Chapter 4
Trilby
I’m barely holding myself together by the time we pull up to The Grand. Mercifully, my sisters have gossiped among themselves allowing me to hold back tears in the privacy of the car window. Papa has also stayed silent, the two of us bearing a secret that is already eating up my insides.
Witnessing my future husband callously murdering one of his soldiers at his own father’s funeral, then stepping over him like he’s a dead rat has filled me with the kind of anxiety a stiff drink and a mood-enhancing pill could only attempt to alleviate.
And neither of those things are an option.
I may not have been born into the Cosa Nostra, but I’ve lived on the edge of it for long enough to know what’s acceptable and what could get us outcast or even killed.
A good Italian Mafia wife doesn’t drink to excess, doesn’t take drugs, doesn’t argue, and doesn’t express opinions.
She only speaks when it’s acceptable to, she dresses conservatively, and she takes good care of her husband and then herself.
The only difference between a Mafia bride and a Stepford wife is that the former’s white picket fence is bulletproof.
These are rules I have to live by now, if I value my life and that of my family. What’s more, there I was thinking the only introduction I’d have to contend with today was my introduction to Savero Di Santo, not the brother no one talks about.
I can feel the anger colliding with fear deep in my chest. Papa talked to Cristiano like he was a long-lost son, whereas I didn’t even know he existed.
That encounter alone has left me dizzy and disoriented, especially knowing what Savero is capable of.
If only I could remember a word of my conversation with Cristiano that night. The not-knowing is crippling.
Something pink and blue looms overhead, and we all crane our necks to the sky. Tess is the only one who finds the power of speech.
“What the hell is that?”
“Madonna! Contessa! It is for your sister.” Allegra gasps.
“Seriously,” Tess says, undeterred. “What is it?”
I sigh into my lap, while Sera squints and says, “It’s a balloon . . .”
“A giant inflatable heart with a crown on it,” Bambi adds.
“Cazzo! How inappropriate,” Tess says, her lip curling into its signature grimace. “It’s a funeral, for heaven’s sake.”
“You don’t know Di Santo arranged it,” Sera said. “There could be another engagement taking place here.”
Tess’s eyes widen, and her voice drops several octaves. “That’s why it says ‘Di Santo and Castellano’ on the back?”
I groan inwardly and step out of the car.
“Well, I think it’s romantic,” Sera says, working overtime to make me feel better. I don’t have the heart to tell her nothing she says or does today will work. I’ve sunk into a pit of despair, yet I can do nothing but plaster a big smile on my face and push pretty words out of my mouth.
As we walk into the hotel, I hear Tess whisper behind me. “Don’t you think it’s weird he’s chosen today to celebrate his engagement? I mean, everyone’s dressed in black.”
“Some might say it’s fitting,” I mutter under my breath.
“But his father just died,” she continues. “He’s supposed to be grieving.”
“People grieve in different ways,” Allegra says curtly. “Mr. Di Santo is doing what his father would have wanted him to do. What respectable Italian man wouldn’t want a wife and a family? Settling down with a good woman may be his own way of paying his respects to the late don.”
I spin around, unsure I heard her correctly.
“You are a good woman, Trilby,” she says through a clenched jaw.
“Don’t choke, Allegra,” I deadpan.
She straightens her shoulders. “Come on, girls. I need you all to be on your best behavior. This is an important moment for our family.”
We file into the expansive function room. High, ornate ceilings tower over us, and gold-trimmed walls close us in like caged birds.
“So what did he say to you?” Sera asks.
I swallow down vomit. “Nothing of note.”
“Not even ‘you look beautiful’?” Tess says, striking another blow to my self-esteem.
“He has a funeral to attend to and far more important things to be thinking about,” I reply. Like dismembering a living being while he’s choking to death right in front of us.
“It was his decision to turn a funeral into an engagement party,” Tess says. “I think it’s rude.”
“Trust me.” I smooth the creases from the journey out of my dress. “This is not going to be a party.”
I glance up to see her looking at something over my shoulder.
Turning to follow her gaze, I see several groups of men, all dressed in black, flooding into the room like termites.
I watch them enter one by one, their conversations as tight as the lines on their brows.
There’s only one man I recognize: Benny Bernadi.
His quiet and mysterious reputation seems to enter the room before he does, as the volume drops by a couple of decibels when he steps inside.
His gaze does a circuit of the room and lands on our little group—more specifically, on Tess.
She’s dressed in her usual signature black but has somehow managed to find a way to make respectable look debauched.
She’s wearing a long black maxi dress that clings to her like a second skin.
One bare leg shows through a long slit up the side, and the leather straps of her gladiator stilettos wind up to her knee like a vine.
Still, I cough and draw her attention my way.
I don’t like how he’s looking at her—like she’d make a decent meal.
“Not rude . . .” Sera comes to my defense, drawing my attention from Benny’s perusal of our younger sister. “Important. Tril’s about to marry the most powerful man in the city. What do you expect?”
I squeeze Sera’s hand.
Tess leans in until her breath whispers across my cheek. “Who’s the broody guy by his side?”
I locate Savero and pan to his right. My pulse quickens at the insidious sense of shame. “That’s his brother, Cristiano.”
“Wow. Even with that dirty scowl, he’s the hottest guy in the room.”
“From the little I’ve seen of him, he’s a grumpy asshole,” I say, hoping that concludes the topic.
I should know my sister better than that.
“Grumpy and gorgeous. He could tell me to go to hell and I’d look forward to the trip.”
His eyes lift and lock with mine, instantly quieting everything around me.
Tess is still speaking, but I don’t hear her.
I can’t tell from this distance if he’s angry, irritated, or simply disappointed by the knowledge I’ll soon be his sister-in-law.
I tear my gaze away. I wish he’d do the same, but the side of my face glows hot, and somehow I know he’s still staring at me from across the room.
I turn my attention back to Tess. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Do you know if he’s single?”
I inhale sharply. “I literally just met him, Tess. I have no idea.”
She jerks slightly. “All right, all right. No need to bite my head off.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling suddenly guilty and transparent. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
She sighs and seems to notice my discomfort for the first time today. “It’s okay. It’s all pretty surreal, being in a room with all these armed men. It’s making me feel nervous, and I’m not even marrying one of them. Here—maybe this will help.”
She pushes a flute of champagne into my hand then touches it with hers. It makes a ting that sounds decadent and everything this afternoon isn’t. I go for a sip but suck in half the glass, hoping to fill the sudden hole in my chest.
“Easy, tiger,” Sera whispers. “Don’t let the family see . . .”
I take another sip. The champagne is delicious. Light, fresh, just dry enough. It softens the tautness in my temples. “Which one?”
Her brows knit together.
I clarify. “His, ours, or the firm?”
She looks across the room. “Isn’t the firm his family? They all seem to be from the same Sicilian stock. Slick black hair, oily skin, same wardrobes, by the looks of it . . .”
I snicker into my flute. “Right?”
Her head tilts to one side, and her eyes narrow. “The women though . . .”
I look up sharply. “What about them?”
Sera covers her lips with her flute and lowers her voice. “They seem to be from a different stock altogether.”
I train my focus on her despite the urge to look at what she’s seeing. “What do you mean?” I hadn’t even stopped to consider there might be other women in Savero’s life, but of course there are.
“They’re either all of Scandinavian blood or they’ve paid a truckload of money to look like they are.”
I turn enough of a fraction to be in wholehearted agreement. The entire far corner is filled with blonde blow-dries, inflatable busts, and hemlines that showed a little too much skin for a funeral.
“Forget marrying the don,” I mutter. “Those women look even more frightening.”
Sera clasps my hand and smiles sympathetically. “Come on—let’s have a walk.”
The evening drags by slowly. We stand through toast after toast dedicated to the great man that was Gianni Di Santo. We eat caviar and foie gras and drink expensive champagne (when no one’s looking) and conveniently ignore the fact people would have died so my fiancé could fund this reception.
“What’s going through your head right now?” Sera asks as we look through the terrace windows at the darkening sky.
“That I’ve never seen so many Breitling watches in one room before.”
She smirks and nudges me with her elbow.
The sound of the PA system cranking up again makes us turn toward the stage, and my heart starts beating erratically. I can only imagine I’ve been in denial up until now, because with the announcement of my engagement to Savero Di Santo imminent, I feel an instinctive need to escape.
A host’s voice booms over the speakers. “Please join me in welcoming Mr. Savero Di Santo back to the stage.”
A rousing cheer fills the room as Savero reappears. The authenticity of it repulses me. He takes the microphone and coasts his gaze across the audience. I feel suddenly faint.
“Oh God, this is it,” Sera whispers.