And I have been manipulated into believing my power in the District is on account of my allegiance to Jimmy Storm, my arranged marriage to his daughter—Aurora. A family that has no Mafia blood; Jimmy was no more than a poor man’s son, with a ruthless ambition that found him up a casino ladder with a great vantage point.
Fucker.
“No wars before the wedding. Don’t give the Feds a reason to go poking around when half of the world’s organised crime families are in one fucking location,” I say. “Control the streets, control the city, Se?”
“You sound like Jimmy,” Bronson mutters.
I know.I press my cigar into the ashtray in front of me and lean backwards, smoothing down my tie. “Take the gold. It doesn’t matter what mine it comes from.”
“Fucking hell.” Bronson laughs, and I deadpan. “You do like the sound of your own voice, don’t you, old boy? Are you this much fun with Fawn while she’s trying to plan the most important day of her life?”
I lift an eyebrow at him.
“Poor girl. She’s gonna need big brother Bronson to bring the fun to this wedding planning. Don’t shoot the man who starts messaging her, okay? It’s just me.”
Fun? Impractical.
Then, I recall a moment from last week. My sweet girl spread wedding magazines across our dining table, her dual-coloured gaze beaming with excitement.
She'd pointed to a floral arrangement—white and cream and stunning, just like her—and said, "What about these for the bridesmaid bouquets, Sir? They remind me of the coast in winter, when everything is cream and white.”
Christ—I had merely nodded, scanning the company details in the bylines, calculating the security implications of having unknown delivery vehicles at the hotel and cathedral on our wedding day.
"Sir," she'd said softly, placing her small hand over mine. "You're doing it again."
"What is that, sweet girl?" I'd asked, though I knewprecisely what she meant. I was being practical, and not…enthusiastic.
"That thing where you're physically here but your mind is running security protocols." She had studied me with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. "You don’t like me leaving the mansion without you, and you’re so busy at the moment.” She sighed. “This is supposed to be fun, Sir."
The slap of fists on flesh draws me back to the present, to the boxing match, and to Bronson’s smug expression as he watches me deep in thought.
Fucker.
Shoshanna clicks her glass down, her dark brow arching at her husband. “You just want to be the wedding planner, Nutcase. Admit it.”
Bronson grins. “Well, baby, you didn’t let me plan a big reception for us, and if I can’t butcher bikers, I’m going to need a creative outlet.” His hand drifts from my arm to Shoshanna’s thigh, where he paws her.
“Marry me again,” Bronson tells Shoshanna, in his own damn world. “A big wedding. I want to see you walk down the aisle, baby.”
“Wearemarried, Nutcase,” she shoots back. “We don’t need a big wedding. We had a quiet one. It waspeaceful.”
“Our little ceremony was fucking magnificent, but I want to be a groomzilla. Marry me again, baby!” He drops to one knee, and I sigh roughly at the spectacle. “I’ll wear something slutty for you. Chaps. Budgie smugglers. A cowboy hat. A mask. All at the same time.”
She drags him back to his seat. “Cut it out.”
“Cut what out?” he asks. “Just name it.”
“Oh my God.”She rolls her eyes, peering past him to where I sit, unimpressed. “Please let your brother help Fawn with the wedding—get this out of his system?”
Christ.
I mull it over. Bronson, for all his insanity, knows how to make women hold light smiles, to giggle, and it is effortless for him. My world runs on precision, on control. But he’s right; my little deer deserves to enjoy this journey—the dress fittings, the cake tastings, flower arranging, all the frivolous endeavours that make young women smile. But I've never been the man who brings laughter into a room.
I concede—I’ll allow Bronson to make her laugh while I make sure no one is arrested or bleeds on our wedding day. I turn to them, deadpan. “Madonna mia. Fine.”
A smirk hits the corner of Bronson’s lips. “You’ll approve my number then you controlling bastard?”
Ah,there it is.
