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“You certainly have a more reckless approach to negotiations, but I admire your audacity.”

“Had I not confessed to killing Franco, they’d have come sniffing around eventually. You saw the accusation written all over their faces, when we first sat down. I could practically smell it on Stefano.”

“Pretty sure that was spaghetti sauce, boss.” Makaio chuckles from the front seat, and I can’t help but share his amusement. After all, it’s not every day a man gets to press the mafia’s buttons.

“Anyway, they now know I’m a man with nothing to hide.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know that I won’t have to sleep with a gun beneath my pillow.”

“Wait. You don’t usually sleep with a gun beneath your pillow?” Makaio frowns back at us from the rearview mirror. “Who doesn’t sleep with a gun beneath their pillow? I do. Do you, boss?”

“Always.”

Rand sneers and turns his gaze back toward the passenger window. “Well, I doubt either of you sleep wearing an undergarment for incontinence, so there’s that.”

Chapter 36

Lucian

Eight years ago …

I gulp back the entire glass of champagne and signal the waiter for another, while my buddy, Sebastian, does his best to piece together a shit best man speech. The only time he’s ever met the bride was at my graduation party, when she snubbed him, so I’ve gotta give him some credit for not making her out to look like a total bitch.

“And I wish you a long and happy life together. Cheers.”

With his official toast, I polish off my fourth glass. At this rate, I’ll be too trashed for the first dance. Maybe someone else will fill my place for it.

I catch sight of my father, standing off with Mayor Boyd, both of them laughing. It makes sense why Boyd would be delighted, marrying into power and wealth, but I haven’t quite figured out the payoff for my father, aside from strapping me down with domesticated life. Perhaps that’s the only payoff, but I’ve known my father long enough to recognize he doesn’t do anything that isn’t wholly for his own gain.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Amelia sits beside me, not having said much for most of the night, aside from the templated vows the two of us memorized this morning. “Your mother did such a nice job planning everything.”

There’s a dash of animosity in her tone, though subtle, as she’s cunning enough to disguise her contempt beneath layers of polished etiquette.

“I’m sure she paid someone to take care of the details.” It’s a chip at her pride, but I’m too drunk to care.

“Have you given any thought to the honeymoon?” She sips a glass of water, and I reckon everyone at this dog and pony show knows she’s knocked up because of it.

“What’s the point? You’re already carrying my child, aren’t you?”

The flinch of her eyes betrays the indifference she’s struggling to hold in place like a mask that’s too small for her face. “I understand this whole thing isn’t what either one of us would have chosen. But the least you can do is pretend to enjoy the evening.”

I lift yet another glass of champagne. “I’m working on that.”

As the night rolls on, I stumble my way through the first dance and the sloppy cake cutting, walking off before she has the opportunity to smash the twenty-thousand dollar cake my mother ordered in my face. By the time it’s over, I feel like I’ve been strung up by my briefs most of the night, my ass hanging out.

With the music blasting through the atrium, I stumble my way out into the hallway, my brain swimming in at least three bottles worth of champagne.

“Lucian.” The sound of Amelia’s voice is fine china scraping against ground glass.

I want to claw it out of my skull.

“Lucian, wait.”

On unsteady feet, I pause halfway down the hall, while she scurries to catch up to me. It’s only because she’s the pregnant bride of the evening that I give her the time.

“I’ll help you to our bed.”

“Our bed? No. There is no our bed. You sleep in your bed. I sleep in my bed.”