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"As are you," Luca shoots back.
"And I don’t regret it one bit," Axel confesses.
"It’s never going to happen to me. No way am I going to go around spouting flowery odes like motherfucking Luca here," I declare.
Adrian coughs.
“What?” I snap.
Adrian tries to speak, then chokes. His face turns purple, and he clutches his stomach.
I stare. “Che cazzo?What’s wrong with you?”
“You— I—” Adrian wheezes, “You—” His shoulders shake.
“The fuck is he trying to say?” I growl.
“He’s trying to say it’s too late for that,” Axel informs me.
“Eh?” I look between my already married brothers. "You going to tell me that it’s inevitable?"
"Yes," Seb replies.
"That I can fight it, but nothing’s going to stop my eventual downfall?"
"I’d say, in your case, you’re already there." Adrian stops choking long enough to reply.
I stare at him, and he promptly begins to wheeze again.
“Hope that’s a sign that you’re having a coronary,” I turn away disgusted. “You guys should know, it’s nothing further from the truth. In fact, we’re not even going to live together after we get married."
"No?" Seb rocks back on his heels. "It’s a good plan, but it’s not going to work out."
"Why the fuck not? She has a career in London, and she wants to pursue it. As she must. And I need to stay here to help with the transition of the businesses to the legal entities."
"You can work from anywhere, in this day and age." Axel smirks. He turns to Christian. "Who bets that within a couple of days of her leaving, he’s going to follow her to London?"
"You’re being too charitable. I’d give him six hours, if that," Christian replies.
"Twenty-four," Axel retorts.
"Twelve," Luca holds out his palm, face up.
"Done." Axel slaps it.
"Hold on a second, did you all bet on me?" I snap.
"Seems that way,stronzo." Luca laughs.
"If I were a betting man, I’d say theCosa Nostrais losing its edge," a new voice sounds from the doorway.
"You?" My fingers itch to reach for my gun again, but I ignore it. "What are you doing here?"
"Don’t even think about it," Michael orders.
I brush my fingers against the butt of the gun outlined at my hip. Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline from the earlier shooting, but my nerves are still on edge.
"Massimo," Michael warns.
