"Andi…" Sergio's eyes were hard and black. "Don't make me do this."
"What? Stand outside in the cold."
"Marry you."
"It's not forever, Sergio."
"That's the problem."
"I'm sorry, what? You want to be with me forever."
"No… I…" He ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair. "Damn it, I just… I want to marry someone once… someone I love. I don't want to have something arranged. It's just another thing the mafia has taken away from me. Can't you see that?"
"Make me see it," I said softly. "Make me understand."
His eyes were hollow, his gaze distant. "I don't… I can't… I just—"
"GIRLS are here!" I heard a female voice yell. Male voices joined in, and then music started.
"Later." Sergio pulled away, his footsteps already drawing back. "We'll talk later, but we will talk. Before we say vows, we're talking, Andi."
"Where are you going?"
He shook his head and kept walking. "One minute, Andi. I just need one damn minute to myself. Go inside."
Sergio
IT WAS AN OUT-OF-BODY
experience… watching someone talk so callously about her own death and smile at the same time. Every single moment I was with her, I wanted to puke. Not because she wasn't pretty.
She was beautiful.
Gorgeous, actually.
Which made it so wrong.
How could someone so full of life be dying? And how could she be so okay with it? The whiskey had worn off, leaving me with too many confusing questions and not enough answers to suffice.
Laughter bubbled out of the house. I could hear it all the way out in the field, meaning, the girls had really brought champagne and were most likely getting Andi drunk.
I didn't want to be an ass.
Just like I had never planned on being a killer.
It's not like I woke up one day and thought,
I'm going to work for the FBI and the mafia as a double agent then threaten to kill everyone I love and hold dear, and then, just for kicks I'm going to marry a girl who's dying… and hell, why not add salt to the wound and drown a litter of kittens?
"Shit." I kicked the ground with my boot and wiped my face with my hands.
I needed to get back to the house.
I knew there was no way to get out of my predicament. I just wished I wasn't so stuck — I wished the mafia didn't control me, I wished my family would actually listen to me, and for the first time since I'd taken that first step into the bureau… I wished for a second chance.
A do-over.
I would never have walked in.
I would never in a million years have thought to double-cross my family in order to save them…
People would have died.
But my conscience would have been clear.
The jaded feeling that choked me every waking hour would be gone, and I'd be free.
Instead, I was getting married, not to someone I loved, even if I was capable of love, but to a family enemy who probably deserved life more than I did.
"Hell," I whispered under my breath and marched back toward the house. As long as I didn't let her in… I'd be okay. As long as I looked at her like a victim, like one of my victims, she wouldn't get in.
The truth terrified me.
Because the truth was… I liked her enough to mourn her — and when you liked someone enough to mourn, you were in danger of love.
And I knew if I loved her, if I ever let myself feel; it would destroy me.
So I grabbed onto every shred of hate and resentment I could find in my body and armored myself with it.
I would not let her in.
Ever.
****
"Let's talk wedding night," Bee, Phoenix's wife, announced from the bedroom, loud enough for the entire house and possibly the outskirts of Chicago to hear.
"Wed-ding night, wed-ding night," the girls chanted in unison while I searched for alcohol like a crazed man.
"Right here." Nixon seemed to appear out of nowhere and handed me a stiff glass of vodka.
"What?" I snorted. "No wine? Are we even Sicilian anymore, or are we letting Russian tradition crap all over the place?"
"Remember when you used to be the easy one to be around?" Nixon asked, ignoring my outburst. "I do. You used to be all calm, collected, semi-happy. What happened to that person?"
"Apparently, according to Andi, that is, he died… and now my corpse is staring back at me through the mirror. I imagine I'm going to turn into a zombie any day now."
Nixon chuckled; his blue eyes matched mine almost perfectly. We were, after all, cousins, even though it was a distant fourth or fifth down the line. For some reason, we looked more alike than Ax and I did, probably because Ax refused to grow his hair longer than an inch now, and he'd had his nose broken more times than he could remember.
"She's dying," said Nixon, interrupting my thoughts.
"Why the hell do people keep reminding me of that?" I threw back my entire glass and held it out for more. "Do I have a sign on my face that says stupid?"
"Don't leave yourself open to that one, Serg." Phoenix walked up to us, water bottle in hand. "That's just begging Tex to take advantage."
Phoenix was the newest leader of the Nicolasi family, and it showed in the way he carried himself. Once a rapist and the worst of the worst. You wouldn't know it if you saw him now. No more dark circles under his eyes, and he was wearing dark jeans and a shirt with a tailored jacket; the guy looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine. His wife probably had more to do with that than he did, but still, it was an improvement from his haunted look of a few weeks ago.
At least then, my misery had enjoyed company, even if we had barely tolerated one another.
Chase approached us, his eyebrows raised. "Are we at a wedding or a funeral, Serg?"
"Both." I tilted more vodka back while the guys' expressions froze on their faces.
Slowly, I turned and cursed under my breath. Andi was standing in the doorway of the living room, her face pale, her smile weak.
"Hi, guys." She waved. "I was just wanting to ask Sergio's opinion on shoes."
Chase choked on his drink while I fought to regain my composure. Had she heard? And why the hell did I care if she was upset? That was the plan: upset her, don't let her in.
"Wear them." I shrugged. "Or go barefoot. Why the hell should I care?"
"Ass," Phoenix hissed, while Nixon nudged me from behind.
"So…" Andi poked her feet out from her long white skirt. "…do you like the silver or the tan?"
I licked my lips and stared at the shoes. Of course I had an opinion. Before my fall into the depths of hell, I'd probably been the most well-dressed of all the guys. I'd always loved clothes — the way they felt, the way they looked, the way they commanded a room.
"Andi, listen very carefully." I set my glass down on the table and folded my arms. "I couldn't give a rat's ass what shoes you wear."
I could feel the guys shooting daggers at my back. I ignored it. Maybe they'd lose their tempers and kill me — wouldn't that be a kindness?
"Barefoot, it is." She smiled brightly and started walking out of the room, then quickly turned around and skipped toward me. "Also, if we're planning a dual funeral and wedding, can you give my eulogy? It's only fair since you're going to be my husband and all. I could even write your speech for you. It should include how sexy I was, how much vodka I could drink, and the fact that I had the ability to kick your ass if I so chose."
I rolled my eyes.
And then suddenly, I was on my back. With no recollection of how I got there, just a view of the ceiling peering down at me with amusement, and my back feeling like I'd just gotten hit by a two by four.
"Holy shit." Chase burst out laughing. "I choose Andi for team captain when we go to war against the Russians."
"What…" My lungs seized as I wheezed out a breath. "…was that for?"
As Andi glanced down at me, her indifference was alarming. "You were being an ass, so I did you a favor by not only handing your ass to you, but making sure you landed on it, just in case there were any questions." She looked around the room. "This is what happens when I get treated like less than I deserve on my only wedding day… any questions?"
"Nope." Nixon chuckled.
"Hell no…" said Tex and Phoenix in unison.
"Just one." Chase's easy grin had me on edge.
The guys groaned. "What?"
He shrugged. "I just want to know how she did that so fast."
"If you're lucky I'll teach you." She winked and waltzed back through the door while I stayed on the floor, my pride bruised, my anger boiling.
The guys slowly, one by one, moved to stand over me. No hands were offered. They simply stared and, by their expressions, wanted me to try to get up just so they could set me back on my ass again.
Finally, Ax stepped through and offered his hand. When I took it, he released it then kicked me hard in the ribs. "Don't make me kick your ass too. Go pick out some damn shoes."
"She's going barefoot," I argued.
Another foot kicked me in the ribs, not hard, but it was firm enough to cause a sharp pain to throb down my side.
Nixon grunted. "Go, before I pull my gun."
"He'd do it too." Chase nodded somberly. "We've all seen enough gunshot wounds between us to prove it. Don't make Tex or Phoenix lift their shirts. Just go make it better."
With a grunt, I moved first to my knees, and then to my feet, rubbing my back as I slowly made my way down the hall. I knocked twice.
Trace answered, her glare murderous.
I sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "Is Jackie Chan available?"
"Depends." She crossed her arms. "Are you still an ass?"
I shifted on my feet. "Probably."
"At least he's honest," Andi called from somewhere in the room.
"Trace…" My voice cracked. "…just let me through so I can apologize."
"Amazing you know that word," Mo said, immediately joining Trace's side.
"Let him through," Andi called in her sing-song voice. "I want his opinion on the dress."
"It's bad luck," Mil said from the bed. "But then again, you are marrying Sergio, so..."
"Hilarious." I flipped her off and walked farther into the room. It looked like a dress store had puked all over the place. Lace, ribbons, and veils were scattered all over the bed, the floor, and the desk. Makeup was set up on one counter, while the other one was lined with shoes from every single color of the rainbow and then some.
It was enough to send me into a seizure.
I turned around, trying to remember why I was in that specific hell in the first place, when Andi came out of the closet and held out her hands. "You like?"
My mouth dropped open before I could stop it.
Her dress was all lace. No straps, just lace around her breasts, covering what needed to be covered, leaving little to the imagination and a feast for my eyes. The lace met with heavier silky looking fabric that kissed her hips and then fell in ruffles all the way to her ankles.
I wasn't sure how long I stared.
It was probably an embarrassing five minutes before I was able to actually form words. "It's… nice…" I coughed into my hand. "…for a dress."
"Wow, write me some poetry, why don't ya?" Andi winked then twirled in front of me.
I was just about to say something mean when I noticed her steps falter. Her face paled, and she collapsed directly at my feet.
"Andi!" I grabbed her lightweight body and lifted her into my arms then walked over to the bed and set her down amidst the fluffy dresses. "Andi, can you hear me?"
Her eyes fluttered open. "Oh… sorry." Her face reddened. "Just a bit dizzy."
"Then don't spin," I said through clenched teeth.
"But it's one of those dresses," she argued, lifting her arms into the air. "A twirling dress. You have to twirl or you may as well not wear it."
"Don't twirl if you're going to get dizzy and pass out."
"But I must."
"One twirl."
"Two!" she argued, leaning up on her elbows so that our faces were nearly touching. "Please?"
We were so close I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. I tried to ignore the hypnotic pull I felt just by staring and blinked away.
"Fine." I licked my lips, my gaze entirely too focused on her mouth, considering I was trying not to stare into her eyes. "Two twirls but go slow, no passing out."
"Careful, Sicily, your true colors are showing." She leaned up and whispered in my ear, "Don't want people thinking you actually care."
"I don't." Even I wasn't convinced with the lack of passion behind my words.
"Sure." She nodded and patted my shoulder. "And thanks… I think I'll pick this dress. Your reaction was perfect."
"But I didn't react."
"My point exactly."
I kept staring at her, trying to figure her out, while at the same time irritated that she seemed to see right through everything I threw at her. Big brown eyes stared right back at me, knowing me, seeing me.
I jerked back.
Having forgotten there were other women in the room, I nearly collided with both Mo and Mil while I made my escape.
I slammed the door behind me then leaned back against it, my hands clenched into clammy tight fists as I closed my eyes and muttered a curse.
"Wow, the dress was that nice, huh?" Nixon was leaning against the wall, his eyes missing nothing. Damn him.
"For a dress," I said in a weak and completely unconvincing voice.
Nixon smirked, his silver lip ring caught the light filtering in from the high windows. "You know it doesn't have to be a punishment."
"Ha." I pushed away from the wall. "But it is. You're forcing my hand, and why? That's what I want to know. What makes that girl—" I pointed at the closed door. "—in that room so damn important? Say her father finds her… What then? I protect her with my life."
Nixon sighed. "I'm disappointed you would even need to ask that question. A husband always protects his wife, regardless of his feelings. Once you're married, you're blood. You share something precious, something eternal. Protect her with your life? Damn right, you better. Because if you don't, if you hesitate, if you fail us one more time…" His expression didn't waver. The man wasn't even flinching as his words dealt physical blows to my body. "…I'll kill you myself."