“Here, you look like you could use this,” Mrs. DiPietro says, topping off my wineglass.
She isn’t wrong. It’s been a long, tiring day, and I’m sick of everyone staring at me, especially the older men. I’ve even caught the bride’s father glancing in my direction a few times. No doubt Isotta has been badmouthing me to her family, and they probably all think I’m a gold-digging slut who doesn’t care about their nephew and grandson. Thankfully, Isa has been too busy to approach me, but she shoots daggers in my direction any time we cross paths, and I’m so ready to call it a night.
Forcing my gaze from the dance floor where Cristian is dancing with the bride, I smile at Cristian’s mother, hoping my jealousy isn’t too obvious. “Thank you.” I’m tempted to knock the whole thing back, but I’ve already had a couple of glasses, and I need to pace myself. I’ve been too busy hopping up and down with Elio to drink too much, but I don’t mind. My little prince is in a side room now with his cousins watching a magic show. The babysitters Isotta hired are taking care of all the kids, so I get a reprieve for a while. I spotted a few men who are obviously bodyguards standing watch outside the kids’ room and around the ballroom of the plush golf resort and hotel where the reception is being held. Security seems tight, but maybe this is the norm for mafia weddings.
Cristian has been busy chatting with various men throughout the day, but he makes sure to check in with us regularly. He seems to know everyone here. His dad too. Thank God for his mother. I’d be miserable if it weren’t for Beatrice. She’s been super kind and attentive, and I’m enjoying getting to know her.
“I think the bride has probably had too much wine,” she surmises, watching Isa paw at Cristian in a way that’s incredibly disrespectful to him and her new husband. Every time Cristian stops her wandering hands, she starts all over again.
“Or she’s just always like that,” I say, unable to retract my claws in time.
Beatrice smiles. “Ah, I see you’ve noticed what my son is far too blind to notice.”
“What I don’t understand is why she married Carmine if she wants Cristian.”
Sympathy splays across her face. “There are certain traditions within our social circles that dictate the way things happen. It’s rarely black or white.”
She’s as cryptic as her son and his friends, but I can’t fault the mafia for being guarded around outsiders. Reading between the lines, it seems obvious this is an arranged marriage. Why else would Isotta marry a man old enough to be her dad? I know her personality is hideous, but she’s young and pretty, and I can’t believe she couldn’t find a more suitable man to marry.
I shudder at the thought of being tied to someone like Carmine, which I know isn’t a charitable thought, but the guy gives me the creeps. I’ve spotted him watching me several times today, and I don’t like how he looks at me. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid him, and I’m praying he doesn’t try to make good on that dance because I’d rather walk over hot coals than dance with that man.
I have sympathy for Isotta. I can’t stand her, but I truly wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Every woman should get to choose their life partner. It’s disgusting she’s been forced into this.
“Josef to the rescue,” Beatrice says, gesturing to where Cristian’s father has intercepted the amorous bride, slotting into his son’s place so Cristian can make his escape. Cristian’s eyes find mine across the dance floor, and he stalks toward us. We don’t break eye contact as he approaches, and butterflies are skipping around my chest at the intense way he’s staring at me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes probing mine.
“Funny. I was going to ask you the same thing.” My eyes flit to Isotta.
“I’m fine.” He dismisses it casually. “I need to take care of something, but I’ll be back in a few.” His expression is tender when he looks at his mother. “Can I get you anything, Mama?”
“More wine is always good, son,” she says, waggling her brows.
Cristian chuckles. “Say no more.” His eyes linger on me for a few beats before he takes off. My gaze follows him until he leaves the room.
“He’s a good son. A good man,” Beatrice muses, squeezing my arm.
“A good father,” I add.
“The best,” she agrees, smiling. “He stepped up for Elio when he needed him.” Her smile fades. “Cristian and Sabina are the best people. Kind, loving, hardworking. I don’t know where we went wrong with their brother.” Pain fills her eyes, and my heart swells with compassion.
Thoughts of my mother and the evil men who have hurt her swarm my mind. “I doubt you did anything wrong. Sometimes, people are just born evil,” I blurt before I realize what I’ve said. My eyes widen in horror. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
“You speak no lie, Sloane.” Beatrice rubs a hand across her chest. “Cruz was…” Tears pool in her eyes. “Cruz was evil.” She swipes at her eyes. “It pains me so much to say it, but it’s the truth. Josef and I gave him everything. He grew up with lots of love and laughter. He had so much opportunity in life, and he made all the wrong choices. We still struggle to understand it. How it got so bad. How he could do the things he did.”
“I don’t know what he did.” I take her wrinkled hands in mine. “But you shouldn’t blame yourself. He was a grown man, and he made his own decisions.”
“It’s hard not to look back and wonder if we could’ve done something different. Josef hates that he didn’t intervene sooner. Maybe it might’ve changed things.”
I can relate. How many times have I gone over what happened and wished I’d made different choices? “It’s natural to think like that, but it doesn’t help. What’s done is done, and you can’t change the past.”
“No, we can’t.” Removing a tissue from her purse, she dabs her eyes and clears her throat. “Today is a day for celebration. No more depressing thoughts.”
“For what it’s worth, I think Cristian and Sabina are lucky to have you and Josef as parents.” I haven’t been in their company for long, but you can tell.
“Thank you, sweet Sloane. I can’t ever replace your mother, but if you need me for anything, I’m here for you. Even if it’s only to talk.” She asked me earlier about my parents, and I told her my situation.
“I appreciate that, Mrs. DiPietro. More than you know.”
“Beatrice, please.” She squeezes my hand before standing. “I’m just going to check on Elio.”
“I should do that.” I climb to my feet.
“I’ve got it.” Her eyes twinkle when she says, “You should hunt down my son and drag him onto the dance floor. You youngsters should be out there having fun.” She points toward the crowded dance floor where couples and groups of women are having the time of their lives. The band is great, and they’re playing a mix of old classics and current songs, which is a big hit with the wedding guests.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, not touching her Cristian comment.
As I meander through the tables, smiling politely at the strangers around me, I wonder what it would be like if Cristian was mine. If my nightmare didn’t exist, and this dream was the reality. We’d probably be scandalizing the crowd with our dirty dancing and would have already found time to sneak out for a quickie. A potent longing surges through my veins, and oh, how I wish his arms were around me.
The music mutes behind me as I exit the room and head down the corridor in the direction of the bathrooms. I slap a hand over my mouth to startle my gasp when I round the corner and find Cristian in some sort of confrontation with Carmine. My boss has the older man shoved up against the wall with his hand wrapped around his throat. Neither of them has noticed me, so I press my back against the wall at the corner and strain my ears to listen.
“I warned you back at the church, Carmine, and you continue to disrespect Sloane and disrespect me.” This is about me? He doesn’t include Isotta in that statement, and I’m guessing it’s because she’s disrespecting her husband as much as he’s disrespecting her. It’s not exactly the best way to start a marriage, and I wonder how long it might last. Though if it’s an arranged marriage, it’s probably for life with no get-out clause.
Carmine splutters something that might be “Can’t breathe,” but I’m not sure.
There’s a bit of shuffling, and then Carmine grunts. Glancing behind me, I do a quick check to ensure no one is coming this way before I resume eavesdropping.
“Listen up good,” Cristian says in a cold tone that raises all the fine hairs on the back of my neck. “You’re an idiot if you think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing. You are not to look at Sloane, talk about her to anyone, or go anywhere near her. If you step one foot in her direction, I will blow your fucking head off and not give two shits about it. Have I made myself clear?”
My heart pounds like crazy as Cristian threatens the groom. He’s not joking either. Holy fuck.
“Crystal,” Carmine pants.
“Get the hell out of my sight,” Cristian snaps, and Carmine comes stumbling around the corner before I’ve had a chance to escape.
