’t something I can risk again, especially not with Rafaele here. Ras’s too unpredictable, too likely to get me into trouble.
He stares at me like he knows me far better than he realistically could. Like his gaze can penetrate through the thick layer of makeup on my face and see the fading bruise.
“I think I get it now. You’re angry and miserable. You can’t show anyone how you really feel, can you?”
“Fucking hot in here, isn’t it?” Nero slides into the pew behind us, his sudden arrival making me jump. He grins and unbuttons his suit jacket. The bench is comically small compared to him. He looks like an adult sitting in a kid’s playhouse. His knees bump against our backrests. “AC’s broken in our hotel too. I’m melting. Tell me the reception is somewhere cool.”
I give him a terse smile. My future husband’s consigliere has always been friendly to me, but I don’t trust him. I get the sense he’s constantly trying to disarm people with his charm. Maybe that’s how he tricks them into giving him all their secrets.
“It’s in one of Damiano’s restaurants on the beach,” I say. “There might be a breeze if we’re lucky. But it’ll cool down after seven anyway.”
He checks his watch and whistles. “Three more hours. Fuck me.” When he lifts his gaze back up, his eyes flash with amusement, and his grin widens. “What’s up, Cleo?”
“Absolutely nothing,” my sister spits out, making no effort to be civil.
“You planning any more strolls later today?”
She huffs. “If I was, you and your boss would be the very last people I’d tell.”
A strange sound comes out of Rafaele. It almost sounds like a stifled chuckle.
I glance at my fiancé. His expression reveals nothing. He’s studying the front of the church as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
But I know I didn’t imagine that sound. It wasn’t Nero, and my parents are far past the point of being amused by anything Cleo says.
It had to have come from Rafaele.
Weird. I didn’t think he had a sense of humor.
“Go, Gemma. They’re about to start,” Mamma says, nudging me with her elbow.
I get up just as Damiano steps onto the altar. On the other side of him, Ras appears.
Our eyes lock, and heat expands inside my chest.
I must be still angry with him.
The string quartet begins playing. Everyone turns to the back of the church, eager to see the bride.
Vale appears at the end of the aisle wearing a silk-chiffon wedding dress that nips in at her waist before flowing out around her legs. The hem of the skirt is strewn with pearls and white flowers. She looks perfect.
She walks toward Damiano alone, her head held high, and her eyes sparkling as she keeps her gaze on the man she loves. She carries herself with such confident ease. I wonder if any of the other guests note the absence of Papà at her side.
To us, the message is clear. She doesn’t need Papà. She’s already got everything she needs.
After the ceremony is done, we change into our party dresses, and head to Damiano’s restaurant where the reception is taking place. Everyone takes their seats. I’m relieved to find that Ras isn’t at my table. Nero and Rafaele are, but they’re sitting on the other side of it, far enough that I won’t have to make attempts at conversation.
A woman’s melodic singing fills the air. Candles flicker in the elaborate centerpieces on the tables. The waiters move around us in deliberate arcs, making sure not a single glass is empty.
Cleo leans closer. “Here’s what I’ve been wondering. How big do you think Nero’s dick is?”
My champagne goes down the wrong pipe. Cleo pats me helpfully on the back while I work through my coughing fit. My eyes are watering by the time it passes.
“Come again?”
She lifts her glass of wine to her lips. “I mean, he’s got to be like six-six? Six-seven? If his body is proportional, his penis must be—”
“Cleo! He’s right there!” I whisper hiss.
She purses her lips at my outrage and casts an unconcerned look to where Nero is sitting across from us.
“He can’t hear us,” Cleo says. “You probably wouldn’t be able to walk after he’s done with you.”
My cheeks heat. “What’s gotten into you? Need I remind you this is the man who tied your wrists with a zip tie and taped your mouth shut a day ago?”
She rolls her eyes. “First of all, my memory is just fine, thanks. And second of all, Nero didn’t do that. He just carried me into the car. The rest was your fiancé. Who, by the way, is staring.”
I shoot a discrete glance at Rafaele. “Yeah, at you,” I hiss. “He probably overheard you.”
A smirk unfurls over my sister’s lips. “God forbid I bruised his ego by talking about his consigliere’s package instead of his. Just look at Rafaele. He’s so wooden. Even with that handsome face, something tells me no one’s rushing to jump into his bed. He can’t exactly glare his way to a woman’s orgasm.”
I tug on her arm. “Do I really need to remind you that’s my future husband you’re talking about?” I say, my voice clipped.
Her expression sours. “Right. Sorry.” Her gaze drops to my hand and turns admiring. “At least the ring he gave you is beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
She notes the lack of enthusiasm in my voice and snorts. “You hate it, don’t you?”
The ring isn’t my style. I like dainty jewelry that I can layer, the kind Mamma always tells me looks cheap. She was thrilled when she saw the enormous emerald.