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I pocket the invitation before the server can come around again, then casually pat Santino on the shoulder. “I suppose you’ll have to be my plus one. Since Lucia and Angelo are both unavailable.”
“There’s no way Pavone would let us just walk into that wedding,” Santino protests.
“And what’s he going to do? Shoot you in front of the city’s elite?” Angelo asks, looking amused. “He’s invitingeveryone, Saint.”
He scowls at us. “You can rip that invite up, Victor, because the wedding isn’t happening.”
If Lucia gets her way, it certainly won’t.
But, idly, I think it wouldn’t be bad to see Lucia in a wedding dress.
14
LUCIA
One good thing about this wedding: there are so many reasons why I need to leave the house. Pavone doesn’t look particularly happy about my outings, but I remind him of how spectacular the wedding will be, and he grunts his agreement. He does make sure to remind me that he’ll be inspecting me thoroughly every single evening—a clear threat about what will happen if he catches me “cheating” on him.
His inspection hadn’t been able to tell that Saint had eaten me out, but I tremble and act contrite for Pavone’s satisfaction. There’s something extremely thrilling about knowing how well I’m pulling the wool over Pavone’s eyes.
This time, Angelo and I head to a shopping mall with every high-end store imaginable. I used to come here with my mother, and we’d spend hours racking up the credit card bill. The one advantage of being married to a mob man.
“Huh, I think that’s where Victor got the suit he gave Saint for Christmas a few years back,” Angelo says, stopping in front of a suit store. “I thought he’d have gone for a smaller, more intimate shop.”
I don’t particularly want to be reminded about Victor. I’m satisfied with how things turned out regarding Saint, and I’ll let Saint deal with Victor.
“Victor’s class only goes so far,” I say wryly. “We’ve seen how he decorates the house, anyway.”
But ridiculous as it is, I can’t help but wish I was there right now—Victor or no Victor.
Angelo laughs and hooks an arm around my shoulder. “You’re right. Now, let’s find a nice store for your dress. Dresses. How many do you want to buy? Pavone doesn’t strike me as the type to give you a spending limit.”
I smirk at him. “No, no spending limit.” I pause, then roll my eyes. “But I think he’s just going to try to siphon all of my father’s money into his accounts anyway, so it technically belongs to me.”
My only consolation is that he still hasn’t been able to find the offshore accounts that must exist. There’s a fortune waiting for me, as long as I can find it—as long as Saint can find it before Pavone’s men do.
The gorgeous clothes in the windows are all extremely pricey, but none of them suit what I’m after. I need something fancy for the reception—the reception I dearly hope never takes place, but this was another reason to leave the house—and I’ll probably only find something at a few of the shops.
I find the first, one touting evening gowns in the windows, and Angelo and I head inside to start browsing.
“Good morning,” a redheaded clerk says from behind the counter. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No,” I say, a little more curtly than intended, but I don’t feel like dealing with helpful saleswomen this morning. “Thank you,” I add, trying to be a little more gracious.
“If you need anything, my name is Hannah,” she says, still smiling like I hadn’t been rude at all.
“Thank you, Hannah. I’ll let you know.”
Angelo and I head deeper into the store.
The dresses near the front of the store are a little too sexy for my tastes. I’m done showing off my body for the sake of perverts. I wander further back, Angelo trailing behind, until I find the dresses with long sleeves and longer skirts.
Angelo makes a disappointed noise. “Princess, you can’t wear any of these.”
I hold up a nice navy-blue dress against my torso and roll my eyes. “I can wear whatever I want, Angelo.”
He’s not wrong that the cut doesn’t quite suit me, but I’m fine with that. I check the sizing and hand the dress to Angelo. He tries to put it back on the rack, smirking at me when I grip his wrist to stop him.
“Come on. Do you really want me all dolled up for Pavone?” I ask, and that wipes the smirk off his face.
