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Chapter Fifteen
Josephine
“What do you mean you can’t officiate the ceremony?”
Father Castelli shutters a sigh. “I cannot in good faith perform the wedding between you and Mister Tabares. I’m a man of God, and it’s my opinion you’re being forced to marry this man under false pretenses.”
I cover my free ear with my other hand to hear the priest better, blocking out the noise from the construction around our new house. “And why would you presume that?” I already have a damn good idea, but I want to hear him admit my suspicion.
Father Castelli doesn’t answer my question. “I’m trying to save you, Jo. Turn away from this risky path.”
I laugh bitterly. “Unbelievable.”
“There’s no reason to rush into a marriage. Atlas is a dangerous man and doesn’t have your best interest at heart.”
“I cannot believe you’re backing out a week before the wedding,” I shout, causing Hades to growl at my feet.
My voice has caught the attention of Tony and Punk, who stand less than ten feet away from me, surveying the surroundings for any potential threats. Punk cocks his head and covers the difference in three strides. His brows pull together, trying to determine if a threat is on the other end of the line.
“Josephine, my mission is not to upset you, but protect you. I can’t ignore Atlas’s nefarious activity,” the father says in earnest.
When I started planning our wedding, Maceo had mentioned wanting to include many traditional elements of his heritage into the ceremony—a way of including his deceased parents andabuela. Maceo came from a devout Catholic family. I was raised Catholic, but more recreational, like around Christmas and Easter.
Having a priest was pretty high on the list of things I wanted to give Maceo, and now, I have no priest and no time to find a backup. I don’t buy the bull about canceling over Atlas’s so-called illegal doings. I do believe the priest is deep in the pockets of the Italian mob and he’s been ordered to back out of the ceremony.
“Oh, yeah? Well, you can tell Lorenzo to go fuck himself.” I stab the end button. I pull on my pigtail braids, stomp my feet, and scream. Letting it out is way better than holding it in, according to my new counselor.
Punk’s eyes widen at my temper tantrum. He grabs me by my shoulders. “Jesus, Jo! What’s up?”
“Lor-fucking-enzo, that’s what,” I snarl, gnashing my teeth like a wild animal. Hades mimics my actions, upset because I’m upset. “He got to Father Castelli and he’s backing out of the wedding!”
Punk runs a hand over his shaved head. “Aw, fuck! Atlas is going to flip when he finds out.”
Punk isn’t exaggerating. The past week has been a nightmare with Lorenzo meddling in our wedding plans from wherever he’s hiding.
Monday, our DJ backed out. Luckily, Ziggy and Butch came to the rescue, buying heavy-duty speakers and creating an awesome playlist for our reception.
Tuesday, the tent company we were renting from claimed they overbooked and were unable to provide a tent. I was pissed initially, but I dragged out a saw table and created a trellis system over the patio where we could hang the outdoor lights I had ordered—crossing my fingers for good weather.
Wednesday, the cater and our cake baker backed out. I was losing steam between managing our build and teleconferencing with Jared and my dad on the last week of Lloyd’s barbershop project. Maceo stepped in and called in another favor to the governor. Now our reception will be catered by none other than Chef Jordan—the jolliest cook ever.
Opal, the sweet angel that she is, volunteered to make our cake. She has been making cakes for all the guys’ birthday’s since she joined the club—and they are tasty.
Thursday, damn near broke my heart. My florist called with word her shipment of flowers would not make it in time for our wedding. I broke down—the one thing Ireallywanted for our big day was no longer available.
My mom rallied all the girls together with a massive trip to the craft store. Sobbing, I made flower arrangements for the bouquets, boutonnieres, and centerpieces with the girls’ help, minus real flowers and foliage. As lovely as they turned out, it wasn’t the same, not by a long shot. Maceo held me, reassuring me our wedding would be beautiful and perfect no matter what.
And now it’s Friday, and I’m dealing with this shit.
“Where the fuck am I going to find someone to officiate our wedding this late in the game? I needed that priest, goddamnit!”
Punk snorts at my choice of words. “We’ll find someone, sis, I promise.”
I shake my head. “There’s no priest who’ll fill in for Father Castelli for the same reason he backed out.”
“She’s right,” Tony says behind me. “Bianchi family ties to the Catholic church run deep.”
“Why does it need to be a priest? Why not have someone in the family do it? That’ll mean more to Atlas and you than having some stranger marrying you guys,” Punk suggests.
