Laughter bubbled out of the house. I could hear it all the way out in the field, meaning, the girls had really brought champagne and were most likely getting Andi drunk.
I didn't want to be an ass.
Just like I had never planned on being a killer.
It's not like I woke up one day and thought, I'm going to work for the FBI and the mafia as a double agent then threaten to kill everyone I love and hold dear, and then, just for kicks I'm going to marry a girl who's dying… and hell, why not add salt to the wound and drown a litter of kittens?
"Shit." I kicked the ground with my boot and wiped my face with my hands.
I needed to get back to the house.
I knew there was no way to get out of my predicament. I just wished I wasn't so stuck — I wished the mafia didn't control me, I wished my family would actually listen to me, and for the first time since I'd taken that first step into the bureau… I wished for a second chance.
A do-over.
I would never have walked in.
I would never in a million years have thought to double-cross my family in order to save them…
People would have died.
But my conscience would have been clear.
The jaded feeling that choked me every waking hour would be gone, and I'd be free.
Instead, I was getting married, not to someone I loved, even if I was capable of love, but to a family enemy who probably deserved life more than I did.
"Hell," I whispered under my breath and marched back toward the house. As long as I didn't let her in… I'd be okay. As long as I looked at her like a victim, like one of my victims, she wouldn't get in.
The truth terrified me.
Because the truth was… I liked her enough to mourn her — and when you liked someone enough to mourn, you were in danger of love.
And I knew if I loved her, if I ever let myself feel; it would destroy me.
So I grabbed onto every shred of hate and resentment I could find in my body and armored myself with it.
I would not let her in.
Ever.
****
"Let's talk wedding night," Bee, Phoenix's wife, announced from the bedroom, loud enough for the entire house and possibly the outskirts of Chicago to hear.
"Wedding night, wedding night," the girls chanted in unison while I searched for alcohol like a crazed man.
"Right here." Nixon seemed to appear out of nowhere and handed me a stiff glass of vodka.
"What?" I snorted. "No wine? Are we even Sicilian anymore, or are we letting Russian tradition crap all over the place?"
"Remember when you used to be the easy one to be around?" Nixon asked, ignoring my outburst. "I do. You used to be all calm, collected, semi-happy. What happened to that person?"
"Apparently, according to Andi, that is, he died… and now my corpse is staring back at me through the mirror. I imagine I'm going to turn into a zombie any day now."
Nixon chuckled; his blue eyes matched mine almost perfectly. We were, after all, cousins, even though it was a distant fourth or fifth down the line. For some reason, we looked more alike than Ax and I did, probably because Ax refused to grow his hair longer than an inch now, and he'd had his nose broken more times than he could remember.
"She's dying," said Nixon, interrupting my thoughts.
"Why the hell do people keep reminding me of that?" I threw back my entire glass and held it out for more. "Do I have a sign on my face that says stupid?"
"Don't leave yourself open to that one, Serg." Phoenix walked up to us, water bottle in hand. "That's just begging Tex to take advantage."
Phoenix was the newest leader of the Nicolasi family, and it showed in the way he carried himself. Once a rapist and the worst of the worst. You wouldn't know it if you saw him now. No more dark circles under his eyes, and he was wearing dark jeans and a shirt with a tailored jacket; the guy looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine. His wife probably had more to do with that than he did, but still, it was an improvement from his haunted look of a few weeks ago.
At least then, my misery had enjoyed company, even if we had barely tolerated one another.
Chase approached us, his eyebrows raised. "Are we at a wedding or a funeral, Serg?"
"Both." I tilted more vodka back while the guys' expressions froze on their faces.
Slowly, I turned and cursed under my breath. Andi was standing in the doorway of the living room, her face pale, her smile weak.
"Hi, guys." She waved. "I was just wanting to ask Sergio's opinion on shoes."
Chase choked on his drink while I fought to regain my composure. Had she heard? And why the hell did I care if she was upset? That was the plan: upset her, don't let her in.
"Wear them." I shrugged. "Or go barefoot. Why the hell should I care?"
"Ass," Phoenix hissed, while Nixon nudged me from behind.
"So…" Andi poked her feet out from her long white skirt. "…do you like the silver or the tan?"