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The words reverberate around my brain as if they have come from someplace else altogether. What am I thinking? This is not me, thinking of revenge and plotting the destruction of other people. This is the sort of thing Rio might say.
I’ve only been in this world a day and a bit, and it is already warping my thinking.
“Well?” I push, knowing I shouldn’t, but unable to stop. “Did you kill them, Mr. Rossi?”
“I will forgive you this time, my dear. Because you are Rina’s daughter. And because…” His gaze flicks to Rio and back. “Because you arehisfiancée. But do not push me on this. I did not kill your parents. I loved Stefano like a brother, and I loved your mother…” His left eye twitches, just slightly, before he adds quietly, “Yes. I loved your mother dearly.”
I study the old man sitting across from Rio and me, and for some reason, I believe him. There was a note in his voice just then that alerted me…
“You didn’t love my mother like asister, then?”
He sucks in a sharp breath and releases it slowly. “No,” he admits. “I did not love her in that way, like a sister. I was devastated when…”
He breaks off, and to my shock, he pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at his eyes. What the hell? Did I just make a mob boss cry?
Rio pats my thigh as if pleased with me and releases my hand, shifting back to sit more comfortably on the sofa.
Tension that I hadn’t even realized was permeating the air in the room relaxes a notch. Even the security goons scattered everywhere look slightly less edgy when I glance around.
That is, until Rio opens his mouth and speaks. “We would be delighted if you would attend our wedding, Carlos, to watch us unite in holy matrimony. Will you be our guest? Myfriend.”
There is steel in his tone, and hell could freeze over with the amount of ice that suddenly descends back into the air around us all.
“Of course, Rio. I would be delighted,” Carlos says. His expression suggests otherwise. He is clearly unhappy at Rio’s invitation. “You are a very lucky man. When is the special day?”
“Next Thursday,” Rio says smoothly, and my mouth drops open.
Today is Saturday, by my reckoning, given my birthday was on Friday. Was it only yesterday that I was snatched off the street?
My birthday, I remember, with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, was the day I was supposed to celebrate a bright and rosy future, and possibly an upcoming date with Dave. Instead, I am sitting here in a Mafia boss’s compound, discussing my marriage next week with men who kill others at the drop of a hat.
Men who shot my friends.
Monsters who destroy lives while chatting over liquor and stupid cigars that stink out the room.
Then a thought strikes my brain, and I turn to look at Rio. No way could he possibly have a marriage license sorted in that short time frame.
He smiles smugly as if guessing my thoughts.
Of course. He probably has a whole set of city officials in his pocket. He only has to click his fingers, or get one of his minions to call, and the paperwork will all be in place in an instant.
I stand and move to the fireplace, staring into the grate and praying for calm. I feel as if I’m about to have a panic attack, and I do not want to lose control at that level in front of these people.
I focus on the dancing flames, studying their tiny blue gas-lit centers surrounded by golden orange light, and breathe. In. Out. In and out. Keep going. Don’t panic. Not in front of Rio or Carlos Rossi.
After what feels like forever, but is probably only a handful of seconds, my heart rate calms, and my breathing slows to a more normal rhythm. But I don’t know how much longer I can hold on to my emotions without breaking apart into what feels like a million little pieces.
There has been far too much to deal with since yesterday. And I suspect tomorrow will bring more of the same. Or worse.
As if Rio is somehow tuned in to my inner turmoil, he suddenly appears by my side. “You should rest, darling. It is late. Carlos and I have further business to discuss, but it does not need to concern you. Head to bed. I shall see you later.”
His tone and his words hint to all in the room that we are already intimate as a couple, and anger builds, burning out the panic.
He places a hand on my back, splaying out his fingers and caressing me gently, and then bends to kiss my cheek. “You did well, little bird. I was proud of you tonight.”
Those words are only for me, whispered into my ear in a way that warms my skin.
It is lucky for him that I am facing away from his guest because I can’t stop a grimace of pure disgust.
