A heavy weight settles in the pit of my stomach.
I can make them stop needing Gemma.
After all, she’s not the only Garzolo daughter around here.
Fucking fuck.
I brush my curls off my neck, feeling a nervous heat creep up my skin. Can I do this?
I have to do this.
Yes, it’s time to grow up. I’ve spent years dreaming of moving to LA, working as a music manager, rubbing shoulders with the talented and the famous, and having the freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted, but I’d never enjoy it if the price is Gem’s happiness. She deserves to live her life with someone who loves her the way Ras does.
She’s always had my back. Now, it’s my turn to have hers.
I wrap my palms over her knees and look into her eyes. “Are you willing to fight for it?”
Gemma sniffs and wipes her cheeks. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
My chest tightens.
And so will I. For her, I’ll do anything. She deserves no less than that.
“Gem, I’ll take your place.”
Confusion flashes over her features. “What do you mean?”
I take a deep breath. “I’ll marry Rafaele.”
A day later, I’m sitting in an Italian restaurant in Chelsea owned by the Messeros.
This was supposed to be an intimate dinner with Rafaele’s immediate family and ours, so there are just seven other people scattered around the large dining table.
It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
Rafaele’s mother and uncle have barely said a word since we sat down. So far, the conversation’s been dominated by Papà, but even he’s got his mouth shut now. A drop of sweat rolls down his pockmarked temple, and the sight of it fills me with satisfaction.
Nervous? You should be.
Gemma asked to speak with Rafaele alone just a few minutes ago, and now they’re talking in his office. Everyone can sense something is wrong. My sister’s supposed to be getting married in three days, but if their conversation goes well, it won’t be Gemma walking down the aisle.
It will be me.
Mamma is staring at her plate, her jaw tight. Beside her, my brother, Vince, is swirling the wine in his glass, a notch between his brows. I glance to my right, over Gemma and Rafaele’s empty seats, and lock eyes with Nero De Luca, Rafaele’s consigliere. For once, that annoying mountain of a man looks a bit uncertain. He lifts his brows, like he’s asking me if I know what this is all about.
As if I’d ever tell him. He’s just as bad as his tyrannical boss.
While it’s a bit thrilling to be the only one here in on the secret, what’s not thrilling is knowing that the best-case scenario ends with me walking out of here as an engaged woman.
I vowed I’d never marry a mobster.
But for Gemma, I’ll break that vow without any regrets.
Footsteps sound, and a moment later, the two of them reappear.
My heart jumps into my throat. I search Gemma’s expression for a hint of how it went, but she’s looking at the ground as she hurries over. As soon as she slips into her chair beside me, I take her hand and give it a squeeze. She squeezes back twice.
Is that good or bad?
Before I can ask her how it went, Rafaele stops at the head of the table like he’s about to announce something.
I turn my attention to him.
Sculpted cheekbones.
Jaw line carved into a firm, decisive line.
Muscular build that even the sleek tailoring of his black suit can’t hide.
In another universe, Rafaele Messero could have been an underwear model, but in this one, the only thing he’s modeling is how to be the most intimidating man in a room full of killers.
At twenty-seven, he’s the youngest don New York has seen in decades, but he’s already gained a reputation for being the most brutal.
A shiver slithers down my spine. I might be marrying this guy.
I should probably be more afraid of him, but I’m not. I’ve long since trained myself not to think too hard about the consequences of my actions. Papà and Mamma have spent their lives trying to keep me on a tight leash, and if I worried about how they’d punish me every time I broke their stupid rules, I’d never have any fun.
Of course, back then, I didn’t know Gemma often paid the price for my indiscretions.
Rafaele drags a tanned hand over his black silk tie. “The engagement is off.”
For a second, my lungs seize.
Holy shit. It’s done.
“What?” my father barks, his gaze darting between Rafaele and Gemma.
“Take a breath, Garzolo,” Nero warns, sensing the impending meltdown.