Interesting. Usually the bride micromanages this part. I’ll have to make do with what info I can pry from them.
“What’s the bride like? What does she enjoy?” I prompt, pen ready.
“Picture a blonde Chucky doll with a thing for cockroaches,” Luca says.
This time, I can’t swallow my laughter fast enough, so it comes out as a cough.Who describes their future wife like that?
“Luca!” Marco’s voice cracks through the room like a whip. Luca’s only response is to tense even harder; I swear the window behind him groans in protest.
“My son hasn’t learned that some thoughts are better kept to himself,” Marco says without breaking eye contact with him.
“That’s fine,” I reply lightly. “Better now than at the altar.”
Gianna’s lips twitch with what, for her, must be an all-out belly laugh. I’m absurdly pleased with myself for earning it.
After a few more basic details about the bride— Beatrice, for the record—they get ready to leave. Luca goes first, pausing only to tell me to put “Black, like the bride’s soul” as the dress code on the invites.
Marco is the last to go. He pauses in the doorway, glances back at me, and there’s something in his eyes…regret? Guilt? I can’t nail it down.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Roxy,” he says.
“Likewise,” I reply, already turning back to my notes. There’s a wedding to plan.
When I’m flipping through the last page of ideas, my boss pokes her head in.
“How’d it go?”
“The groom would probably prefer marrying a jellyfish, but otherwise fine,” I say with a grin.
“They seem like good people?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
I give her a wary look. “Yeah. Why?”
She moves to the spot Luca stood, hands clasped behind her. “There’ve been rumors they’re connected to the Italian mafia. Nothing official. But if something feels off, tell me and we’ll walk away.”
“They seem fine,” I tell her, careful not to mention that my best friend is engaged to the head of the Russian mob in Chicago, or that the Polish mafia leader himself has delusions of wedding plans involvingme.
This is just another job—only difference is this one comes with a bottomless bag of cash.
“I mean it, Roxy,” she says. “We need these big events, but I’d rather have you safe.”
I just smile and nod. Truth is, I haven’t been safe for alongtime.
It’s been days since the whole nightmare with that damned dahlia, proof enough that danger can find me even at home. And every night since, there’s been a motorcycle parked right out front.
I know exactly whose it is. And too many times, I’ve almost invited him upstairs. But I know what’ll happen if I do.
Damien is my kryptonite.
And the last thing I need right now is another weakness. If the person who killed my mother is still watching me, Damien’s the last person I want in their crosshairs. Not that he’s making my life easy, since he sticks to me like a shadow, practicallybeggingto be a target.
Would it really be too much to ask for a little peace?I thought after the whole Luna-and-Aiden mess, the universe would say,You know what, Roxy? You’ve earned some peace and quiet.
Apparently not.
If biting the Irish mob boss’s dick didn’t earn me cosmic mercy, I honestly don’t know what will.
Chapter 8
