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“I told him to fuck off. That I didn’t want to see him again.”
“That’s fair.”
“I turned up at work the next night to see his cock in Amity’s mouth.Asshole.”
I hate my brother a little bit at that moment. He wanted to hurt Trixie. For what? He hurts her every day by being a Rossi. Surely, he doesn’t need to cause her any more undue pain.
“I’m sorry.”
“Eh.” She turns the dryer on again, silence sitting heavily between us as she finishes my hair.
“Hair looks nice, Miss Rossi.”
I smile into the rearview mirror. It shows only Andre’s eyes, but I can tell he’s smiling. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bianca?”
“You’ll only be a Rossi for one more day,” he slays me by saying. “I’d like to finish off my time with you by remembering you that way.”
I want to cry. Andre has been my dedicated driver for as long as I can remember. He’s watched me grow up. He’s been present for every teary-eyed (me, not him) first day of school, dance recitals, music lessons, teenage tantrums—he’s seen it all. Not quite my father’s age, but not as young as my soon-to-be husband, he’ll forever be someone I’ve been able to count on.
“Would you be okay if I requested that Vincent employ you as my driver when I move in with him? I won’t be offended if you would prefer to stay under the employment of my father, though.”
“Whatever you like, Miss Rossi.”
I nod my head once, making a mental note to speak with Vincent next time I see him about Andre.
The drive home feels worlds away from the countless times before. The next time I see Trixie, I’ll be Mrs. Ferrari.
Bianca Ferrari.
Wife to the new consigliere of the New York family.
Our friendship is dangerous enough already. We trust one another more than we likely should. I could have had her killed for the secrets she’s entrusted me with. She could have brought me the same fate with the things she knows I’ve done. And that was as a clueless daughter with limited knowledge of the family business. I’ll be scrutinized more heavily under Vincent’s watchful eye. He doesn’t strike me as a man who would remain comfortably oblivious to the goings-on in his wife’s life. My friendship with Trixie, among a hundred other things, will change. My life will be less of mine and more of his. I’ve been insensible to the displacement in my life following my marriage, but as the hours tick by, I find myself mourning the loss of BiancaRossiand the freedom I held in my youth.
Trixie shares the intimate details of things she sees through the salon and the club. She was how I knew about Roberto. How I knew that he raped women and enjoyed decorating their skin in shades of purple and blue.Shewas the reason I betrayed my family and found myself in the line of fire with Vincent. Trixie helped me save my sister.
I often consider how selfish I am in keeping our friendship. The truth is, if the family knew the things we spoke of, she’d be killed first. Her life would mean nothing to the men of Cosa Nostra. She’d be a mere pawn in protecting their Outfit. I don’t surmise I’d survive much better, but my chances would be greater than hers.
five
My wedding was uneventful. It was not lavish or a celebration by any means. Due to my perceived betrayal, it was presided over by a priest with only immediate family in attendance. I stood in my father’s office like a fool in a white dress. Vincent stood beside me, the picture of quiet composure in his pressed tux. I wanted to cry the entire time—not with happiness or love, but with the sacrifice of my heart to a man who I’m certain will never appreciate or likely acknowledge it.
Following the ceremony, my packed bags were piled into a car, and Vincent and I drove off to our new life of marital bliss.
Vincent is quiet as he drives. The soft sound of the radio provides some interference to the pounding of my heart. I sneak glances at him as inconspicuously as I can, making sure to look away almost immediately to ensure he doesn’t catch my curious gaze.
“You look beautiful today.” He breaks the silence.
“Oh, thank you.”
“With the clinicalness of the day, I’m not sure if anyone told you,” he murmurs, not moving his focus from the road. “Every bride should be made aware they’re beautiful on their wedding day.”
The affection in his compliment dissipates almost immediately. He didn’t necessarily think I looked beautiful. He just felt that I should hear the words.
“That came out wrong.” He corrects himself, jaw tensing in irritation.
I choose silence over speaking, unsure of what he expects me to say.
Five minutes pass before he speaks again. “You’re beautiful. You look beautiful.”
