“There you are! I thought we’d lost you.”
I look over to see a stunning brunette in a tight white dress standing a few feet away, smiling at us, her hands propped on her hips. She’s tall and curvy, with a glint in her green eyes that’s equally self-confident and mischievous.
Quinn drops his hand from my arm and steps back. “Hullo, Sloane.”
“Hiya, Spider! Introduce me to your friend.”
“Reyna, this is Sloane, Declan’s wife. Sloane, Reyna.”
Sloane and I shake hands while she smiles and looks me over with unabashed interest.
“So this is the infamous Black Widow. Babe, have I been dying to meet you. I have so many questions.”
Horrified, I glance at Quinn. “Black Widow? What happened to Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence?”
He sighs. “I didn’t dub you that, viper. It’s what everyone else calls you.”
Sloane says, “I like Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence way better! How badass! If you don’t want to use that one, I’ll take it. I can already see the tattoo, a sexy red demon with horns, a long tail, and a black diamond crown, sitting on a throne of skulls in the middle of a lake of fire. Right?”
She’s still grinning at me, shaking my hand. I’m starting to feel like I’m being filmed for one of those reality shows where they punk unsuspecting fools for laughs.
“Sure. We’ll get matching ones. I’ll put mine right above the spot where my heart’s supposed to be. You know, if I had one.”
When I smile at her, she throws back her head and laughs. “Ooh, I like you. I’d say let’s be besties, but I already have one of those. You can be next in line, though.”
I deadpan, “My life will be complete.”
She links her arm through mine and leads me into the church, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Quinn. As soon as we’re out of earshot, she murmurs, “A word of advice? Stay away from Boston for a while after the wedding. Like, forever.”
I’m not sure I want to know what she means, but I ask anyway. “Why?”
“Because, babe, any man who looks at a woman the way Spider looks at you is already thinking about how he’s going to ruin his life.”
18
Rey
The rehearsal goes off without a hitch, but for me, it’s thirty minutes of absolute hell.
I don’t look at Quinn. I want to, badly, but I don’t. If what Sloane said is true, then this insane carnal attraction I feel toward him is mutual.
And very obvious.
Which means we’re standing on top of two tons of dynamite, and it’s only a matter of time before someone strikes a match.
I beg off the dinner afterward by claiming a stomachache. The limo drops me off at the hotel, and I go straight to the bedroom and lie down. I get up after five minutes and raid the minibar.
When I pour the vodka into a glass, my hands tremble.
Two hours later, Gianni, Mamma, and Lili return.
Lili goes into her bedroom and locks the door. Mamma heads to the sofa in the living room and lies down. Gianni whips off his tie and tosses it onto the back of a chair in the dining room, shaking his head and muttering.
“How did dinner go?”
He stops his muttering to glare at me. “How did it go? I’ll tell you how it went. Quinn didn’t speak a goddamn word to me the entire time.”
From the sofa, Mamma calls, “He didn’t speak to anybody else, either.”
Gianni nods in agreement. “Not even his own boss! You should’ve seen him, sitting there grinding his molars in silence while everyone else tried to make conversation around him. Who does he think he is, king of the universe?”
Actually, yes. But I don’t say that out loud. “He’s probably just nervous about tomorrow.”
“What does he have to be nervous about, the rude son of a bitch?”
I say cuttingly, “Only that his new bride was the target of kidnapping a week ago. Maybe he’s worried about what might happen at the wedding!”
Mamma chuckles. “If he shows up. That man has feet colder than the iceberg that sunk the Titanic.”
“Don’t even suggest it! On Monday, the families are holding a vote for the new capo. If that Irish bastard doesn’t show up for the wedding…” Gianni shudders, unwilling to even finish the thought.
“Jesus, Gianni. Do you care about anything else but becoming capo?”
He looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “What a stupid question. Of course not.”
I pour myself another vodka, then go knock on Lili’s door. She doesn’t answer.
“Lili?”
“Go away, zia. I need to be alone right now.”
“But—”
“This is my last night of freedom!” she screams from behind the door. “Leave me the fuck alone!”
I close my eyes and bang my forehead gently on the door several times. Then I shoot the rest of the vodka and go to bed.
I wake in the morning with a sense of dread so powerful, it feels like a premonition.
I run to Lili’s bedroom in a panic and bang on her door. When she opens it, I’m so relieved to see her, I almost collapse into a pile at her feet.
“Thank God,” I say breathlessly, pressing a hand over my hammering heart.
She makes a face at me. “Did you think I escaped out the window in the middle of the night?”
“No. But now that you mention it, yes.”
“We’re on the nineteenth floor. The only thing I’d be using the window for is to throw myself out of it. Now please leave me alone. I have to put on my shroud and get ready.”
“It’s not a shroud, it’s a wedding dress.”
When she only stares at me in baleful silence, I say, “You’re right. It’s the same thing. Are you okay? Scratch that, what I meant was do you need me for anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Tell me how to kill my husband and get away with it.”
I close my eyes and draw a breath. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Then you can’t help me with anything. Knock on my door when it’s time to leave. Until then, I’m holding a candlelight vigil for my lost future.”
She shuts the door in my face.
At four o’clock, we head to the church. In the limo, everyone is tense and silent. Even Mamma looks unhappy. When Lili sees the huge crowd milling around on the steps outside the church, she turns white.
I murmur, “Steady, tesoro.”
She doesn’t respond. Nobody else says anything, either.
Surrounded by a barrier of bodyguards, we go inside the church. The coordinator, an elderly woman in a red cardigan who has stooped shoulders and a sweet smile, shows us girls into the bride’s dressing room while Gianni heads off to make sure Quinn has arrived.
In her wedding dress, Lili drops heavily into an overstuffed chintz chair in the dressing room and stares blankly at the wall. Her bouquet is already here, waiting on the coffee table in a white box with tissue paper. My bouquet is with it, a smaller version of hers.
“I’m sorry your father wouldn’t allow you to have any other bridesmaids besides me,” I say gently, touching an orchid in my bouquet.
“It doesn’t make a difference,” she says, her voice lifeless. “I won’t be seeing my friends again, anyway. I’ll be living here in Boston from now on. And you know they won’t be allowed to come visit me.”
I’m about to protest that Quinn will let her have friends when Gianni bursts into the room in a rush of excitement.
“He’s here! Quinn’s already here and everything’s fine and I think I’m having a heart attack!”
Sounding bored, Mamma says, “You can die after you walk me to my seat. I don’t want to navigate that crowd alone.”
She gives Lili a kiss on the cheek and hobbles out on her cane. An exultant Gianni follows behind, leaving me alone with my grieving niece.
Before I can think of something appropriate to say, she asks me to leave her alone until it’s time for us to walk down the aisle.
My heart aching for her, I leave, quietly closing the door behind me. Ignoring the guards stationed outside and avoiding the crowd of people in the vestibule, I find a deserted ladies’ room in a back hallway and lock myself in a stall for a few minutes to try to catch my breath.
I can’t. I sit there hyperventilating for long, awful minutes until finally, the church bells start to ring. Then I head back to the dressing room, feeling like a cement block has been dropped on my chest.
When I open the door to the dressing room, I freeze in horror.
Lili is on her knees in the middle of the floor, sobbing.
She’s clinging to a young man with dark hair dressed in a brown leather jacket, jeans, and a white T-shirt, who’s standing protectively in front of her, using his body as a shield.
Juan Pablo’s dark eyes burn with defiance and fury.
Gianni stands six feet away, pointing a gun at his chest.
Reacting purely on instinct, I slam the door shut so the guards can’t see what’s happening and order, “Gianni, put down the gun.”