“Exactly.” Soph grabs my hair again. “Tell me what you know.”
“Let go of my hair, or I’ll tear the arm clear off your body.” I flash a challenging smile and shove her away with a hand on her hip. “Don’t touch.”
“Ew. Why the hell would Estefan bring him here?” Ellie Solomon—Soph’s baby sister—crashes against us on my other side, her shoulder slamming into mine, and her husband, all seven feet and who knows how many pounds of pure muscle, wedging us in. Archer and I have become the meat in a Solomon sandwich. “Seems Anthony Agosti has crawled out of the sewers I thought he’d died and started decomposing in.”
Archer tilts his head back and stares up at the glittering ceiling. “For fuck’s sake.”
“It’s just weird, that’s all. Estefan is typically very protective of me.” She scrunches her nose, much the same way Soph does. “From the moment I saw that weasel at the church, I’ve wonderedwhyEstefan would bring him. Especially knowing I’d be here.”
“Why would your attendance factor in?” I glance up at Archer, questioning. “I don’t understand.”
Troy growls, low and dangerous, in the back of his throat. “Agosti’s late son thought consent was optional.”
“And you…” My heart beats heavily against my diaphragm. “Introduced him to a shallow grave?”
Troy shakes his head. “It all went down before I met her. Tony Mancino?—”
“The man I called Papa,” Ellie clarifies. “He was my father… in a way.”
“Tony Mancino whacked him,” Soph finishes. “I hope he made it hurt, too.”
“But that’s what makes all this so odd,” Ellie continues. “Estefan has always cared for me. He always made exceptions for me. The fact that he allowed Mancino to kill Agosti is a big deal.”
“Allowed?” I search the underside of Archer’s jaw. For answers. For explanation. “Why wouldn’t he? You touch without permission, you deserve to die. It’s pretty simple.”
“One family cannot kill members of another family,” Archer grits out, slowly dragging his eyes down to mine. “It’s not permitted.”
“Permitted by who?”
“By our world. By the rules governing families like mine. I told you in the past: you can’t shoot a man on his own front lawn, you can’t take a shot at the boss unless you’re prepared to eat cement, and one family cannot attack another. It’s…” He shakes his head. “Malone… Mancino… Agosti… there are rules we must follow. Without them, shit turns to chaos, and the city becomes a battlefield.”
“But when Agosti attacked Ellie, was that not him taking the first shot? Mancino didn’t start it. He ended it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Soph counters. “Estefan was within his rights to wipe Mancino out for what he did. Agosti didn’t cause damage.” She grits her teeth, displeased with the words crossing her tongue. “I won’t debate specifics, since you know my stance on the matter. But bytheirstandards, Agosti’s hands were clean. Mancino broke the rules.”
“Estefan allowed it, and he made assurances Agosti would never bother me again. New York is not as large as people like to think, and the social circles my family was involved with meant Agosti and I attended several mutual functions over the years. I expected it. I was prepared. Agosti kept his distance, and Estefan considered himself my escort. But here?” Ellie looks around. “At a wedding on the other side of the country, between a Malone who doesn’t rule anyway, and a woman with no connection at all? Why would Estefan bring him?”
“Trying to figure that out, Slim.” Troy draws her close and shields her from the man they speak of. Dark hair, thick brows, alabaster skin, and a couple of thick, gold rings circling his fingers.
He appears dangerous, I suppose. In that traditional, made-man way we see in the movies. Agosti isn’t nearly as old as Estefan, and despite the slight paunch of his stomach, he’s hardly overweight.
I feel Archer’s stare on the side of my face. His tormented glare, growing more severe with every second I catalog the group who are clearlyotherinside a wedding where half the guests grow their own wildflowers.
“Who is she?” I tilt my chin toward the young woman standing beside a seated Agosti. She wears a luxurious green gown that pushes her breasts up, squeezes her stomach, and accentuates an ass that lacks the plump she, perhaps, used to possess. “She looks underfed.”
Soph follows my gaze, her fingers twining and fidgeting behind Jay’s neck. “His wife… fifth, I believe.”
I narrow my eyes and bring them back to Archer. “Does he do to his wives what your father did to his?”
“Probably.” He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, a deep rumble reverberating through his chest to make his annoyance audible. “Except Tim didn’t even have the decency to marry them first.”
“You don’t think Estefan’s looking to give Agosti a boost, do you, Soph?”
The family resemblance between Ellie and her sister is strong. The sharp cheekbones. Pert nose. The dancer’s bodies and long, brown hair. No one would accuse them of being twins, but certainly, all of humanity can see they’re cut from the same cloth.
But where Soph remains hard always, battle weary and ready for the next round, Ellie is a little softer.
“He’s practically broke,” the softer Solomon murmurs. “And his business ventures long ago fizzled out. Why would Estefan prop him back up like this?”
