“Your uncle is going spare, man,” Ivan yelled over the music.
His booming words pulled me from my thoughts. That first meeting with the don faded from memory but not before that odd moment of reflection, when he’d zoned out hit me. I thought it had happened because he was dying. Hopefully my own trip down memory lane wasn’t an omen.
The hostess’s distinctive red hair rose from the spiral staircase. She smiled broadly and set the glass in front of me before filling it from a fresh bottle. Ivan didn’t even need to encourage me. I tossed my head back, swallowing the potent burn.
“Your uncle, he’s worried you’re up to something,” Ivan continued after banishing the hostess with a curt nod toward the staircase. “He thinks you’re out for revenge. You’ll take over the Bratva with the help of your new Italian friends.”
“I think I’ll have more than enough on my hands with the Castello family alone, especially the don’s daughter,” I spat before pouring another glass. “Let him run the Bratva into the ground all on his own. I’ve moved on.”
“He won’t see it that way, you know that,” Ivan argued as I downed another shot of vodka. “He did everything he could to push you out, get you to leave. And what do you do after he finally succeeded? You take over a damn Mafia family?”
“I’ve been out half a year now, doing my own thing,” I shot back. “If my uncle sees me as such a threat, why hasn’t he come after me yet?”
“You really don’t know?” Ivan sputtered, wide eyed.
His jaw dropped and he chuckled darkly. Almost always gregarious and happy go lucky, I knew it was serious when Ivan got like this. I poured another shot, not stopping until a dribble of vodka snaked down the side. The overflowing shot disappeared down my throat before Ivan continued.
“He thought you’d run back to Moscow, become someone else’s problem,” he said, pausing to drink deep from his bottle. “When you didn’t, he assumed you were working against him. He wanted to have you taken out. The don made it clear that if he did so, there’d be repercussions.”
“And now the don is dead,” I added.
“And you are taking his place. You have to see why your uncle is worried.” Ivan clenched his jaw.
“You really know how to throw a bachelor party, Ivan,” I grumbled and poured another shot. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. Hell, maybe my soon-to-be wife can team up with him to get rid of me?”
“Drink up, Dimitri.” Ivan held out his bottle until I clinked my glass to its lip. “The night is young. I’m sure between the vodka and my girls, we will banish your worries, at least for the night.”
That next shot of vodka barely burned as it splashed down my throat. Another joined it soon after. I’d probably need another bottle if I wanted to truly forget my worries.
4
Olivia
My fingers wrapped around the handle of the changing room door. Judging from the reflection in the narrow mirror inside the stall, this wasn’t the dress for me. But Celeste, the girl who had dragged me dress shopping in the first place had picked it out. I had to at least show her the unsatisfactory results before moving on to something I’d actually want to wear.
As little as I wanted to be here getting ready for the wedding I wanted to be a part of even less, she’d been right about one thing. I needed to get out of the house. Everything in it reminded me of my father and the fact that I would never see him roaming its halls again. Even with several months to prepare for the inevitable, it had almost overwhelmed me when he drew his last breath.
Celeste slouched in one of the oversized plushy chairs in the corner of the bridal boutique’s changing area. A half-empty glass of complimentary champagne hung in the fingers of one hand, her phone in the other. Hearing me open the door, she blew a dark curl out of her face and stared my way.
“OMG! That looks fabulous on you,” she gushed before pushing herself out of the chair and approaching. “I think you found the perfect wedding dress, I mean I found you the perfect wedding dress.”
“Really?” My head jerked back, lips turning to a frown.
“Come on, Olivia,” Celeste replied, rolling her eyes as she stepped behind me and pushed me toward the triple mirror set up, “you know fashion isn’t your strong suit. You dress like one of the guys most of the times. You can trust my fashion sense.”
She wasn’t wrong about my lack of style. After my mother had died, it had just been me and my father. I’d been much more interested in proving myself to him than acting my age. When other girls’ interests turned to fashion and style, I’d been laser focused on my classes and learning about the family business.
While I had a hole in my knowledge, I wasn’t blind. The well-lit triple mirror set up showed me all the same problems I’d noticed in the narrow one inside the changing stall. Long-sleeved with puffy shoulders, the lace pattern over the poofy, ankle-length skirt reminded me of a doily.
“I think I should try a different one,” I said to my frowning reflection. “I mean, who chooses the first dress they try on?”
“You were the one who didn’t want to come,” Celeste argued. “‘I’ll just wear something from my closet, Celeste.’”
She dropped her voice when she mimicked mine, adding a whining quality. Being the daughter of my father’s consigliere, we’d known each other since we were kids. She’d always been snipy, kind of a bitch, really. I’d gotten used to it, ignored her biting remarks most of the time. It seemed they got a little more nibbly when she’d been drinking.
“Fine,” Celeste huffed and downed her champagne, “I’ll go find something else for you to try, but we should keep that as an option. You won’t find anything better, I just know it.”
I frowned at her retreating form as she returned to the main area of the store. Before stepping back into the changing room, my eyes moved back to my reflection. Its head shook and I agreed. This dress was hideous. Either Celeste’s fashion sense wasn’t as finely honed as I thought or she wanted me wearing a hideous dress for the farce of a wedding tomorrow.
