Exiled Love (The Elite Mafia of New York #5)

Chapter 1 Giulia

GIULIA

It’s been a long, bumpy road, but this is the big day, one I’ve waited for a long time. The day a former detective becomes my sister-in-law. She must be half out of her mind to marry my brother, but at least I get something out of it.

Watching her as she finishes getting ready, I can’t help but sigh as I reach out to run my fingers over a piece of intricately embroidered lace along the edge of Emilia’s veil. It adds a frosty look to the chocolate brown curls pinned up at the back of her head.

“You look beautiful. Like a princess,” I tell her. A princess who was willing to turn her back on everything she knew and believed she wanted for the sake of love. Like a fairy tale, as if there were any fairy tales involving the mafia.

“You are so sweet,” she replies with a smile. Our eyes meet in the mirror above her dresser, and any idiot can see the love shining from hers. “You are a big part of the reason why I was able to survive around here in the first place, and I can never thank you enough.”

“That sounds familiar.” My sister-in-law, Sophia, chuckles knowingly from her seat on a bench at the foot of the bed, which Emilia shares with my idiot older brother, Luca. I mean, he’s okay and everything, but there are times I want to smack him upside the head. Dante too.

But this is a happy day, so I won’t do any smacking. Unless I absolutely need to, which is a possibility, considering both Luca and Dante have been in horrible moods ever since Papa decided to bring Sophia’s brother on as an employee of our family.

As usual, the fact that I’m only a girl and the youngest in the family gives me the luxury of a little space to step back and look at the entire situation.

And because I can do that, I see both sides.

Obviously, what Alessandro did to Emilia is unforgivable.

He didn’t need to hurt her as he did. He didn’t need to beat her badly enough that she lost her memory for a while.

She didn’t even recognize Luca, whom she had left the police force to be with.

She turned her back on everything she knew for love, and she didn’t even know who he was once she was discovered.

To Alessandro, hurting Emilia wasn’t personal in the way it feels to us—it was a twisted, cruel strategy, but a strategy all the same.

He knew Luca loved her. He knew taking her would send him spiraling.

And he knew that if he could shake Luca, he could destabilize the Santoros.

That’s why he pushed so far. Why he didn’t stop.

Why he went beyond kidnapping and turned to torture.

On the other hand, I see Papa’s reasoning.

He can’t kill Alessandro if he doesn’t want to kick off a war with Giorgio Vitali all over again.

Now that Dante and Sophia are married and our families are more or less joined, everything is supposed to be chill and civil at the very least. Even if Giorgio doesn’t have the manpower anymore to launch a full-scale battle against us, he can round up the smaller families who decided to bitch and moan when the two most powerful families in New York joined forces.

Those little families want a bigger piece of the pie—one of Luca’s favorite sayings, and something I’ve heard him rattle off at the dinner table more than once.

They could use Alessandro’s assassination as a motive for getting together and wiping us out.

So what did Papa decide to do? Make an example of him. He wants Alessandro to feel small, meaningless. I can’t lie, I like the idea too. The guy is a maniac and needs to be knocked down from his high horse, big time.

But Sophia is his sister, and he did help her get out of a scary situation with her psycho ex. And he swears he’ll be on his best behavior from now on. Obviously, my brothers don’t believe him. Neither do I, really, but at least I understand it’s in his best interest to be a good boy from now on.

They also don’t understand something I figured out right away, while we were still eating dinner that night, when Papa announced the agreement he came to with Giorgio.

It can be a lot more effective to smile in a person’s face while making them feel small than it is to puff your chest out and make all kinds of ugly threats.

But then they’re men. They don’t need to learn how to get their way using intelligence rather than brawn.

Just because they were born with particular genitals, they can muscle their way through whatever challenges present themselves.

I, on the other hand, have to observe and file bits of information away for future use.

It means understanding people and why they do what they do.

I get the feeling Sophia understands that better than Emilia, who, of course, was raised a civilian and doesn’t completely understand the ins and outs of growing up in our world.

Even though we live in modern times, there’s this stigma about women.

We’re supposed to be protected. Sheltered.

Like we’re still living in hillside caves in the countryside, herding goats or something.

Sophia gets up and comes to me, standing behind me with her hands on my shoulders. She leans in, touching her cheek to mine. “I’m so glad I got you as my sister,” she murmurs.

“Stop it, both of you, or you’ll make me cry,” I tell them with a soft sniffle. “I just want you both to feel welcome. And we sure as hell needed some female energy around here. There was way too much testosterone poisoning the air all the time.”

Emilia steps back from the mirror, holding her arms out so we can fully admire her ivory silk gown.

It’s tasteful and understated, perfectly fitted to the point where it looks like it was poured over her body.

A simple bouquet of ivory roses matches the arrangements Sophia and I will carry, and aside from some gleaming pearls at her ears and throat, that’s all the ornamentation she’s wearing.

But she doesn’t need more than that—she’s beautiful enough, and the living embodiment of less is more.

Besides, she’s glowing. Radiant. She doesn’t need a ton of jewelry.

Admiring her effortless grace makes me run my hands a little self-consciously over my pale pink dress, identical to the one Sophia is wearing.

Emilia went back and forth over the color scheme a bunch of times until she finally settled on something.

Pink and gold are what she landed on, so gold ribbon is wrapped around the stems of our bouquets, and I’m wearing a pair of gold slingback sandals that are only slightly uncomfortable.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other before asking, “Do you want a few minutes alone with your parents?”

Her head bobs, and her eyes get shiny. “I can’t believe the day is finally here. I didn’t think it would ever come.”

“You’re going to make me cry before much longer,” Sophia announces.

She gives Emilia a quick, tight hug before we pick up our bouquets and scurry out of the room.

Mr. and Mrs. Washington are waiting downstairs in the living room of the house Luca and Emilia share.

Like Dante and Sophia, they’re getting married on the estate grounds.

Nobody enjoyed my joke about how we should have saved some of the decorations from Dante and Sophia’s wedding three months ago.

But then I’m used to the family rolling their eyes at my sense of humor. They just don’t get it.

Right now, I’m more interested in finding Dante than in being understood. Dozens of guests are already here, wandering around, giving air kisses on both cheeks. Nobody knows about the tension running under the surface, and it’s up to us to make sure they’re kept in the dark.

“She’s handling it well,” Sophia murmurs to me while we make our way through the crowd, nodding and smiling at guests.

“She’s tough,” I point out. That’s as much as I feel comfortable saying, since it’s Sophia’s brother causing all of Emilia’s anxiety. I can’t help but feel sorry. I know Sophia feels guilty, even though she had nothing to do with her brother’s actions.

I don’t have to look for Dante. All I need to do is watch Sophia’s expression brighten up when she catches sight of her husband. As much as I want to smack him upside the head daily, it’s nice to see how happy he makes her.

She makes him happy, too, and he’s smiling broadly as the three of us meet up in front of one of the makeshift bars set up around the grounds. “How is he doing?” I ask him—no need to use names.

“About as well as you would expect,” Dante replies through a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Worried as hell.”

“Alessandro won’t do anything today,” Sophia insists, looking around, probably searching for her brother.

I see the frustration in my brother’s dark eyes, mixed with the affection he has for his wife.

I know he doesn’t want to hurt her or cause her any pain.

At the same time, we can’t pretend that Alessandro didn’t already come close to tearing our family apart.

And sure, he’s been quiet and almost surprisingly respectful toward the family, at least to our faces.

But like Dante, his polite smiles never reach his eyes.

His eyes are so dark they’re almost black and always harder-looking than they should be, intense, filled with what has to be resentment at best, hatred at worst. Likely hatred.

You don’t just flip a switch and decide you like and respect the family you were determined to destroy.

“There he is,” I whisper, though I don’t know if anybody hears me. For some reason, I’m always able to find him. Even when all he’s doing is patrolling the grounds late at night along with the other guys on shift, I can pick him out from my bedroom window.

Like the other black-suited men in charge of keeping things secure, he wanders the perimeter of the space where a dance floor is set up under an enormous tent, with round tables already filling up with guests who want to take a breather before the ceremony begins on the other end of the lawn.

Even though he’s been knocked down from his high horse, there is something about the way he holds his head when he walks.

In his mind, he is still the prince who was denied what should have been his—leadership of his family, power, wealth.

Maybe that’s why it’s always so easy for me to spot him, even at a distance, with the way he carries himself and the arrogant tilt of his chin.

I’m already moving by the time I whisper, “Be right back.” The two of them can stare lovingly at each other for a while, or whatever it is they do.

I’m already on my way to where Alessandro scans the crowd.

He looks good, which somehow only makes me hate him more.

It feels unfair somehow. The ugliness in his soul should show on his face, but he’s got the bone structure of a dark, brooding angel and a pair of pouty lips that are now pursed in what’s probably discomfort or resentment.

Good. I hope he’s miserable. Emilia can’t enjoy what should be the happiest day of her life without stressing over him being here.

But Papa insisted. One night, when I probably shouldn’t have been listening in from the hall, I overheard him explaining himself to Luca, who was pretty much at the end of his rope trying to understand why it’s so important to keep Alessandro around.

“He needs to know. He needs to see that he did not break her any more than he could break any of us. He needs to see for himself how she has gone on, how we have gone on. It’s as simple as that.

And if you don’t like it, you’re more than welcome to live elsewhere. My decision is final.”

I guess he forgot he intended to step back and let Dante take control. But I don’t think that’s the kind of thing that happens all at once, anyway. It takes time to transition. It’s Papa’s way of hedging his bets, making sure he can still have a say in things.

I’m not fooled.

Just like I’m not fooled by the way Alessandro nods slowly once I’m close enough for him to notice me.

“You look very nice today,” he murmurs after only briefly glancing at me, turning his attention back to the crowd. Like, he’s not the real threat. Last I checked, none of the people in attendance ever almost killed the bride.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I offer before snapping my fingers and clicking my tongue. “Oh, sorry. I forgot. The hired help shouldn’t be drinking during the wedding.”

His jaw ticks, but that’s as much of a reaction as I get. “Let me know when you get tired of putting me in my place, little sister, so I can prepare myself for the disappointment of not having to hear your clever quips.”

I don’t know what it is, but something about him makes me want to draw blood.

And I don’t think it has to do only with Emilia or with what all of this is doing to Luca, who only wants to keep her safe and happy.

I need him to suffer the way she suffered.

Sure, it’s fun to know he has to be miserable, taking orders from us, but I would hardly call that misery.

It’s not like he’s doing it for free, and it’s not like he’s out in the world breaking his back every day, either. He’s got it pretty good.

Which I guess is why I want him to suffer even more than I already do. He almost killed the woman who is about to take our name in front of two hundred witnesses, and he basically got off without even a slap on the wrist. It’s so damn unfair.

It might not be my responsibility, but there’s something in my soul that demands I make him sorry he ever targeted my family.

For now, there’s a wedding about to start.

“Enjoy the festivities,” I tell him, wearing a bright smile. “It’s probably the closest you’ll ever come to happiness… observing the happiness of others.”

His jaw ticks again, but he only inclines his head. “Enjoy yourself, little sister, at least, until your mama sends you to bed.” His mouth twitches with humor before I have to either leave his side or smash my bouquet over his head.

The dick needs to pay.

I just have to figure out how to make it happen.