Page 30 of The Mafioso’s Bride

Dante returns to his chair. “Of course.”

The gala means Giada comes with me. Leaving her home would insult her and tell every loyalist family that I’m ashamed of the wife I took from them.

Taking her puts her among the same people who laughed at her, dismissed her, and helped her family offer her to Giuseppe Lombardi.

I can protect her body in that ballroom.

Protecting her dignity will be harder.

Giada

That evening, Luca spreads a printed floor plan across the table in his breakfast room. His finger rests on a square marked EAST HALL.

“We enter here,” he says. “The ballroom is through these doors. Dante and Polina will meet us near the entrance. Dinner follows the reception, but we don’t have to stay for it.”

I trace the route with my eyes: entrance, ballroom, east hall. A smaller room sits past the coat check.

“What is this room?”

“A private sitting room. It will remain empty for you. Mattia has posted a guard outside it.”

“May I go there alone?”

“Yes. Or I’ll go with you.” Luca taps the east exit. “Our car stays here. If you want to leave, tell me. We’ll leave. You don’t need a reason.”

The plan has straight edges. Each part leads to the next.

“How many people?”

“About one hundred and fifty. The room holds more, so they won’t be packed together. A string quartet will play during the reception. No dancing until after dinner.”

“Who will speak to me?”

“Polina. Dante. The host and his wife. Other people may approach us, but I’ll handle them.” His finger moves to the ballroom. “I need to speak with Dante during the evening. If that happens, Polina will stay with you.”

“For how long?”

“Five minutes if everything goes as planned.”

Plans may fail. Luca always includes that part.

He folds the paper and offers it to me. “Keep this if you want.” I put it in my evening bag.

His black suit is cut close. The silver tardigrade sits on his lapel beside a white pocket square.

“You wore it.”

“My wife gave it to me.”

He says the same sentence at home and in rooms full of dangerous men. I touch the pin with one fingertip.

“It doesn’t match formal evening clothes.”

“Then formal evening clothes need better standards.”

My mouth curves. “That is unreasonable.”

“I’m prepared to defend my position.”