Chapter 6
Chapter Six
NEVIO
S leep eludes me, and I am up all night — I’ve never spent a night with someone in my bed.
Never mind someone so beautiful.
I can smell her and feel her warmth. It’s like lying down with the devil and having to resist the temptation of everything you ever wanted right there.
Her brother’s messages are on mind. He’s not been online again since then. In the pit of my stomach is a growing feeling that something far bigger than a secret wedding is happening. It’s as if this was all carefully planned without me even knowing I was involved. It’s like he knew I would win the card game. He was confident and cocky about it - because he knew.
I roll over and stare up at the ceiling, wondering if I should call my brother and ask him if he knows anything. Then he’d make me feel like I don’t deserve her, or worse, try to take her from me.
No. I have to marry her first. I have to seal the contract with our signatures in a church under the eyes of God.
I can manage a wedding, and a wife — I manage other more dangerous shit every fucking day of my life. They’ll call me in the morning. I am sure that news of my win has spread like wildfire through the ‘prayer chain’ that is mafia gossip.
I glance to where she is asleep beside me and wonder what I did to deserve this luck? Someone has given me a gift, and I will take care of her. I won’t take this for granted.
Kissing Dalila was like drinking from the fountain of youth. I am alive — awake for the first time since I can remember I have an excitement brewing in me like a wildfire, spreading through dead bush, igniting it so that the old branches can be burned away, and new ones can rise in the ash.
I used to feel this way before a kill — lining up the sight of my rifle to perfectly eliminate my target. A thrill that makes my blood run hot and cold, one that caused a hunger in me that was never satisfied. I’m afraid the hunger for her will be even worse, that the more I have, the more I will want.
The sun comes up slowly, and the shimmer of dawn lights the room. I want it to slow down. Today has arrived too fast and with it the interference of other people. But, also, I am in a hurry to make her my wife. If I marry her, no one can take her from me. And if they try, they will learn why I am the killer and not the leader.
T rying not to wake her, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, stretch out my tired muscles and drawing in a long breath. I’m going to be a husband, and I plan to make this rushed wedding as perfect as I can in only a matter of hours. Taking just my phone, I sneak out of the room. I know how to get in and out of places without being heard.
In the kitchen I turn on the coffee machine and wait for it to gurgle to life. An espresso for breakfast keeps the blood pumping. It’s early, but I haven’t got time to hang about and wait all day. I pull up my sister’s number and hit call. We’re close — well, close enough that I know she will help me without causing utter chaos. If I call my mother, she will want to wait and invite the queen. I think she thinks I was interested in men — not woman — on the not-so-straight side of life.
Mas was clear about this being urgent — no waiting for the queen, and certainly no time for my mother’s high drama reactions. “You better be bleeding if you are calling at this hour.” She croaks into the phone. I forgot the ladies have a ‘girls’ night’ when we play poker. She’s probably hung-over, and half dead.
“Better than bleeding.” I say with a smile she can’t see.
“Dead then?” She jokes, “your ghost is calling to wake me.” I laugh. My sister isn’t like my brother. She understands me. She knows how to make me laugh. She sees through the flawed skin I am trapped in.
“Better than dead,” I can’t stop smiling, it’s weird, “engaged. And getting married in about five hours, so wake the fuck up and get over here. I need help.”
“I need more than a lame ass joke to get me out of this cozy bed. Are you high? Drunk? Did you get hit on the head?” She sounds genuinely worried now.
“Lucia, get over here and I will explain everything.” I say, “do not tell anyone, for now, this is a secret.”
“If I get there and you are about to kiss-the-bride with a blow-up doll, I am having you committed into a psych ward. Do you hear me? Ugh. Fine, I’m coming. Dad isn’t home, and mom drank her body weight in chocolate tequila last night. She’ll be comatose until at least three.”
Thank God for small mercies.
“Wear something pretty, please.” I add, she sounds like hell, she’ll look like hell. “There will be pictures taken.”
“You are so fucking lucky I love you.” I can hear her groaning, “Thirty minutes. And for the record, you will owe me huge.” Oh, I have no doubt I will pay dearly for this favor. I pour a second coffee and wait for Lucia to arrive.
“ N evio,” her voice could wake the dead. I rush to intervene before she yells again.
My finger to my lips I shush her, “what the fucking fuck is going on?” she whisper yells at me. “Where is dad? Did he sleep here?”
I shake my head and usher her into the kitchen to explain what is going on.
Lucia might be a brat, but she is a smart brat — nothing gets by her unnoticed. As I tell her the story of last night, her frown lines get deeper. “Dalila Vece is in your bed, and you are going to marry her at noon?” When she says it slowly like that, it does sound rather insane.
“Yes, and yes.” She nods, then shakes her head. “Oh God, Lucia, please just get me a white dress that will fit her, some flowers and two rings. That is your assignment. That and shut your trap and do not tell anyone .”
“Those are very conspicuous purchases. I won’t actually need to say anything, and people will be talking.” She points out.
“Send someone then.” I sigh. She is going to waste time. “I need to get a suit and make sure of a few details.” Like calling my father, who is probably in the city apartment with his whore.
“You’re not joking, are you?” She asks again to make sure, and to answer her, all the proof she needs - Dalila walks in with bedroom hair and tired eyes. “Oh, ok. You are serious. Fuck.”
My sister’s jaw drops, then she snaps back to reality and greets Dalila.
“Hi,” Dalila says shyly, walking towards the smell of coffee, and towards me. “You told your sister?” She asks me softly.
“You’re going to marry Nevio?” Lucio asks her, “today? Because he won you in a poker game?” I think my sister is trying to check if I have kidnapped her or not.
“I did not kidnap her, force her, or in any other way harm her. Her brother arranged this. We don’t know why but it is obviously serious so we will do as we are told, Lucia. Like go get a dress and flowers!” She rolls her eyes and Dalila laughs. Her smile is gorgeous. Even like this, in all of her not-so-morning-glory, she’s stunning, and I can’t take my eyes off her.
My sister taps away on her phone, leaning against the counter, occasionally looking over at me and Dalila as if she might be hallucinating and just wants to double check.
“I have nothing to change into.” Dalila whispers, turning her back to my sister, her cheeks flushed with a pink blush.
“I’m sure I have something.” The thought of her in my clothes has me growing hard against my pants. Fuck. Not now.
Flashbacks of last night have me heating up, and I’d rather not have those thoughts in front of my baby sister. I take her back to my bedroom and lay a white shirt on the bed for her.
“That should be good until Lucia gets a dress.” Her blushed cheeks get redder and she nods. If I don’t leave her to shower, I’ll ruin my wedding night on my wedding morning. I back out of the room and go make sure my sister has understood the assignment.
“A messenger will be around with some dresses for ‘me’ to try on in about an hour, and I arranged for Cousin Leon to bring me some flowers. I lied through my teeth and said they were for a friend, so we get whatever he sends. Anything else?” She quips with a slanted smile. She can’t believe this anymore than I can.
“No, thank you for helping me.” I say as my driver comes in with my tuxedo he’s collected. “I think I can manage the rest.”
“The fact that you think you can manage Dalila Vece tells me you can’t manage shit, but okay? When can I spill the tea?” She folds her arms and glares at me with a wicked grin.
“Later, after it’s done.” I say, “I mean it Lucia, this isn’t some funny joke or latest gossip. Her brother hinted that they’re in trouble. I promised I’d keep her safe and do this.”
My sister looks disappointed, but I know she understands when I say trouble — we do not go looking for it.
“Fine, you guys always have all the fun.” She sighs, “I swear to god, if my other brother doesn’t have a real wedding and make me maid of honor, I’ll be pissed. I’ve been robbed of my of sibling duty.”
She’s a brat, but at least she was a helpful brat today.
“I promise you can be God Mother when we make gorgeous babies, okay?” I say and she laughs, holding her belly. Her nose wrinkles, and I can tell she finds that amusing.
“Nevio, you couldn’t keep a plastic houseplant alive. Please don’t have babies.” She snorts with more laughter, and I’m not sure if I am offended or impressed she knows me so well. Being the eldest son, an heir, is my responsibility, even if I am not taking my father’s place. At one point or another I’ll have to be a father — I sure as shit plan to be a good one when I do.
“Also, you can’t see her in the dress. That is bad luck. Go get ready in the pool house. I will help Dalila, then disappear.”
Lucia, like me, likes traditions.
They keep an order about things — and should not be disrespected. Before I can say another word, she adds, “My driver will get her where she needs to be, and if I am with her, I can’t be tempted to tell anyone your dirty little secret.” She’s right.
“Fine,” I growl, frustrated because I wanted to see Dalila in my shirt more than I wanted to see her in a dress. “But do not fuck this up. I like her. You forgot rings.”
“You don’t like anyone. You barely tolerate us.” She frowns, poking fun at my antisocial nature. “And I don’t forget things.”
“I like you, somedays.” I say, “Please Lucia, can you just not mess this up for me?” My sister stops joking, gives me a genuine smile, and nods.
“I won’t,” she says. “You deserve at least one lucky break in life.”
I deserve more than that, but this one thing will do.