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I screw women and shoot men to cope with my stress.
Call it unhealthy. I call it fun.
I lower my speed as I pass the front of the club, noticing the long line and the packed parking lot. I swerve to the back, rolling down my window to give my guys a thumbs-up to allow me entry, and park in the back lot.
When I make it inside, I charge into the security room, where monitors line the wall. Three of my men are inside, watching footage spanning every inch of the club.
I grab a chair, turn it backward, and straddle it. “Find someone stupid. I need violence tonight.”
“You got it, boss,” Raul says.
CHAPTERNINE
NEOMI
An ear-splitting roarof thunder cracks outside as I stare down at my mother fussing with my dress.
Carla’s words have haunted me to this day.
“Prepare yourself, sweet cousin,” she told me. “Arranged marriages are all we get from this life. And whatever you do, don’t fall in love with your husband. He’ll rip your heart into pieces.”
But unlike Carla, I won’t cry and beg my mother to stop the wedding.
I’ve felt numb all morning, completely disassociating from today’s events.
My hands are shaky as I run them down the lace of my dress.
I don’t feel like a bride.
I feel like a sacrifice.
Other than my sisters and possibly Benny, no one else sees it that way.
My mother and father’s marriage was arranged.
So were their parents’.
My gown is simple, just as I wanted it.
White lace with a square neckline and a sweep train.
My hair is down in loose curls, and the comb of my veil is tight against my scalp, giving me a headache. My veil was hand-stitched by my great-aunt and mailed from Italy. It’s layered to the floor and the same length as my train.
I was adamant not to have the veil cover my face. The thought of the theatrical moment where the groom slowly lifted the bride’s veil made my stomach curl. It’d be too romantic. Too real. My mother argued over my choice and said it was against tradition. So, I knew she’d lie about sending my aunt the request. To prevent that, I made sure to tell her that if anymiscommunicationoccurred, I’d cut the face out. She stared at me in horror. But the veil arrived exactly how I’d requested.
My mother cups her hand over my trembling one. “Relax, sweetheart. This is the happiest day of your life.”
“Yes,” Isabella says, fastening the strap of her rose-colored heel around her ankle. “It’s not like you’re being forced to marry a man you don’t love.”
My mother’s head turns so quick to glare at Isabella that you’d think she almost snagged the role of the possessed girl inThe Exorcist.
She squeezes my hand. “Even if you don’t believe it now, when you look back at it later, when you and Benny are as in love as your father and I are, you’ll want to remember this day forever.” Her voice cracks at the end.
There’s guilt inside her.
She probably had the same dread on her wedding day. She and my father barely knew each other before they saidI do.
“Or she’ll forever remember it as a nightmare,” Isabella says, shrugging while grabbing her other heel.
