My eyes darted from the contract to his, narrowing. He held the gaze for longer than I expected. His smile faded to a frown and his brows furrowed before those eyes finally dropped back to the document.
“You’re a smart man, Mr. Rudolph, so I’m sure I only need to say this once,” I said at just above a whisper, “but if I ever find out you crossed me, either leaving me in the dark or betraying me, that will be the last mistake you ever make.”
“I understand, sir,” the lawyer replied, head nodding like he was at a heavy metal concert. “Your reputation proceeds you. I know not to cross you. I have no reason to.”
“If someone tries to give you a reason, I want you to let me know.” I reached the end of the prenup and opened the attorney’s pen to add my signature under Olivia’s. “I’ll handle the problem and reward you better than they would.”
“In the event someone does that, I’ll make sure to let you know immediately, sir.” My new attorney nodded and took the prenup back, depositing it in his briefcase. “If you are ready, you can head inside. I’ll go let the bride know everything has been taken care of.”
I motioned toward the inner doors of the church. Rudolph took the hint and rushed forward to open them. He paused for a tick right after, probably deciding whether he wanted to hold them open for me before moving through himself. In the end, he took the option to get some distance. His long legs took him halfway toward a side door before I’d even stepped into the vestibule.
A good threat tended to provoke a response like that. It was one of the benefits of a ruthless reputation. Unfortunately, when they stopped working, you needed to reinforce them, show the men under you that they were more than mere words. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to break any eggs for a while. Fear motivated loyalty but also resentment. If I leaned too heavily on my new men, that fear might lead them to betray me instead.
The priest at the front of the sanctuary looked up when the doors opened. His eyes trailed after Rudolph but then returned to me. They narrowed as I approached, his lips flat.
“I assume you are Mr. Petrovich?” he asked when I passed the pews.
“I am, Father,” I replied, offering a slight nod.
Given the tux I wore, it was an easy assumption. The priest’s suspicion didn’t worry me. Soon, he’d be performing a wedding for an empty church. If he knew anything about the Castello family or me, that would only add to his suspicions.
“Mr. Castello believed strongly in charity, my son. I hope the generous gifts he gave to the church continue,” the Priest said, affixing me with his well-practiced superior expression.
Ah, not only did he know how the Castello’s made their money, he wanted to keep getting a piece of that pie. He wasn’t suspicious, he worried I’d turn off the taps, or worse, make the donations to an Eastern Orthodox church instead. His fears were easily assuaged.
“I see no reason to make any changes to Mr. Castello’s donation practices, Father,” I replied. Too bad I couldn’t solve all my problems by tossing a little money around.
“That is wonderful to hear.” The priest’s posture relaxed and he smiled warmly. “We do a lot of good in the community with the money Mr. Castello donated. Fed a lot of people. After your run in with the cardinal last week, I was worried.”
I’d almost forgotten my joke at the man’s expense when visiting the don on his deathbed. Before I could respond, footsteps sounded through the cavernous chapel. Mr. Rudolph hurried down the side before taking his seat on the groom’s side of the aisle.
“Your bride’s arrival is imminent, Mr. Petrovich,” he said before craning his neck to the back of the room.
Organ music began though no-one sat behind the mammoth instrument to the side of the altar. I gulped down a deep breath, banishing the acrobats who had just ended their intermission in my stomach. It wasn’t the hangover that had me queasy and nervous. The enormity of my situation had finally hit. When we said our I dos, I’d be the new don, and the knives were already out, ready to strike should I show a moment of weakness or hesitation.
A woman appeared at the back of the pews. Too short to be Olivia, though she had similar hair. She moved forward, almost prancing to the music with the frilly hem of her dress dancing around her knees. A basket hung in one of her arms. Before she made it halfway up the pews, she reached into it and tossed a handful of red rose petals into the air. She had to be in her 20s, a little old to be a flower girl.
She beamed a smile at the priest but her eyes narrowed when they met mine. Ah, a friend of Olivia’s, no doubt. My soon-to-be wife must have really sung my praises to her. Just before she reached where I stood in front of the priest, she tossed another handful of rose petals into the air between us before twirling around and sitting in the pew opposite Mr. Rudolph.
The music changed and both the lawyer and Olivia’s friend stood, turning to the back. Olivia stood at the far end of the sanctuary, beside a short, balding man I recognized as Enrico Pirrello, the don’s Consigliere. My new second-in-command, important as he was, couldn’t take any attention away from my bride.
Unlike the boxy business suit designed to mask her femininity, today she wore a white satin gown that clung to every curve as it draped down her body. Strapless, it left her tanned shoulders and arms exposed. She was breathtaking.
Every beat of the music brought her closer to me, gave my eyes another moment to take her in. We’d met as teenagers, her a couple years younger. Even now, when I pictured her in my head, I had seen that awkward, nerdy girl who dressed way too grown up. Seeing her last week, dressed to be taken seriously in a board room, that old image remained.
She still hated me, but as she stepped up to the altar beside me, a few of my apprehensions about marrying her disappeared. Maybe the don was right, she’d come around. I sure hoped so.
6
Olivia
Sitting in front of the mirror in the powder room connected to the church’s women’s restroom, everything in the reflection appeared as perfectly as I’d dreamed my wedding day would be. The designer satin dress the helpful shop girl had found for me after Celeste’s sabotages fit perfectly, clinging in all the right places.
The girls at the salon had given my hair and makeup the type of attention I’d never had the time for. Dark curls fanned over my uncovered shoulders artfully and even if I watched a million YouTube makeup tutorials, I’d never get my eyes to pop this well. The pictures would be perfect. A perfect lie.
I’d never given much thought to the man I’d marry. On some level, just being who I was, my father who he was, I knew I’d probably end up with one of his lieutenants, maybe a man from another family, as a merger. Closely kept and often transferred by inheritance, the Mafia was a lot like the royalty of old in some ways.
When I did picture that perfect wedding, the man standing at my side might have had a blurry face, but we got along in my dreams, had time to turn that into a genuine connection. He wasn’t my teenage bully and not even a member of any of the families. I looked the part, but the groom didn’t match those girlish fantasies. Not by a long shot.
