The Vendetti Soldier (The Vendetti Famiglia #7)

Chapter 9

No one ever tells you that bravery feels like fear. - herelegantensoul

Rorik

T he days pass in a blur because we’re so busy and, at the same time, on edge from everything happening with our enemies. We were supposed to marry in three days from the initial attack, but it didn’t happen. One thing after the other got put on hold in one way or another, and it’s had me wondering if the Irish have been behind the scenes, attempting to sabotage our families joining. It’d be impossible, though, because they have no way of knowing we’d planned to marry immediately, let alone at all. Sure, they could guess, but to know? Well, it’d mean there was a rat in one of our organizations, and while not completely out of the question, it’s highly unlikely. At least I hope so, because the last thing I want is to leave my father’s side while there’s a traitor in the midst.

“Ready, Ror?” Mischa questions after putting the sparkling diamond drop earrings in that once belonged to our mother, shaking me from my worries. I have Mother’s diamond studs that Papa had made into cuff links for me. We’re each carrying a piece of her with us today, and it brings me peace knowing something beautiful belonging to her is a part of my special day.

“As much as I can be. Luciano texted and is growing impatient. He believes if we wait longer, we’ll be kept apart in some way.”

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know how stubborn we are.” She offers me a smile, and it brings me some comfort, as it always has in the past. Mischa looks so much like our mother in certain ways; her presence always tends to be able to calm me when I get to worrying too much. “Besides, Papa is thrilled for both of us. He would never tolerate anyone keeping us from what we want. You know that.”

I nod because I do know. Papa has always done his best to give us whatever our hearts desire, within reason, of course. He didn’t want us growing up completely spoiled and taught us to work while being good to us. He’s been the best father anyone could wish for; I know we’re lucky, and it’s something I don’t take for granted. He and Mischa mean everything to me, as they always have. Now, I get to add Luciano to the mix, as well as Santino, should he allow it.

“You look so handsome.”

I offer a bright smile in return. “And you, beautiful. I still don’t know how Luciano talked you into that cut and understated design for your wedding dress. It’s positively elegant on you, though.”

She blushes, obviously remembering something I’m not privy to. “He’s not an easy man to argue with.”

“You mean manipulate,” I call her out with a brow raised. Being around him for a few days and I’ve already learned so much about the man in question. Mischa, however, has always had a way with stirring up trouble. It’ll be amusing to see her on such good behavior with the Vendettis.

She smirks, “That too. I’ll have to work on him.”

With a snort, I shake my head, “Good luck with it. Do us a favor and don’t hold your breath while waiting.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thank God for Papa walking down the aisle with me today so I can hold on to him for support. I think these are the highest heels I’ve ever worn. Luciano is trying to break my ankles already.”

Chuckling, I circle her, taking in the shoes. They look dangerous, but her legs are insane in them. “It has every muscle on display; your calves are perfection. You look like a babe, and the label on them? He spent a lot of money to make every person take notice today, trust me. He did Santino a favor; not sure I’d have been so kind if my favorite person was marrying someone who would jeopardize my time with them. At least with us under the same roof, I have no reason to worry.”

“You think Santino will be pleased? I have a feeling he’s expecting a big fluffy dress, and he’s getting…”

“Understated elegance.” I cut her off. “He’s getting classical beauty. Refined . A woman demanding his attention who will make him look like an important man. He’s lucky to have you, Mischa, and he will be enchanted with you.”

She releases a breath, her shoulders dropping a bit. “You always know what to say. I’m so glad you’re staying with me. I would’ve been devastated if we’d been in separate countries.”

“Same, and me too. We’ve been together for our entire lives; I’m beginning to think my heart would stop beating if we were forced to be apart for too long.”

“It’s never going to happen. Not since we’re marrying the Vendettis; they’re crazier about family than even we are. We’ll get to grow old together, next to our sexy, powerful men.”

I nod, reaching for her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “Were you able to eat? Don’t want to get dizzy in those shoes.” Not only are they super high, but they’re covered in needle-sharp black spikes and black gemstones. They had to be a custom pair at the boutique and just happen to be in my sister’s size. Luciano knew what he was doing when he had my sister pick this to wear for the wedding. It’s nothing like we planned when we discussed our weddings, but at the same time, it’s everything she should be wearing. It plays up all her assets, commanding attention while somehow looking so appropriate and timeless that she will be the envy of any woman staring at the wedding photos. I’m jealous my suit is boring in comparison, but it’s not the green evil sort of jealousy, more like I’m ridiculously happy for her.

“Yes, I ate a ton this morning. Nerves and excitement probably. I was afraid my dress wouldn’t zip.”

I can’t help but laugh loudly. I shouldn’t be surprised, as she’s not like other women. They’d be starving themselves and tossing up anything in their stomachs, whereas knowing Mischa, she was probably asking for cheesecake-filled crepes and mimosas when she woke up.

“You really don’t mind wearing that color of shirt under your jacket to get married in? I chose green for me, but I didn’t expect you to wear it too.”

Hers is mint, whereas mine is darker, more like hunter. I actually love the color. I was afraid I’d look washed out, and I probably would if we hadn’t been on a mini vacation a few weeks ago at the beach. My tan is fading, but thankfully some of it has stuck around—enough so to make the green look good enough that I’m happy with it.

“I meant it when I told Violet I’d be fine with whatever you decided. I have a feeling Luciano was the one who chose this color for me, though; he seems to be very particular when it comes to clothes.”

“Good thing you’re already used to me picking your clothes, so you won’t mind him taking over.”

Shrugging, I stay quiet. I don’t know if it’s something he’ll want to do for me or not. He’s a busy man, working with Santino all the time under the Capo. I can relate, as I’m used to working with Papa, but I know it’s nothing like what he does. He gets his hands dirty, whereas I’m more of the sit-in-the-office type or work from behind a screen. Papa wanted to keep me safe growing up, so most of my tasks have been the type I could complete from the comfort of home.

I excuse myself to the ensuite connected to the room we’re using to wait in. It’s located next to the main ballroom for special occasions and is set up so we have plenty of space to get ready or whatever, so no one bothers us until it’s time to exchange vows. I use the restroom, wash my hands, and swish some mouthwash, again, aware it’s almost time. My teeth are extra white today as I’ve scrubbed them five times since yesterday.

I haven’t seen the ballroom yet in its finished glory. We peeked in last night, but everything wasn’t complete yet. Today we were shooed away to finish getting ready and try to relax. I don’t know how anyone relaxes before such an important occasion. To me, getting married is one of the most significant things you can do in life. Tying yourself to another for the remainder of your years is a huge commitment, and if done the right way, could be the best decision you ever make.

When I return, it’s to a sight I never thought I’d see. At least not inside the Vendetti Estate. A man stands next to Mischa, gun pointed at her, nearly resting the barrel against her skin. Every fiber of my being screams inside for me to tackle him to the ground, wrestle the weapon away, and save my sister just as I was trained to do.

“Don’t fecking move,” the man orders with a thick Irish accent. “I’ll put a bullet in ‘er, and you’ll never be seeing ‘er again.”

My hands fist, blunt nails digging into my palms as it takes every ounce of self-restraint to hold back and not lunge at him. I don’t know his state of mind; he could be a loose cannon and kill her without a second thought, or he could have a bigger plan. I have to wait it out a bit to find out which fits so I know how to proceed. Mischa’s safety is the only thing that matters right now.

“I said, don’t move! Let me see yer hands,” he demands, and I instantly raise my arms, palms open towards him so he can plainly see I hold nothing. He’s crazy if he thinks I’d jeopardize my twin’s life.

“What do you want?” I find myself asking, suddenly feeling as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.

“Me? I’m doing a job, but I want justice . Your kind killed my family.”

“We killed no one, we’re not the Italians,” I attempt to reason. I’m sure Papa has killed his fair share, but I’m playing innocent regardless.

He shoves the gun into my sister, making her tear up. I know her watery gaze is because she’s scared, and at the same time, angry she can’t defend herself. She’s frustrated, and damn it, so am I.

“You know nothin’!” he argues, snatching onto Mischa’s bicep with his free hand. He begins tugging her towards the door on the farthest side of the room. It’s private access to outside, all part of the setup for special events held in the ballroom, and so help me, I want to shoot the person who designed it this way, thinking it would be a bonus rather than a curse.

I take a step toward them, knowing I can’t let him leave with her. If he gets her out that door, I have no idea what waits on the other side. There’s a chance I’ll never see her again, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself; I’d take my own life if something happened to her and her presence was stolen.

“Stop! I’ll kill ‘er!” he swears, tightening his hold on Mischa to the point she yelps and stumbles along with his jerky movements. He cusses, but his accent is too heavy. I barely understand what he says as he grumbles. She’s going to break her fucking ankle if he’s not careful with her. She swears back at him in Russian, making his brows skyrocket. “You speak that again and I’ll shoot you. I don’t need you in one piece.”

“Don’t you hurt her! She cursed because she’s in pain, fuck ,” I huff.

Each time he glances away from me, I inch forward a touch more. It’s too slow for my liking, and I’m ready to jump out of my Goddamn skin at this rate. I pray I can get my hands on this man so I can make him hurt for ever touching my precious Mischa, my twin.

He shoves her through the door and slips out behind her, closing it as he goes. The moment he’s out of sight, I lurch forward, sprinting for them. I manage to catch myself from slamming through the door just in case they’re close and he decides to shoot her to reprimand me for not listening. I draw in a deep breath as I push the door open, my heart thundering away in my chest. My gut clenches with anxiety as I take the first step outside, my head whipping from left to right. Off to the side are the Irishman and Mischa, about ten feet from the door.

Directly behind them is Luciano.

Knife pressed into the man’s throat.

Without hesitation, he punctures the side of his neck, right into the artery, and blood spurts out of the hole, coating Luciano’s knuckles. In the same moment, his other hand shoves Mischa away. The Irish guy is surprised, first from Luciano creeping up behind him, but then also because he’s been stabbed and is bleeding out in front of us.

I lunge for my sister, catching her before she falls and wrap my arms securely around her. I twist us so my back is to the man, essentially protecting Mischa in case he manages to get a shot off. “It’s okay,” I murmur, glancing over my shoulder as I hold her to my chest. Luciano drags the blade across the front of the man’s throat as well, and I can’t seem to look away as I watch the blood flow down the front of him. His life force has been extinguished, but all I can think about is wanting him to be alive again so I can kill him this time.

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out to my fiancé.

He steps over the dead man on the ground, wiping his long blade on the man before coming to us. Tugging a handkerchief free, he wipes the blood from his fingers, noting a bit on the inside of his sleeve, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as I would expect. He grips my bicep, holding me so he can lean in and press a kiss to my forehead. I’m a tall man, but Luciano has me by around two inches. Once his lips press to my flesh, he sighs, “You’re both safe.” It’s a promise.

I nod as he takes my sister from my arms, pulling her into his.

He kisses the top of her head next, quietly murmuring that the Vendettis will never allow anyone to take her, let alone kill her. Her lip wobbles, her body trembling a bit as he apologizes for ruining her wedding dress with all the blood.

“You had no choice. The dress doesn’t matter in this situation,” I say, sounding like Papa. I’m used to protecting her, and to have been at a disadvantage is soul-crushing. Thank God Luciano got to her in time. “How did you know?”

“It was a gut feeling. I decided it was probably nothing and to come get some air. Next thing, I got a text saying someone had slipped onto the property, and I knew I needed to get over here to check on you both.”

“Papa?”

“Out in the hall waiting for you to call for help should you need it. The man is worse than a guard dog.”

That gets Mischa quietly chuckling, and in doing so, Luciano pulls away so there’s some space between them. “You are stunning, bambola, even in a blood-splattered lace dress. While mio fratelli wouldn’t mind you keeping it on, I have a feeling the rest of our guests may be alarmed. I have a present for you; I’d had it made for tonight after the wedding since everything had been pushed up a few days, but I’m thinking there was a deeper reason to motivate me to have it ready in time. It’s not as sweet as this dress, but the gown will work. Shall we take a look?” he asks, leading her to the door.

His fingers on his other hand find mine, threading them through and leading me to the door with them. He turns his attention on me, “Mio bell’uomo, I have an onyx button-up for you in our closet. It was a backup in case you weren’t keen on the hunter. I didn’t want you to be in solid black because it’s what Santino is wearing, but I think in this case we’ll make an exception since you have blood on your shirt as well.”

“With your tan suit? I thought you wanted us in specific colors.”

“I did, but this will still all go together well. And my suit isn’t tan, mio fidanzato. The jacket, slacks, and vest are oat and cream. Thankfully, I had enough sense to remove the jacket and vest before going outside. I have a spare shirt upstairs as well,” he corrects, making me grin. He and Mischa will get along splendidly over this shit, I have no doubt. “Ask your papa to get it,” he orders and presses a kiss to the top of my hand before releasing it so I can head for the door.

He takes his cell out, telling someone to bring Mischa’s gift. He then makes another call, barking demands for men to grab the dead body and dispose of it. The next time I glance over, his fingers are flying across his cell as it begins to chime one after the other. “Cazzo. These group texts are a drag when mio fratelli all text at the same time.” He rolls his eyes and turns Mischa around to unzip her dress. As it falls to the floor, he presses soft kisses to the back of her neck, her shoulders, then the middle of her back.

I should be jealous he’s showing her tender attention while she stands there in nothing but see-through lace and sky-high heels, but I’m not. He’s distracting her, and it’s exactly what she needs right now. A knock draws my eyes back to the door and I answer it. Papa hands me the shirts, brow wrinkled with worry.

“We’re okay. I’d tell you if we weren’t.”

“Good. I’ll be right out here when you’re both ready.”

I nod, grateful Papa is always prepared to be our strength if we should need it. Before I can close the door, two of the staff appear, carrying a large garment bag. It’s solid black, secured with a massive shiny red satin bow, and is big enough that it’s taking two people to maneuver it to keep it off the ground. I lay our shirts over the back of the closest chair, then go to the hallway again for the gift.

“Sir,” the first lady greets and extends the massive bag to me.

“Thank you.” I take it into the room with me, having to close the door by lightly kicking it. “Present has arrived,” I announce, heading their way.

“Indeed you are,” Luciano murmurs, his irises blazing as he stares at me. I’m not generally bashful, but this man , along with Santino, seems to make me blush at the drop of a hat. He takes the bag from me, hanging the metal hook over the top of the bathroom door so it remains wrinkle-free.

“I can’t believe you had time to find me a second dress,” Mischa comments, moving to stand in front of the garment bag.

“I didn’t. I had it made for you.”

Her mouth drops open as she flashes him a stunned glance, then immediately reaches for the zipper. She tugs one side of the bow so it releases while unzipping the remainder with her other hand. Once it’s open, Luciano pushes the bag to the side, bringing the massive dress forward and fluffing it out so we can get a good look at the mass.

“Oh my God,” Mischa whispers. Her eyes light up, “I-it’s camouflage?”

I can hear it in her voice—she’s shocked, and I have to concentrate not to laugh loudly. It’s not my sister’s taste at all, and the last thing I’d ever expect from Luciano, but I will say one thing… it’s beautiful.

“Sì, a custom camo dress, big and poufy, fit for you, princessa . Me and Santino are soldati, mafioso soldiers… so I felt it appropriate to present you with something in camo. I’d hoped you’d indulge us later for dancing and some photos or maybe on a honeymoon, but now, perhaps it can be your wedding dress instead?”

He’s nervous.

Luciano, the man who seems cool as a cucumber whenever I’m around him, actually seems like he’s concerned Mischa will turn him down. He doesn’t know my sister, though.

“It’s not what I was expecting, but I absolutely love it. I wanted a big dress like this. I wanted it to be sorta ridiculous, but I think you already knew as much by the dresses I was asking to try on at the shops. For the color, I was going for mint to make a point in our photos, to taunt the Irish. This, well, it’s so much better .”

We both grin.

She beams a wide smile before admitting, “The last Vendetti was married in blood red, but red has nothing on a camouflage ballgown.”