With a sharp nod, Daniele excuses himself.
Stifling my annoyance, I realize Gia’s husband means to claim my next dance, so I pretend not to notice Ritchie and decide it’s time to powder my nose.
Quietly stepping inside the ladies' room, a cloud of expensive perfume nearly knocks me down, and I hear female voices chattering like an overturned beehive. “We had such hopes for forming a bond between you and him after Sofia ran off, but I’ll hand it to the littlehussy… the sheets make it impossible for him to honorably withdraw now even if he had come to his senses.”
Peeking around the corner, I see Mrs. Russo, the Consigliere’s wife, and that’s his daughter, the girl who danced with Carlo and glared at me. The other one is the wife of the Underboss from Philadelphia. I’m the hussy who obviously trapped him. What a fucking joke. But how the hell dotheyknow about the sheets?
“I can't believe he really choseher.He could've had anyone. He didn’t look very happy dancing with her, and he was very cordial with me. Do you think there’s any chance he might set her aside?” the girl asks her mother.
“You know that’s not how things are done once a man proves he’s claimed his bride, my dear, but there are two more Vicini brothers you could be promised to.”
“But they won’t be the Don,” she pouts.
"I'm certain she's behind Sofia's disappearance. Probably had her quietly killed off," the Underboss's wife suggests.
Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous. The urge to slink back out of here is strong, but my anger is stronger. I am his wife. Hechoseme, and no Vicini hangs their head for nasty vultures.
Having heard enough, I step around the corner, holding my head high and taking pleasure in the way the blood drains from their faces. "Good evening, ladies. Don't let me interrupt yourfascinatingdiscussion."
The three of them murmur rapid, false courtesies, acting as though they weren't speaking of me. I give them a pitying smirk before deliberately turning my back on them and reapplying my lipstick.They're spiteful creatures like Bibi's cousin Piera, and their opinions don't define me.
As they're backing out of the room, I glance over my shoulder. "I hope you'll be more circumspect about where you hold your gossip sessions in the future. You never know who might be listening, and my husband is rather bewitched by me."
When I step back into the hallway, Faro is waiting for me, smirking at the retreating women. "They give you any trouble?"
I shake my head as Caterina joins us, her lovely face clouded with concern.
“Frankie… God, I’m sorry,” she whispers, hugging me.
Did she hear them, too? I can’t see how. “It’s okay,” I say, sitting on a nearby bench to slip off my heels and massage my aching feet.
Cat joins me, kicking off her own heels as Faro retreats a few yards to give us privacy. “I don’t care about tradition. The world has no right sticking their nose in a couple’s marriage bed this way.”
“Marriage bed? What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Oh, I…” Cat cringes before continuing. “I made the mistake of joining Alessio in the corner where the men have been loitering since the dancing started. It’s not like they’d havethatto display if this reception had happened immediately after a regular wedding.”
Jumping up before she can say more, I race barefoot back into the ballroom. Every single one of these men are killers, but they part like leaves before a tornado when they see me. My eyes grow wider, and my stomach bottoms when my horrifying suspicion is confirmed. The absolutebastard.
Draped over a table is the proof of my lost virginity and Carlo’s triumph over the stupid girl who thought she’d found a way out of aTrio marriage and instead climbed right into her coffin. I’m going to murder him.
But before I can do anything, a pair of strong arms lock around my waist. His scent, spicy cologne and smoky liquor, floods my nostrils as his hard body presses against mine, his husky voice murmuring in my ear, “You’ve lost your shoes,mia moglie.Does this mean it’s time for another dance?”
44
Carlo
Ignoring Frankie has proven as impossible as I knew it would be. When she refused to keep dancing tonight, I felt those walls of mine crumbling faster than sandcastles at high tide. She was defiant and spirited and perfect, and holding her in my arms while we danced after these past few nights apart was what I craved even as we argued.
Putting distance between us again after our dance was essential. I needed to regain control, but I find myself wishing I could be alone with her instead of surrounded by our guests. This fucking circus is for everyone except the two people whose union it’s meant to celebrate.
“Let no man doubt our future Don’s pitiless nature toward hymens,” Roberto, the Underboss for Philly, says of the blood-stained sheet.
The men surrounding him chuckle, including his two grown sons, all of them the extremely traditional sort like him who get off on this shit. I want to tear them apart with my bare hands. I hate this goddamn tradition, and I hate myself for allowing something that intimately involves my wife to be shared with anyone.
“Is this the mark of a man in New York? To boast over making a girl bleed?”
The male amusement vanishes instantly at Nico Morelli’s mocking tone. In truth, I respect the future Capo of Chicago for his opinion and speaking his mind but offending so many of the men I’m meant to rule won't do.
