According to Cosa Nostra, Federico Sabatini has around fifty men from Camorra, and Nico is the one who has to find out who they are and deal with them. Or at least, that’s what I understood from the conversation with Nico until he mentioned that he wants to tighten the alliance with marriage.
“Whose idea was it?” I look between him and Max, Mack, and Mick.
Nico shrugs. “Marriage is a good move to tighten our alliance.”
“Is that so? And who will willingly marry into another family, and to a man we don’t even know?” I shake my head. I thought Nico would hate this. I guess I was wrong.
“The groom isn’t bad, and I will make sure the bride is willing. I have a couple in mind. Don’t worry, this is just something that has to be done.”
I huff. “I had an arranged marriage that I had no say in. I’m just lucky we never got married. What I lived through isn't something I wish upon someone else.”
“Look, the groom is fine. He actually has a loving mother and father and will make sure this marriage works.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Who are you talking about?”
He grins. “Our groom is Gabriel Savastano. Consigliere to Don Salvatore, so don’t worry about the bride. I’m sure there will be plenty of young women ready to make this kind of compromise.”
I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t. Savastano is the groom in this alliance. I didn’t even know that was a possibility. I never imagined he’d settle down, not after what he went through that night. A vivid picture flashes through my mind of Gabriel lifting a veil off another woman, sliding a ring onto her finger. The image makes me want to scream, and I swallow against the bitter taste in my mouth.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” Max chuckles.
I turn and point my finger at him. “Zip it.” I cross my hands in front of me and narrow my eyes at Nico. “Who are the possible brides?”
He looks up from the papers in front of him and assesses me for a moment. “Why are you interested? I already told you they will be agreeable.”
I don’t answer. Because what should I tell him? I made out with the guy and wanted him to pop my cherry so I could be free? Should I tell him I had wet dreams for days after? Or how I’m imagining stabbing every single one of them, especially the bride who isn’t me? Driving the blade in deep and watching her blood pour over the altar like an offering? A warning. A promise. A reminder that she should’ve never dared to stand where only I belong. He doesn’t need to know any of that. And he especially doesn’t need to know how I’m burning with jealousy at the mere idea of his getting married to anyone else.
I take a deep breath, and with a bright smile, I lie through my teeth. “I just want to know if I can help you convince them.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You would help me convince a girl to marry Savastano?” he asks doubtfully.
“I would tell her all the benefits of the alliance for our families and how much that will mean to her family, and to her as a wife and socialite.” I shrug.
“Hmm, interesting approach. Why didn’t I think of that?”
I smile. “That’s why you have me.”
“True.” He leans his head to the side. “For now, I have three candidates. Giulia Luciano’s daughter, Bianca Peppino’s daughter, and Alessia Orazio’s daughter.”
“Right.” I turn and walk toward the door. “I’ll work on the approach,” I say before leaving for my room.
I close my door and pace my room. Nico is delusional if he thinks I will set Gabriel up with any of those ladder-climbing bitches. He’s about to find out who he’s dealing with. I will notbe convincing them to marry him; I will be convincing themnotto marry him.
I smile, walk toward my bed, and pull out the box hidden beneath it. The box that hides my secret. The box filled with photos, sports articles, and letters I wrote. Promises I made. And as I read the letters fourteen-year-old Valentina, with heart eyes wrote, an idea comes to my mind. I shake the idea out of my head, because if I stick to it, I’ll lose everything I ever wanted.
But you also want the idea.
I groan at the voice in my head and bury my face in my hands. Maybe I can have both.
I spread the contents of my box in front of me, remembering when my obsession started.
My eye catches the VIP badge attached to the broken mouthpiece I managed to snag that night when I first saw him. The night my obsession with boxing and him began. Nico made sure we sat near the cage, and who cared about young girls there while the crowd cheered? I smile at the memory, and my eyes follow to the next item, a clipping from a sports newspaper, where he’s on top of his opponent, hitting him, the referee and two men trying to split them apart. That was the day he sacrificed his career and never fought again. It was also the day my teenage fantasy stirred awake, whispering that maybe, just maybe, it could happen.
Through the years, I’ve gathered every piece of information about him. I’ve printed all the pictures I found on the internet to have in my collection.
I take in every picture I have; each one is different from the others in one way or another. It differs from his angle to how he styled his hair, and even what he was wearing. When I reach the bottom of the box, I take the most precious possession from my trip to New York when I turned eighteen. It used to smell spicy and forbidden, somewhere between pepper and leather, likehim, until it faded. I take the plain black shirt in my hand and inhale. I can still smell his scent on the shirt, but it could also be my memory, and the fact that I did inhale his scent in real time, not just from my imagination.
I look down at the shirt and smile at the reminder of when I convinced my mother to take me to New York to dress shop for my party. I walked her around Fifth Avenue all day, until she was too tired and couldn’t go home the same day, so we spent the night at a hotel. Well,shedid. I snuck out and went to the club where he spent every night. I waited and waited. My initial plan was to try to seduce him. Stupid, I know. What was I thinking? Seducing a boy in my school and making out wasn’t like seducing an experienced man who could have any woman he wanted. That was obvious the moment I saw him and the girls who were with him. So, I compensated for that by getting my hands on something of his. I made a bet with a blonde who had accompanied him that she would get him to take his shirt off before the red-haired one. I laugh at the memory. Convincing her wasn’t easy, and the way she made the other girl spill the water over him, only to have her insist on cleaning it herself, is unforgettable.
