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"No one is to blame more than me," Michael says in a hard voice. "The buck stops with me. I am the Capo, the Don, the leader of theCosa Nostra. I should have done a better job of protecting my brother, my wife, my unborn child." His jaw tics. "But…" he glances around at the faces of our brothers, "I also know that we can’t dwell in the past. We must focus on the now, on what we have. On us." He stares at me. "On your future nuptials."
I arch an eyebrow. "I take it that means you are in favor of my wedding?"
"Doesn’t mean that I’m convinced about the veracity of it, but yeah," Michael tilts his head, "it helps align us with what is to come, and for that alone I support it."
"A-n-d that’s all it takes to move on. Death. Here one moment, gone the next, and life fucking moves on," I chuckle.
"You know that’s not how it is." Luca frowns. "No one here is forgetting about Xander."
"Except we are all moving on."
Seb opens his mouth, and I shake my head. "You know it’s true, all of you. Much as we want to remember him, it’s with relief that we want to also move forward."
"It’s called life," Luca offers. "It thrives, prospers, finds a way to move forward."
"And those who are not here with us are left behind."
"You are distraught." Michael scowls. "You’re grieving. You’re still not over what happened to Xander, and you’re not able to give vent to it either."
"Oh, I know how to give vent to it all right." I place the glass on the counter, then straighten my shoulders. "In fact, I’m on my way to give vent to it right now."
I brush past Seb, who grabs my shoulder. "Don’t do it," he warns me.
"You have no idea what I’m going to do."
"Oh, trust me, brother, I have a good idea." He twists his lips. "Xander might have been your twin, but when it comes to your twisted perversions, no-one knows about them better than I do."
"You don’t know anything about me." I glare down at where his fingers grip me, then back at his face. He releases me and I brush past him.
"Christian," Michael calls out, "Seb is right. Whatever it is you want to do, think carefully before you act on it."
"Oh, trust me," I glance at him over my shoulder, "I have thought carefully enough about what I’m going to do, all right."
Turning, I leave.
8
Christian
I shove open the door to the safe house with my shoulder and haul her in.
"Let go of me." She huffs.
I tighten my grasp on her wrist as I half-carry, half-drag her toward the bedroom.
"What is wrong with you?" she yells. I ignore her voice. Ignore the hot sensation that stabs at my chest. Ignore the pinpricks of reason that slice through my mind. What are you doing? What are you doing? Yes, you’re angry and pissed off, but does that justify what you’re about to do right now? Does it warrant leaving the gathering half-way through, then shoving her into the car, not talking on the way here, despite the fact that she’d asked many times what was wrong? Despite the fact that she had narrowed her gaze on you, her own growing more worried by the second.
I stayed focused on the driving and didn’t answer her, and she finally lapsed into silence. She firmed her shoulders, as if preparing for what was to come. Only she had no idea… No fucking clue just what I was going to unleash on her. So far, I had behaved myself. So far, I had kept myself in check—partly so she’d agree to the farce I had suggested. Not that she had a choice, but a compliant person is easier to manipulate. Which, again, doesn’t explain why I’m yanking her toward her new bedroom and refusing to listen to her protests. I throw open the door to her room and push her inside. She stumbles forward, rights herself, only to turn on me.
"What the hell?" She rages, "What do you think you’re doing?"
"Strip," I order.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I look her up and down. "Take off your clothes, or I’ll do it for you."
Color flushes her cheeks. "Not sure what game you’re playing at, but—"
