Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nicolò
Mom’s eyes flick between Lina, who is sitting on the couch listening to Cristiano’s rundown of what’s going to happen next, and me, who is pacing up and down like a madman on amphetamines.
“Alessio is an old man,” Cristiano says, matter of fact.
“Seventy-eight isn’t that old,” I grit out.
Cristiano shoots me another glare. I’m going to get hell from him when we’re alone, but I don’t give a stinking shit.
“It won’t be a long marriage, Bambalina,” he says. “And you won’t be isolated. The alliance means we’ll be working closely with his family. You’ll still be able to see your sisters, your father, your aunt.”
I watch her behavior like a bird of prey but she doesn’t look at me. She hasn’t looked at me since I tried to break Benito’s jaw.
“When is the wedding?” Her sweet voice sounds flat and professional, as if she knows this is her duty now. It doesn’t sound like my Lina at all. There’s no passion there, no light, no life. And my heart is breaking.
It took me twelve years to get over losing Sofia.
I’ve only just gotten used to having a stepsister in my life—one who has turned out to be way more than that.
The few recent evenings I’ve pictured spending full nights in a bed with this woman, cooking for her, learning every little thing about her, have smashed to the ground and broken into a thousand pieces.
How can I make any of that happen when she’s betrothed to another man, living in his home, surrounded by people we’re now forced to play nice with?
My heart is unraveling, one beat at a time. I’ve only just warmed my hands on her and she’s already slipping away.
“As soon as we can make it happen,” Cristiano replies. “But we have to move fast. You’re his fiancée now. You will live with him in the Atlantic Highlands until we can arrange the formalities.”
What?
“When do I go?” she asks.
I stop pacing and brace my feet into the carpet, staring with all my weight at Cristiano.
“Tomorrow morning. One of Augie’s men will accompany you there and be your chaperone until you are married.”
“Which man?” I growl, low.
“Dario,” Cristiano says, with a tight sigh.
“No,” I bark. “He’s a fucking liability. He couldn’t protect roadkill. Not even if someone paid him a million dollars. I’ll go.”
Cristiano slowly coasts a glare in my direction. “It’s been arranged. You will remain here, in New York. We need to be visible and also show Alessio’s men where we need to fight.”
I’m not in any mood to help anyone settle in.
“I won’t be as much use to you as you think,” I warn. I’ve never been so steadfast and obstinate with my cousin—I’ve always valued my place in this family too highly. But that was before I had a purpose outside of the family, something else I care deeply about.
I am going with Bambalina, whether Cristiano likes it or not.
He’ll find that out soon enough.