Chapter 7 #2
He’s shorter, stockier, but his features are similar to Royal’s. This is Vinnie, Royal’s father. They have the same Roman nose. Vinnie’s hair is streaked with gray, and he’s got a spare tire he’s been working on for a while. He’s followed by two men, in long black wool coats, and dark sunglasses.
“Enough of this, Royal,” Vinnie says, glancing at me for a moment before his gaze flicks away. Like I’m nothing, and nobody important. I shrink in the big leather chair, feeling even more like a kid playing ‘office’ in her father’s study.
Lula is silent, snapping the papers into her briefcase. Between you and me, not many of us are fans of Uncle Vinnie, but he’s the boss so we all toe the line.
Crap. This is the boss.
When Vinnie speaks again, and Lula looks at him for the first time, it’s clear that not only doesn’t she like him… she loathes him.
Royal’s face has gone blank.
“You were meant for better things than this. The family has a reputation to uphold. You need to marry the daughter of a Don, maybe a Vesuvi or Serpente. One of the ruling families. Not someone like...” He waves a dismissive hand in my direction.
Lula’s eyes narrow, her blood-red talons digging into the fine leather of her briefcase handle. I want to tell her not to bother getting mad on my behalf. I’m not worth it.
“Stop talking,” Royal murmurs. His voice is low and deceptively soft.
He’s the type who doesn’t get loud when he’s furious.
He gets quiet. It’s the calm before the storm.
I can feel it bubbling under the surface.
Lula doesn’t say anything either, but she’s a little more obvious with her expression—a clear look of disdain on her face directed at one and only one human in the room.
Together, she and Royal look formidable.
Two sleek Doberman pinschers, focused on the kill.
Royal raises a hand.
Royal’s father doesn’t see the clues. He keeps talking, like he hasn’t noticed his son and niece are furious with him. “There are families who would hand you their heirs on a silver platter. What the fuck are you doing with her? She's a nobody.”
I flinch like I’ve been struck with a dagger.
One moment, Royal’s leaning back against his desk, his hands gripping the edge, his dark head down.
The next, he’s exploded into silent motion.
He crosses the few steps between them in a blur.
His punch comes out of nowhere. His fist thunks into his father’s face, and Vinnie flies back into a bookcase.
Books tumble around Vinnie. He grabs the shelves to right himself, groaning. The bodyguards freeze but make no move to defend the older Regis.
Of everyone, Lucrezia looks the least surprised. She examines her nails, casually, sighing the sigh of someone who’s witnessed this type of scene before. I half expect her to get out a file to begin shaping one nail casually, maybe into a point. I tremble.
“Enough,” Royal growls. He’s not even breathing hard, his shoulders straight and spine stiff.
“You’re speaking of my bride. This was a test. You failed, Vinnie,” he says to his father.
The older man groans. “You’re no longer my father.
You rejected me, I reject you. It’s that simple.
” Royal’s eyes are hard, and Lula crosses her arms over her chest, staring down at her uncle. She looks completely unimpressed.
Something big is going on here, but I have no idea what it is. I’m grateful I’m not Daddy Regis. Even his bodyguards don’t look like they want to come to his side in support.
He must be a really big asshole.
“You won't get away with this,” Vinnie says, struggling to sit up. One of the bodyguards takes pity, and reaches down to help him up.
“I already have. Your sister sides with me. I have the support of the Old Country. And when I marry Leah tomorrow, I will have fulfilled the conditions of La Famiglia.” Royal’s eyes light up as he glances over to me.
I cover my mouth with a hand. My left hand.
The ring flashes its light around the room.
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I look up. Lula’s leaning over me, gripping my shoulder, her furious gaze glued to Vinnie Regis.
“They’ll never accept her,” Vinnie spits.
Royal shakes his head. “The crown has passed. The throne is mine.”
His father makes a noise of rage in the back of his throat. “This isn’t over.” He shoots a final glare straight at me.
I flinch.
“Get out,” Royal orders, and Vinnie does, followed by his two goons.
We listen to the front door open and close. There’s a minor commotion, and Enzo jogs up to the office door, out of breath.
“Sorry boss,” Enzo pants. “They took out Jimmy. Knocked him unconscious.”
“Fuck.” Lula whips her briefcase off Royal’s desk. “I’ve got a med kit in my car.”
“Go.” Royal waves a hand to them both. “Secure the perimeter.”
Lula and Enzo file out.
I bury my face in my hands.
“Leah.” Royal’s voice is soft. He sinks to his knees in front of me. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. I can’t deal with what just happened so I ask the first thing that’s been bothering me. “You met me a year ago?”
“I didn’t think you'd remember.”
“I don’t. Lula told me. I’m sorry, I was going through a break up and—”
“It’s okay, cara. You’ve been through a lot. But you still took the time to help a man who was bleeding.”
I take his hand, the one he used to hit his father. The red knuckles spark a memory in me. A wild-haired man in a dark, dusty coat. His face was bruised, his lip puffy and broken. I had thought he was homeless. He did have beautiful dark eyes. Was that Royal?
“I’d just survived an attack. I wasn’t fit to be seen.
But you saw me.” He clasps my hand, turning it over so the diamond winks between us.
“And I saw you. I knew the right woman was out there, waiting for me. And then there you were.” His whisper is pure sin, silky and intimate.
“No one else seemed to notice you. But I did.” Like everything he says, this causes seismic shifts inside me.
“I would’ve come to you sooner, but it wasn't safe. Not until I had more of a foothold.”
He’s talking about gangs and turf wars again, things over my head.
I swallow. “Your father—”
“He’s losing power.” Royal sounds dismissive.
“He doesn’t approve of me.”
“He doesn’t matter.”
“But what he said…” I close my eyes and let the tears fall.
“No, Leah. Do not cry over what he said.” Royal braces me in his strong arms, bundling me into his lap. His chair dips as he leans back, holding my head to his chest. My tears spot his white shirt.
“Poor principessa. I’ll make him pay for what he did to you.”
“I’m okay,” I sniffle. Royal presents a handkerchief and I give a half laugh. Trust Royal to be a mix of modern and old world courtesies.
I fix my gaze on his beautiful face while he dries my tears. His warmth and scent anchor me.
“I didn’t speak until I was four years old.” He tips my face this way and that, examining it for tears. “My father thought I was a failure. He sent me away.”
“He was wrong,” I say.
“Yes.” Royal grips my chin. “He’s wrong about most things.”
A sigh shudders out of me, and I nod.
“Forget him,” Royal orders. “He’s nothing. You’re everything.”
“You just need to marry someone,” I say before I can stop myself. He scowls and glances away then shakes his head.
“I want to marry you. At first, I looked for a bride who would know her place beside me. Someone from one of the three other families, someone convenient. But the more I watched you, the more I knew how perfect you would be. I need someone like you at my side.” He rubs his thumb up and down my finger gently, cherishing even this small part of me.
“When I am with you, I feel it. Fate,” he finishes.
I blink at him through wet lashes. “What if I need more than fate?” I ask, but I’m wavering. He’s never let me down. Not in the short time I’ve known him. He’s been so fiercely protective of me, of anyone even tangentially related to me.
He treats me like I’m someone special. Even if I have my reservations, I’m not strong enough to give that up.
“Fate brings us together,” he says, “you and me? We get to write the rest of it together. Fate leaves the fun parts for us to discover.” My heart thumps in my chest and he leans in to kiss me. I let him, and he slowly kisses across my face, brushing away any tears that are left.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Trust me,” he says. I let my eyes fall closed. He wants me to believe that I’m the best choice for him. I can trust him, but can I trust in the truth of us?
I can try. For Royal, I will try.
Leah
The wedding dress fits perfectly.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. But Royal asked me to trust him, and now I’m wearing all of the lace that exists in our state, what with the veil, shoes, bralette and garter belt holding up sheer stockings.
And then the crowning glory of it all, the dress itself, a bespoke explosion of tulle and satin.
I turn and peer at myself in the mirror, a glittering backdrop of expensive shoes and handbags behind me.
I look like a giant cupcake with too much vanilla frosting. I try to pull the veil one way, and then the other. Am I really doing this?
Lula is also here, trying on bridesmaid dresses. Royal has left the house to attend to business.
“Whoa,” she says when I emerge from the walk-in closet. The suite two doors down from Royal’s master bedroom looks like a bridal shop, and it’s been turned into one for our benefit to prep for the wedding tomorrow. “That’s… a lot of tulle.”
“I know.” I wrinkle my nose.
“It’s not so bad. You do look beautiful.
” Speaking of beautiful, Lula is gorgeous, in a trumpet gown that falls to the floor in a deep wine red that suits her coloring.
She approaches me and gingerly touches the tulle that’s frothing around my knees, adjusting it here and there.
“Hmmm,” she says gently, before pinching at my veil.
“There, now what do you think?” she asks, and we turn to the mirror.
My eyes widen. There’s something about the way she’s adjusted the fall of the veil, and arranged my train behind me—
I look like a princess. My cheeks flush. I look like a bride. The woman in the mirror doesn’t look like the girl with pastry baking dreams. She looks like a goddess.
She looks nothing like me.
“You’re good at this,” I say to Lula. “If you ever get sick of being a lawyer, you could be a stylist.”
Lula laughs. She laughs easily, which is another point in her favor.
“It’s easy when the bride’s so beautiful,” she says, and her words warm my heart.
She doesn’t have to be nice to me. She doesn’t owe me anything, not even kindness.
But here we are, the day before I get married, and she’s fussing over me like I’m her sister, not a woman she just met who’s now her cousin's fiancée.
Uncertainty wells up inside me again. No matter how tight Royal holds me at night, I still feel out of place. A raisin in a chocolate chip cookie. Like one day, Royal will wake up and see the shy, shabby girl he’s chosen, and send me back to the bakery where I belong.
I wish I could be more like Lula. Calm, collected Lula.
“Enzo said that Royal has to get married so he can take over the family,” I blurt.
Lula tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Yes. That is true. He also used you to force a confrontation with his father.”
“What?” I whisper.
Lula circles me, tweaking my voluminous train.
“One thing you need to know about Royal. He never does anything that doesn’t net him multiple results.
Two, three, ten times the returns. That’s why the family is so eager to give him what he wants.
They will do anything to keep him happy, and you make him happy. ”
I press a hand to my forehead. The diamond is heavy on my finger.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.
“Leah, as long as I’ve known my cousin, I’ve never known him to be this obsessed with anyone. It’ll work out. You’ll see.” She finishes tweaking my veil and steps back. “I’ve got to go. Want me to unzip you?”
“Uh, no, I’ll wear it a bit longer.” Maybe if I wear it, I’ll get used to it.
“You sure?” Lula says. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see you.”
“I don’t think anything will derail Royal from making this wedding happen.” I smooth a hand down the beautiful bodice.
Lula’s smile is bright enough for the both of us as she goes to unzip her bridesmaid dress. “You're right. He doesn’t believe in luck. He believes in fate.”
The house is extra quiet when Lula leaves.
Standing and staring at myself in a wedding dress is doing nothing for my confidence.
The woman glowing under the soft lights of the guest bedroom before a sea of fine dresses looks nothing like me.
I should have let Lula unzip me. Then I could get back to the kitchen and procrasti-bake.
Downstairs, a door slams.
I hitch up the tulle and start walking down the stairs, careful not to step on my train. “Royal?”
Downstairs is dark. I descend into shadows, and when I get to the bottom of the steps, I round the railing in the direction of the front door.
Five feet from me is the slumped form of one of Royal’s bodyguards, his gun on the ground beside his limp hand. I catch the scent of stale cigarettes.
I whirl. At the back of the walk-in closet in Royal’s bedroom is a safe room. He showed it to me just the other morning in a brief tour, telling me to go there if there was ever a problem. Another freaky mafia wife lesson I need to learn.
Two steps up the stairs, I trip on the tulle.
“I don’t think so,” someone says, and seizes me around the waist. I shriek and drive my elbow backward into a firm belly.
The man grunts and then claps a hand over my mouth, a cloth fisted in his fingers.
I inhale the fumes, antiseptic and sweet.
My head fogs over, my vision clouding, and that’s all—