As I sit here trying to stay alert, thoughts of Cecilia invade my mind like a storm hitting the Himalayas. Her in that gorgeous fucking white dress, waiting for my reaction with big doe eyes. Her playing the piano at her recital, spotting me in the crowd. Her lying by my side when she thought I was dying, caring for me with concern I hadn’t earned.
My fingers drum on the table, tracing the lines of her collarbone in my imagination. She let me touch her, let me buy her food, and take her shopping, and…flirt. I fucking flirted with my future wife, and she surprised me in the most delicious way when she flirted back.
“What if you’ll corrupt me? What then?”
I knew better than to give her the real answer. That me corrupting her wouldn’t be the problem, but the other way around. Because let’s be for fucking real right now…
She’s beautiful beyond past or modern expectations. She’s kind. And talented. And has a backbone that makes me want to drag that feisty mouth to mine. She’s a mixture of sweet, naïve, and fierce, with a past so dark and tragic, it adds to the power I know she harbors inside her.Allthis fuels the madness in my head, and I have a dreadful feeling only a bullet could stop it.
Leaning back in my seat, I huff out a frustrated sigh as an unknown figure steps into my booth—a man. Brown eyes, buzz cut. No tattoos, no rings, nothing out of the ordinary. Impossible to place within any of the crime families. I watch him sit down and dip his hand into his chest pocket.
“Your informant is dead,” he mutters.
I quirk a brow, acting like I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Myinformant?”
He slides a small piece of paper over to me across the table. I watch him first without touching it, searching his eyes foranything that might reveal his game. Still nothing. So, I tilt the paper up toward me before staring down.
Shit.Fuck.
“Yeah, I’m going to need more than that,” I tell him, although at this point, I’m bluffing. The reason Massimo didn’t show up to our regular meeting place is, apparently, because he’s fucking dead.
“I’m here on behalf of a senator. And before you ask for a name, it’s not important right now. What’s important is we would like to sponsor your efforts debilitating power on the West Coast. We were already working with your informant.”
“Who killed him?”
“Say yes to working with us, and I’ll be able to share more information.”
“Howdid he die?” I insist, remembering what Massimo told me about the otherCapowho disappeared, something about a note written in blood on a coffee table—always family. I can’t help but wonder if whoever did that also killed him.
A pause, and then—“Again, say yes to working with us…”
I stand, buttoning my suit and stopping next to him. “Pretty sure you’re not here on behalf of a senator. And we don’t work with the feds. Have a terrible evening.”
I exit the club into the cold New York weather, pulling out my phone as I walk to my car. This news—if it’s real—couldn’t have come at a worse fucking time. If Antonio hears both hisCapoand his underboss are dead, he’ll be looking for someone to blame. He might even think it was us.
“Sorry to ruin your beauty sleep,” I say when I hear the call connect to my brother, “but we might be in deep shit right now.”
A deep groan sounds from the other end. “Talk to me.”
“Well, how do I put this? Antonio’s underboss is dead. And I know this because thefeds, of all people, summoned me to The Hive tonight.”
“You mean the only leverage we had to take Chicago back is gone.”
I open the door to my Bentley and get in the driver’s seat. “Possibly. I haven’t fact-checked yet, but I was supposed to meet him, and he didn’t show up.”
“Fuck.”
Fuck, indeed.
“You know what this means, right?” Wolf asks. “The wedding needs to be tomorrow, or Antonio might go as far as thinking we did it. And instead of a city for either of us to rule, we’ll have a fucking massacre.”
“Already taking care of the details,” I say, texting Rodion and Niko at the same time. “Get Antonio to New York by tomorrow. I’ll figure out the rest.”
And I do. By the time I get back to the penthouse, I’ve already made sure Cecilia’s dress is ready at dawn. Niko is currently at the store, pointing a gun at the stylist while she works her magic. It’s not all bad—I’m paying her a hundred fucking grand for the inconvenience.
Meanwhile, Rodion is on his way to the priest’s house, and I’ve already cleared the church—Catholic—and paid another few hundred grand to rebook the venue for the reception and everything it entails. When we arranged the marriage, Antonio was adamant about doing things right, intheirtradition, so I couldn’t get away with just the religious crap. But now, this actually works out in our favor. He needs to see we’re serious about this wedding.
Only when the elevator doors open into the penthouse do I tilt my head back and sigh. Fuck. Of all the things that could’ve happened tonight, I didn’t expectthat. It complicates things.
