Chapter 1
Sacha Shepperd Ninette
Stupid,stupid,stupid.
“I hate this dress and everyone in here.” Sacha scowled at the white wedding gown hugging her frame.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, so why did she feel like a convicted felon about to start a life-long prison sentence?
Terri, the wedding planner, rolled her eyes. “Here.” She gripped Sacha’s fingers, then stepped back, giving a critical stare, lips pursed. “Stop fiddling with the material, or you’re going to wrinkle it.”
Tapping a nail against her chin, Terri circled around the gown.
In the mirror, Sacha stared at a woman she no longer recognized under the canvas-perfect face painting and stiff hair. She watched Terri bend across a table and scoop a dainty diamond necklace from the smooth surface. She strung it between both hands, and the diamonds caught the afternoon sun glinting from the window of Sacha’s bedroom.
“Hold still.” Larue, the hairdresser for Satan himself, jerked Sacha’s head by the roots of her plastered locks.
“Larue, will youplease, for the love of God, leave her hair alone? It looks fine, and it’s too late to do anything, anyhow.”
Too late.Her words dropped like the lid of a coffin slamming shut. “Not too late to burn this place to the ground.” Though the words were barely a whisper, Terri snorted then clasped the jewelry around Sacha’s throat.
It looks like a fancy dog collar.
One of the planner’s assistants, Gerald, a small, bald man wearing horn-rimmed glasses, snapped his fingers.
Another person slapped an open makeup case into his waiting palm.
“This just won’t do. Oh, why do brides have to make my job so much harder?” He tipped his head to the ceiling and let out a dramatic sigh before grabbing a brush and dusting her nose and cheeks. “Good Lord. Your eyes are so red, it looks like you’ve been sobbing all night.”
Sacha gave him a glare. “Wouldn’t you cry ifyouhad to marry Lorenzo Lombardi?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He dipped a mascara wand into its container, then layered it on her lashes. “He’s notthatbad. Plus, I hear he’s loaded, which is better than I can say about my boyfriend.”
“He’s old and gross. Who cares about his money?”
“Not you, apparently.”
Meryl, one of the gown’s designers, shoved the smaller man away. “There, there.” She gave the sleeves a perfunctory tug and exposed more cleavage. Her brows furrowed, and she took a step back.
“Much better.” Meryl’s gaze swept Sacha from head to toe. “When Lorenzo sees you walking the aisle today, his eyes are going to pop right out of his head.”
I can only hope that’s the case, Sacha thought, shrugging the sleeves a little higher.
Larue beamed at Sacha. “So, today, you’re going to bring two Italian families together. I bet you’re so proud.” Her voice spoke in a staged whisper, like they were two girls sharing a secret. “It must be exciting being the daughter of Vito Ninette, Chicago’s Mob King.”
A sneer curled Sacha’s lip. “I don’t think proud or exciting are the words I’d choose.”
This lady has no idea what’s going on.
She never wanted to marry in the first place. If Pops had let her have a say, she’d have enrolled in college as soon as she graduated last month and started on an art degree. Now, that daydream was just that: a dream.
Her father’s voice sounded in her head.No daughter of mine’s going to be one of those lazy, good-for-nothing street bums who congest this city with their stupid, weird-ass pictures.Instead, she’d been homeschooled with a private tutor and educated in world history, geography, and proper grammar and manners. This wasn’t for her benefit, but for her father’s. He wanted her to play the part of a dutiful, diplomatic wife to her future husband.
A union between two strong families would benefit both patriarchs’ pockets with the combined cartels. Once bound, empires would expand and push out—or exterminate—the lesser mafiosos, keeping a tight reign of terror in the drug and arms business.
“Well, it could be worse.” Larue grunted.
“Worse?” Sacha shook her head. “How could itpossiblybe any worse?”
