Luca’s hands tighten over my wrists, and I finally gain enough composure to wrench away from him.
“Get out of here,” my father snarls. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I will not be disrespected in this manner…” His furious monologue trails off. Only then do I realize the familiar suited figure at Tristan’s back.
Dante is here. And he brought associates.
Tristan reaches my side and kneels beside me. He pulls me into his arms and lifts me out of Luca’s vicinity. My would-be husband lurches toward me, but Dante gets there first. He comes in swinging. His knuckles connect with Luca’s nose.
“What the fuck?” Luca lifts a hand to his bloody face.
“Language, son,” Dante purrs. “We’re in a church.” He shoves Luca aside to grab Kepler’s cage.
“What are you doing?”
“Nobody puts Cannoli in the corner.” Dante does a spin. Kind of like Nancy Kerrigan but with Tanya Harding vibes. He runs his free hand down his torso to smooth the wrinkles in his shirtfront. “And in case you were unaware, Minerva is my goddaughter. Which means that nobody puts her in the corner, either.”
I wrap my arms around Tristan’s neck and nuzzle against his neck. “You came for me.”
“Did you doubt me?”
Something in my chest unlocks, a quiet click I feel in bone and breath: safety choosing me back. I shake my head, lost for words. Ever since I left Tristan’s, it’s been unbearable. I thought I would never see him again, but he risked pissing off Luca and my father to get me back.
Tristan lifts me into his arms, carrying me as if I’mhisbride even though he’s wearing athleisure in the neon Venom colors. Luca’s still sputtering by the altar, and the guests are tutting and whispering to one another. I’m not worried about them, but the storm cloud on my father’s face is a familiar one. I know what he’s capable of, even if Tristan doesn’t.
When he speaks, his voice trembles with barely repressed fury. I’ve seen what happens when that repression breaks. “Luca,” he snaps, “you were supposed to have this under control. And Dante, you’ve interfered for the last time.”
Dante strolls forward, still holding Kepler’s cage. “Careful, Vito. You seem to have forgotten who you’re talking to because if you did, you’d know that I haven’t even begun to interfere. And you wouldn’t dare speak to me like this in the first place.”
My father circles toward him. They’re like a pair of sharks sizing each other up. “This is family business, Dante. We got a prince for our ugly duckling. You should have stayed out of it. If not for you, the little freak would’ve come crawling back eventually. She was living in her goddam car.”
Dante smiles. It’s not a pretty thing. More of a maniacal sneer. “I respected you enough not to get involved until she came to me. I made sure she was protected, and her needs were met without treading on your toes. I’m her godfather. Twenty-six years ago, I swore to God and a priest that I’d take care of her. I meant it. I never forgot it. And yet you did. You forgot that she’s not property, she’s a person. She has her own hopes and dreams. Our job, as parents, is to support them. You seemto have missed that lesson. The only thing you did right was ask me to take on this responsibility. You cut her off from her family. She’s part of my family now. Dubois? Come on.” He strides past my father, counting on Tristan to obey.
Tristan does as he’s told, giving my father a wide berth. I keep expecting someone to intervene—these are my father’s people, after all. Dante and his crew of silent goons are outnumbered more than ten to one, and many of the guests have their own reputations to uphold.
But nobody moves.
The name Giovanetti holds way more weight in this town.
I suck in a breath of fresh air as soon as we emerge from the church. I tap Tristan’s shoulder. “You can put me down now.”
“Of course.” He sets me on my feet. “Are you okay?”
“Better, now.” I keep a tight hold of his hand. I want reassurance that this is real, and that I’m not currently in the middle of the most fantastic dissociative episode of my life.
“Good. That means I can give you this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out Kepler’s goggles. “Here, Dante, catch.”
My godfather catches the goggles out of the air. He kneels on the church steps to put them where they belong on Kepler’s face. “There you go, Cannoli,” he coos. “Poor boy, you’re shaking. Don’t worry, if that stupid fuck ever lays a finger on you again, I’ll make him eat his own fingers. Without condiments.”
I lean into Tristan’s side. I have so many questions, but they all fly out of my head when I realize that we have an audience. A woman stands against one wall of the church, her hair hidden under a black scarf, her face obscured by oversized sunglasses, and her thin arms wrapped around her middle.
I blink a few times, but the apparition remains. “Mom?”
She smiles sadly and lifts one hand in greeting.
The front door of the church slams open again to reveal my father. There’s no sign of Luca, but a few of the guests have rallied to form a protective wall at my father’s back.
“What now, Vito?” Dante asks, sounding more annoyed than anything.
“This isn’t over. You think I’m going to tolerate this kind of disrespect?”
