My body is trembling, my vision shimmering with unshed tears. But I bite back the flood of emotion threatening to drown me. I won’t let them see the wound they’ve inflicted. No, they don’t deserve my tears. Anger overtakes the devastation. I nod.
After washing my face in the restroom and doing a few minutes of calming breathing exercises I learned in yoga, I head back out to help my best friend like I promised. I’ll just keep my eyes on the job in front of me. I can do this. Just a few hours, and I’ll never have to see them again.
I fall back into a rhythm, mindlessly filling glasses, keeping my head down so I don’t accidentally catch sight of Sandro or Giada. After another torturous hour that moves as slow as frozen molasses, a man steps up to the microphone on the stage and directs the crowd to start moving to the tables for the first course of dinner.
The servers return and start rolling their carts back to the kitchen.
Almost finished.
After I’ve scraped the food off the trays and stacked them, I search for someone to help me push the cart back to the kitchen.
The servers are all busy.
I make the mistake of glancing toward the bar, catching the eye of Milo Zerilli. He hasn’t grown much height-wise or as a person, I note. His cruel smirk is unmistakable. He raises a hand and waves.
I raise my middle finger and flip him off. Cursing under my breath, I begin to push the cart myself. The sooner I can get out of here the better.
People have taken their seats. Mayor Suarez is on the stage now, talking about some charity his wife is involved in. I tune him out as I unlock the wheels and concentrate on returning the heavy cart to the kitchen without running into walls or people.
Once in the kitchen, I push it against the wall and lean against it. I’m emotionally drained. I need a minute before I can drive home.
Exiting the kitchen, I grab my purse, find a seating area down a quiet hallway, and collapse into a chair. I can’t close my eyes because Sandro is there waiting, his blue eyes burning with anger. So instead, I stare at the ceiling.
What’s he doing in Tampa? Does he live here now? Why would he marry Giada? They hate each other. Or they used to. It’s been ten years, things change. Could it be an arranged marriage?Even if it is, he obviously agreed to it. So many questions that I will never get answers to. He’s not my business anymore.
I pull out my phone and text Sloane:heading home. See ya there when ur done
With a heavy sigh, I push myself out of the chair and head back to the main room so I can sneak out the front doors.
I’m in the back, halfway to the doors, when I hear his name. I freeze. Against my will, my gaze flicks to the stage.
Sandro and Giada are standing beside Mayor Suarez. Sandro’s eyes are locked on me.
The mayor is saying, “I’d like to make a toast. We have a special guest here tonight. Alessandro LaRocca, who many of you know is a new businessman in the area and also a very generous contributor to Brighter Tomorrow’s Initiative. And he is also newly engaged to Ms. Giada Zerilli.” He holds up a glass of champagne. “A toast to the lovely couple. May your union be happy and blessed.”
Giada glances up at Sandro and follows his stare to me. She grabs his hand and turns him to face her. Her chin tilts up, and she sayssomething to him with a smile. Time freezes as they stare into each other’s eyes.
I blink hard, tearing my gaze away. I meet another set of eyes staring at me from one of the tables.
Gunnar.
His blond hair is in a top knot, shaved at the sides. He’s also bulked up, grown into a beast of a man. He cocks his head and lifts a hand in greeting.
I’d always liked Gunnar, but was also kind of jealous of his relationship with Sandro if I’m being honest.
My hand slowly raises to greet him back, and the movement is enough to get me out of freeze mode. Lowering my head, I race to the door and push out into the muggy night air.
Chapter 4
Alessandro
Our black Range Rover pulls up in front of The Vault, and the three of us pile out: Gunnar and I, along with my brother Rocco. We slip our jackets on to cover our holsters and wait as another blacked-out Range Rover pulls up behind us carrying Caelian—myconsigliereand older cousin—his younger brother Faustino, aka Fausy, who is one of Rocco’s capos, and Big Tony.
Big Tony is bald with a scarred head from a knife fight twenty years ago. He’s almost as wide as he is tall at six feet, which is short compared to the rest of us. He’s been a soldier in our outfit for the last twenty-three years. Never wanted to be anything but a soldier. He enjoys the violence too much.
Two women in sparkling black gowns slip out of the back doors. I wonder which of my men brought dates until they each wrap a possessive hand around Big Tony’s arms. Then I just shake my head with a smirk. “Of course.”
As our group approaches the glass front doors, we notice the Zerillis are standing there chatting and waiting. Presumably for us.It’s always good to make an entrance with numbers. A united show of force.
