The Groom (2 page)

“No, honey, I got this.”

Jake tensed as she stood,
draining what was left of her soda. “Are you sure? You don’t have to put up
with that crap if you don’t want to.”

Katrina shrugged. “If I don’t
approach him, he’ll approach me. It’s better for me to just go and see what he
wants.”

“Be careful.”

Waving off Jake’s warning,
Katrina turned toward the hired lackey reclining against the cushioned seat of
the booth he sat in alone. She calmly slid into the booth and met her stalker’s
beady, dark eyes. She folded her hands neatly in front of her and got straight
to the point.

“Why don’t we just get right down
to business here, and you tell me what the hell he wants. After that, you can
feel free to kiss my ass and leave.”

Unruffled, the suited goon
adjusted his position in the booth and stared down his nose at her as he spoke
in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Mr. Giordano wishes to meet with
you at his home. I have a car out front waiting to take you there and bring you
back here afterwards.”

Katrina arched one eyebrow and
smirked coyly. “And I suppose if I don’t come with you, I’ll find you or one of
your other mouth-breathing friends standing over me in my bed tonight.”

The goon chuckled. “You know we
can do this the easy way or the hard way, Miss Giordano. Your father has
insisted on your presence right away. If you won’t come
quietly . . .” he trailed off and laughed again. “Well, you’ll
come.”

Katrina knew that the threat
wasn’t idle. “All right, I’ll go with you,” she said. “But keep your meat hooks
off me.”

“You’re making a very wise
decision, Miss Giordano,” he answered. “Come with me, please.”

Katrina snorted at his use of
pleasantries but didn’t respond. She simply crossed back over to the bar, shot
Jake and Angie a look that said “I’ll see you later, don’t worry” and followed
the bumbling minion out into the warm summer night. He paused in the doorway,
reaching into his jacket pocket and bringing out a pack of cigarettes.

“No smoking in the car,” she
commanded imperiously. “I’m a goddamn singer, and I don’t need you stinking up
my good, clean air with your toxic smoke.”

He glared at her but complied,
shoving the pack back into his breast pocket. As they walked toward the sleek,
black Mercedes idling at the curb, her eyes zeroed in on the figure of a man
entering a cab.

Her eyes locked with his for a
split second, and pity knifed through her as she recognized the emotion in his
eyes as one she knew all too well.

Misery.

This man looked like he’d just
barely made it through a day from Hell. His black tuxedo was rumpled and
unkempt, his bow tie undone and hanging around his neck. His white dress shirt
was stained with flecks of what looked like blood and he was sporting some
pretty bruised-up knuckles. His dirty-blond hair was falling in heavy, straight
locks over his forehead in tousled disarray and his eyes were bloodshot and
watery. He gazed back at her for a split second before disappearing into the
taxi that had pulled up next to him on the curb.

Snapping out of the trance that
his haunted eyes had put her in, Katrina lifted her chin regally at her
meathead escort and swept into the waiting car.

_________

THE
MINUTE LYLE stepped over the threshold of his sprawling penthouse apartment he
became stone cold sober. The sight of boxes in various sizes, wrapped in white,
silver, and gold wrapping paper and topped with gauzy bows made him feel
wretchedly ill. He gripped the doorknob, his other hand pressed against his
quivering stomach as he forced himself to confront the scene in front of him.
Someone had come by that morning—probably his mother—and hung a
white banner over the stone fireplace.
Congratulations Holly and Lyle
was written in large purple letters. Around those scrawling letters were
flowers in shades of pink and yellow. Streamers hung on either side, and
matching balloons stretched up toward the ceiling. The gifts were
everywhere—on the couch and chairs, the floor, and even on the coffee
table—leaving Lyle wondering how this was even possible. His career as a
surgeon didn’t exactly leave him time to make many friends. These must all be
from Holly’s friends and family.

After a few moments, he found the
strength to walk into the apartment and shut the door. He stood there for a
moment, motionless, trying to decide what to do about the mountain of wedding
gifts that had been delivered to his place. A few inches away from his feet,
their suitcases sat, packed and ready for their honeymoon in Greece. Her plane
ticket and travel documents were beside his on the counter in the kitchen. Her
feminine touches were everywhere, cute little knickknacks and sweet-smelling
candles that she’d claimed made the space homier. It would have to be if she
were moving in, she’d teased when it was decided that Holly and her daughter
would be sharing the penthouse with him to keep him closer to his job in the
city. Holly hadn’t wanted to sell her house in Westchester but had been willing
to sacrifice it for him.

Or so he’d thought.

Apparently, the only person
making sacrifices today was him.

There went his instant family.
Just add Lyle and stir, he’d joked when expressing to Holly his excitement over
gaining a stepdaughter as well as a wife. The little family that never was,
taken away in an instant. He and Reagan had formed an amicable bond, and as he
stepped over her soccer ball in the living room and spied one of her many
hooded sweatshirts hanging on the back of a chair, he discovered he missed her
already.

Lyle took a few steps toward his
bedroom but paused just short of the doorway when he remembered the romantic
wedding night setup he’d created for Holly just inside that room. There was no
choking back the nausea this time as he caught a glimpse of red rose petals
strewn across the bed. He turned away and rushed toward the half bathroom at
the end of the hall, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He
retched and groaned, gripping the porcelain bowl for dear life as liquor mixed
with stomach acid worked its way back out the way it had gone down. When the
retching and dry heaves abated, he collapsed onto the floor, propping his back
up against the wall. His head spun as memories from that morning assaulted him
full force.

He just couldn’t get her out of
his head, the woman that was supposed to have come home that night as his wife,
dressed like a goddess in white, taking the hand of another man and walking out
of his life forever.

“I can’t marry you, Lyle. I’m
sorry, but I still love him.”

Her words haunted him, as did the
tears in her eyes and the genuine love for Jack he had seen there. How had he
missed it before? How could someone as logical and analytical as himself have
missed the truth that was right in front of him?

She had never loved him.

The thought almost drove him back
over the toilet bowl, but Lyle was pretty sure at this point there was nothing
left in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten all day because of nervousness and the
anticipation of the rustic French cuisine he and Holly had taste-tested and
handpicked especially for their reception.

Somehow Lyle managed to stand on
shaking legs and lumber down the hallway toward his office. The leather couch
across from his desk would have to do until someone came and took those damned
gifts away. Blessedly free from any sight, sound, or smell of any and all
things Holly, Lyle stripped his jacket, tie, and vest off before collapsing
onto the couch.

He reclined against the armrest
and threw one arm over his face, wishing that the scotch humming through his
veins would finally put him down for the night so that he could stop thinking
about . . . hell, everything. Yet, try as he might, he just couldn’t seem to
shake the image of Holly’s soulful brown eyes, filled with tears as she
confessed her love for another man. He tossed and turned for hours before
finally falling asleep.

_____

“It’s good to see you again,
cara.”

Katrina avoided the eyes of
Victor Giordano and stared into the dark cup of coffee one of his maids had sat
in front of her. She didn’t touch it and made it clear with her eyes that she
did not intend to. She wouldn’t take anything from him.

“Victor,” she said coolly,
crossing her legs at the knee. “Cut the bullshit. What do you want?”

Victor took a long drag from his
fat cigar, eyeing her through the smoke. “You look good,” he said as he
adjusted the cuffs of his powder blue dress shirt. Katrina wasn’t surprised to
see that he still wore his favorite diamond-studded cufflinks and sapphire pinky
ring. Despite the fact that she hated him, she had to admit her father was an
attractive man. His swarthy, olive skin and gleaming, black waves only added to
his appeal. She’d gotten her deep brown eyes from him as well as her thick head
of hair; her face she’d gotten from her mother, and her skin was a mix of his
Italian and her mother’s black, which left her with a smooth sienna shade.
Old-fashioned to the core, Victor Giordano was a man who loved his Cuban
cigars, pocket watches, and hair slicked back by Brill cream. He smiled,
setting his cigar in a crystal ashtray.

“Your Nona would be glad to see
you,” he continued conversationally, his Italian-accented tone smooth and thick
as custard. “You should call her sometime.”

Katrina talked to her grandmother
at least once a month and had met her for lunch a few weeks ago, which Victor
knew nothing about. She saw no point in clueing him in either.

“How was your time at Mountain
View?”

Her mouth went tight at the
corners, and her hands clenched into fists on the table. “You’ve got some
nerve,” she hissed from between clenched teeth, “acting like you actually give
a damn about me or my health.”

“Cara mia, of course I care.
Things were hard for you after your Mama passed. It was only natural that you
searched for comfort. Your chosen pain medicine might have been reflective of
poor judgment, but that is all behind you, is it not?”

“It’s been six months,” she said.
“I’m clean.”

He nodded and lifted his cigar
for another pull. “Wonderful.”

Katrina waited for him to place
his cigar back in its ashtray before speaking again.

“Victor, what’s going on? We
haven’t spoken since I checked into Mountain View, and now, all of a sudden,
your lackeys are showing up at my job.”

“Singing in a dirty bar is not a
real job. I could give you—”

“No thanks,” she interjected.
“I’m not working as a secretary at one of those fronts for criminal activity
you like to call companies. And Parson’s is no dirtier than your money.”

Victor nodded once and shrugged;
he knew better than to try to force the issue of his daughter coming back to
the family “business.” Those days were behind her.

“Fine then, we’ll get right down
to business,” he said as he reached into his navy blue jacket pocket. He came
out with what appeared to be travel documents, which was confirmed as he slid
them across the table toward her. “I need you to leave town for a while.”

Katrina’s eyebrows shot up as she
lifted the plane ticket from the top of the stack before flipping open a
passport. She snorted sarcastically when she read the false name beside an
edited picture of her with jet black hair, freckles, and a pair of glasses. She
had to admit that it was quite good.

“Darlene Smith?” she scoffed,
throwing the passport back down onto the table. “A ticket to Venice? You want
to send me to Italy?”

“The turf war with Salvador
Pirelli is escalating,” he said matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing the
weather. “It will be safer for you to disappear until the unfortunate business
between us is concluded.”

Katrina felt her heart drop down
into her stomach. “What did you do?” Her voice wavered with anger as she spoke,
her hands trembling with the force of it. “What have you done now?”

Victor shrugged again and worried
his pinky ring with his thumb. “It will not benefit you to know the details,
especially since you chose to leave the Family. All you need to know is that
it’s not safe for you in New York right now. Your Nona will be going with you.
Your flight leaves first thing in the morning.”

Katrina lowered her eyes to the
heart tattooed on the back of her right hand. With her index finger, she traced
the name scrawled in black ink against the red.

 
Carmine.

Her eyes filled with tears but
she forced herself not to shed them in front of Victor. Unfortunately, his
dark, sharp eyes had already seen the emotion before she could hide it. He
reached across the table and grabbed her hand, stroking the tattoo with his
thumb.

“I don’t want to lose you too,”
he said, his voice thick with sentiment.

Katrina snatched her hand away as
if she’d been burned. “You didn’t have to lose him. You should have never let
him get involved.”

“That’s what I’m trying to get
you to understand. He didn’t have to be involved. His status as my son was
enough to paint a target on his back.”

“And now you’re saying there’s
one on mine.”

“I haven’t received word of an
official hit, but—”

“But, what? You’re hoping that
they’ll get to me before they get to you? Victor Giordano only looks out for
Victor Giordano, so something about this conversation just isn’t right. Either you
give me some real, concrete information, or I’m walking out of here right now.”

“Cara, please do not go against
me on this. I am telling you that it is only a matter of time before the
Pirellis decide to act.”

Deciding that she’d had enough,
Katrina stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Save it. You don’t give a
damn about me, so you can stop with the concerned father routine. I’m a big
girl, and I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing so for long enough now
that I think I’ve gotten the hang of it.”

She grasped the travel documents
in one hand and Victor’s silver lighter in the other. As she turned to walk
away, without looking back, the falsified travel papers curled and blackened
under orange flames where she’d left them in Victor’s ashtray.

_____

After the car dropped her off in
front of her apartment building in Brooklyn, Katrina toted her guitar case up
five flights of stairs to her one bedroom apartment. Once she was enveloped in
the warm red, pink, and peach tones of her living space, calm seeped into her
bones and slowed the adrenaline that was still singing in her veins. She
dropped her case onto the couch and moved over to the window overlooking the
street, watching through the sheer pink curtain as the black Mercedes pulled
away from the curb.

Katrina held her breath until the
car had disappeared around the corner. Only after it was gone did she feel as
if the eyes of Victor Giordano were no longer on her. The fact that he knew
where to find her, even knew where she worked nights, gave her a sick feeling
in the pit of her stomach. She had given up a lavish lifestyle for a more
modest one that came complete with freedom from danger, the talons of drug
abuse, and peace of mind. As far as Katrina was concerned, you just couldn’t
put a price on that.

After checking to ensure that her
doors and windows were all securely locked, Katrina relaxed and moved into her
tiny kitchen to stick a frozen pizza into the oven. She would rather have had
one of Angie’s double cheeseburgers, but the jackass that showed up to take her
to her father’s house hadn’t really given her a chance to finish it. Yet
another strike against Victor, Katrina thought sarcastically, and in her book
there couldn’t be enough of those. Her father could try to hide behind a veneer
of class and good taste all he wanted, but she knew his true nature, knew just
how cold-hearted and malevolent he was.

Katrina locked eyes with the
picture of Carmine nailed to the kitchen wall, and she felt grief at the sight
of him. So much like Victor in looks, Carmine had been nothing like his father
in spirit. Why Carmine had always sought to emulate their father, Katrina never
understood, but he’d wanted nothing more than to be the jewel in the Giordano
crime family’s crown. Becoming their father’s right hand was his dream, and
Carmine had pursued it to the end. Katrina traced the heart on her hand as she
always did when she thought of her twin brother. Carmine’s death had awakened
her, jolted her out of the drug-induced haze she’d been living in since Thelma
Giordano’s death. Six months later, she was back on her
feet—barely—and taking her life one day at a time.