Carter's death is already public knowledge. The official story is that he was killed in Venezuela by the Cartel. Massimo usedhis FBI contacts to spin the story that they rescued Amauri, but were not in time to save Carter. There is no body, but it's enough for a Justice of the Peace to declare me a widow. Enough for the country to mourn him. Enough for it to turn on me for not mourning him long enough.
Massimo keeps the worst of it out of the papers. Keeps Amauri's name out of their mouths. But he can't stop all of it, can't stop people from counting the days between Carter's death… and our wedding. There was a time when I would have cared. That time is over. As long as Amauri is safe from the gossip, I'm fine with it, and the school is doing an excellent job shielding him when he's there.
This weekend, we're getting married. Quietly. No spectacle. No press. No politics. Just us. Massimo'sfriendswill be there, the other capos I haven't met yet, but will tonight at our long-overdue dinner party. I purposefully kept the affair informal. Massimo told me about his friends, how they met, how they took over the city, and how they saved each other's lives more than once. I feel a deep sense of gratitude towards each of them. They kept Massimo alive in more ways than one, and that already gives them a big place in my heart. I've ordered the long dark wood table to be placed and set by the terrace—because God forbid, I so much as fold a napkin—the doors open to the warm Vegas night. Candlelight. Just food, wine, and whatever kind of men survive loving someone like Massimo.
Somewhere in the background, the city hums like it always does — unaware of the men who run it.
Amauri is practically vibrating beside me.
"They're soldiers, right?" he whispers.
"Friends," I correct gently.
The elevator chimes. Massimo appears from the hallway first, followed by two men. I recognize Enzo. Scarred. Controlled. Authority wrapped in calm. I've spoken to Amauriabout how he might look scary to him, but all Amauri can think to say is, "Wow, you survived a lot. Just like Massimo."
Enzo tries to smile. On his ravaged face, it looks grotesque, but Amauri doesn't flinch away. He shakes Enzo's hand like a pro. Then Enzo shakes mine. "Good to see you again, Jenna."
"Enzo," I nod, smiling. I like him. I like his quiet demeanor filled with confidence. I have a feeling there is no deceit in the man. You'll know if you get on his bad side. Fast.
Behind him, another man enters. I've seen him before, at the Oven when Carter, Sean, and Marianne were… laid to rest. But I never caught his name.
"Jenna, this is Damiano Ferrante. Damiano, Jenna." Massimo introduces.
"Nice to meet you." We shake hands, his is strong, and his dark eyes bore questioningly into mine.
"The woman of steel, I'm told," Damiano winks. "And after meeting you, I can confirm the rumors."
"What rumors?" Massimo demands.
Damiano laughs, "Easy, boss. Nothing bad, only that the men are in complete awe of her and already intimidated."
Blood rushes to my face. It was never my intention to make some kind of impression on Massimo's men. "I…" The word hangs there, fragile and utterly useless.
Massimo's hand slides to the small of my back. Not possessive. Not restraining. Anchoring. I straighten my shoulders instead of shrinking.
"What exactly did you hear?" Massimo asks again, but there's less edge in it now. More curiosity than warning.
"That she walked into our world," Enzo answers smoothly as he pours himself a drink, "and didn't flinch."
"That she stood by the Oven," Damiano adds quietly, "and didn't break."
The air shifts. Not heavy. Just aware.
Blood still warms my cheeks, but I refuse to let it feel like embarrassment.
"I broke," I correct softly. "I just didn't fall."
Silence for half a breath. Then Damiano nods once. Slow. Respectful.
"Steel," he repeats.
Amauri looks between us, frowning thoughtfully. "Mummy doesn't break," he announces with the absolute certainty only children possess. "She bends. Like in karate."
A laugh ripples through the men. Massimo crouches slightly toward him. "Your mother is more dangerous than karate."
I nudge him with my elbow. "Careful. I might start believing you."
He leans closer, voice low enough for only me. "You should."
