I can still remember the shock in her eyes when she saw us. She tried to run. Didn’t get very far, but she caused quite a scene. Vehicles slowed down to see what was going on, so we grabbed her and tossed her inside the car. When she nearly clawed my eyes out, I slid a zip tie around her wrists. When she wouldn’t stop arguing, I slapped a piece of tape over that brazen mouth. She glared at me the entire ride back, and when we returned her to her parents, she threatened me and called me a jerk-off. I couldn’t remember a woman ever speaking that way to me. I became very, very aware of her in that moment.
And that awareness has stayed with me ever since.
Her body stiffens as we walk through the arch leading into the ballroom. She must be nervous, but when I look down at her, her expression is a guarded mask.
Thirty or so Messeros sit at one long table, awaiting our arrival in a room where we’ve celebrated countless birthdays, anniversaries, and engagements, and where we’ve grieved more than a few deaths. This was my parents’ house before it was my own, and before that, it was my grandparents’。 Our history is in these walls.
The conversations fall silent as people notice our entrance. I wonder if Cleo is attentive enough to notice their poorly concealed sneers. The position of the wife of the don is a coveted one, and Cleo is not the woman they wanted for me. No one would risk openly insulting her in my presence after I made it clear I wouldn’t entertain it, but still, their true feelings about my future wife are obvious on their faces.
I’ll have to fix that. The moment Cleo takes on my last name, she becomes mine, and disrespect against her is disrespect against me.
Nero lifts himself out of his chair and everyone follows his example.
When everyone is on their feet, I glance at Cleo. “I’d like to introduce my betrothed. Cleo Garzolo.”
There’s a murmur of unenthusiastic greetings.
Pink spreads over Cleo’s cheeks, and her expression turns downright hostile.
I should walk her around the table and introduce everyone to her one by one. Instead, I take her straight to our seats. I’m not going to risk someone who’s had a glass too many saying something they shouldn’t. I didn’t clean the blood off my hands only to get them dirty again before the appetizers are served. My relatives will have plenty of time to get to know Cleo once she becomes my wife. They know better than to test my patience by being anything but civil after that.
I lead Cleo to the two chairs at the head of the table and pull one out for her. Her lips are pursed into a tight line as she slides into her seat.
I take the chair beside her and nod at Nero and my mother. Elena and Fabi are sitting to Cleo’s left. My sisters’ expressions are strained as they study her. Both of them seem unsure if they should say something or not.
Maybe it would have been better to just bring her out tomorrow and scrap the whole rehearsal dinner idea, but it’s too late now.
I signal for the staff to start bringing out the food and lean toward Nero. “Anything I should be aware of?”
“Mario and Arturo were running their mouths before you came,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of my uncles. “I put a stop to it. The women are gossiping, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”
Their opinion of Cleo aside, even my harshest critics in the family know this union will make us stronger. If you’re not getting stronger, you’re getting weaker. By joining our family with the Garzolos, we stand to take control over their existing cocaine operation, which would be a new business line for us.
Racketeering and construction are our bread and butter, but adding cocaine, along with the counterfeits deal Garzolo helped arrange with the Casalesi, will put us on par with the Ferraro family. No matter how much their patriarch hated my old man, he’ll quickly see it’s better to have us as friends instead of enemies. There’s no point in letting the fact that my dead father killed one of his uncles over a decade ago destroy the potential of establishing a mutually beneficial relationship.
Still, looking at the disapproving faces of my aunts and uncles, I wonder if I’ve underestimated the blowback I’ll receive for taking Cleo as my wife. But is that blowback going to be enough to stop me?
I take a deep pull from my wine.
Not a chance in hell.
CHAPTER 6
CLEO
I twist the emerald engagement ring on my finger. I wish I could stop fidgeting, but you try sitting still while being scrutinized by thirty-plus fucking people.
Sabina wasn’t exaggerating. Rafaele’s entire family does hate me. They all think I’m a whore who’s unworthy of their precious don.