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Miranda frowns at me. “It’s very important, Lucia. We need to get this settled as soon as possible. I still don’t know how I’m going to have all of the placeholders set on such short notice.”
I make a face at her, which she doesn’t seem to appreciate, but she doesn’t say anything.
“How about this one?” Vanessa suggests, picking a swatch that looks like the same exact hue as all the others to me.
“Sure,” I say unenthusiastically.
“This is going to be your special day,” Miranda chides me. “Your husband-to-be has designated a very generous budget so you can have everything exactly as you want it. This can be your dream day. Don’t you want everything to be perfect?”
“Everything can be perfect, but it still won’t change the groom,” I say, deadpan.
She blinks at me. “Pardon?”
Oh, right. This is her first mob wedding, and it’s probably her firstarranged marriagewedding, too. She can look forward to more if she does a good job, lucky her. She doesn’t even realize how much is riding on this ceremony and the reception.
I almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
Then I glance to the side, where my mother is drinking her third mimosa of the morning, and my anger flares. None of us want this. I don’t care what Pavone thinks. I’m not going to engage in this. He can have his dream wedding all he wants, as long as he leaves me alone.
“Look, you can handle every—” I start to say, but we’re interrupted by my father entering the dining room.
“Emilio wants to see us,” my father announces. “Something about a gift for his future bride and in-laws.”
Vanessa and I both grimace, because every interaction with Pavone has left us feeling like we need a scalding hot shower.
My mother laughs and waves her glass around. “You need me too? Because I’d rather have another drink.”
“Yes, Eva, even a drunk bitch like you. He asked for all of us,” my father barks. Being at Pavone’s beck-and-call doesn’t suit him, and my father’s been even more aggressive, chafing under Pavone’s command.
Miranda clearly doesn’t know how to deal with my father’s hostility. I pat her arm reassuringly. “He’s like that. You can keep planning while we go see what fun present my future husband has arranged for us.”
She nods, though it looks a bit uncertain. She deals with bridezillas on a regular basis, so she has to be used to some aggression. I’m sure she’s dealt with what she thinks is worse.
I get up, and Vanessa and my mother follow suit. My mother drains her glass and sets it loudly down on the table, casting a nasty look at my father. He ignores it, like he always ignores her and everything to do with her when he’s not calling her names or pushing her around.
My father leads us from the kitchen into the private lounge, where Pavone is waiting for us.
Pavone, andAngelo.
I freeze, completely caught off-guard, until my father grabs my arm and pulls me farther into the room and shoves me toward the sofa.
Shit. I have no idea what’s going on anymore, but I know it’s not good. Angelo shouldn’t be here. At most, I would have expected him bound and about to be killed, but he’s leaning against the wall like he belongs here.
Pavone’s consigliere, Damien Rossi, closes the door behind us. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my heart starts beating faster with terror.
I can’t let them know I’m afraid, though.
“What’s going on, Emilio?” I ask, putting as much cheer into my voice as possible. “Daddy said you wanted to see us?”
Vanessa gives me a strange look, but she doesn’t say anything. Mom sits down on the closest sofa and closes her eyes, rubbing her temples like she’s already nursing a hangover.
And Angelo ignores me, his eyes following my father around the room.
Dread starts to bubble up within me, and the tension in the room starts to feel overwhelming.
“I did,” Pavone confirms, the same smarmy smile he always wears when he’s feeling especially smug on his lips. “I have a present for you and your family. A wedding gift.” He motions to Damien. “You have the champagne, don’t you?”
