Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Adrian
M adi is huffing and puffing as she flings clothes from her closet. I inhale a breath as I work on my tie. One more huff and a dress comes flying my way.
“Okay,” I sigh. “What’s going on?”
My blue-haired bride comes to the doorway of the walk-in closet. “I hate everything in here.”
“That’s a lie. You have no problem finding something to wear every day. And no problem spending money on that wardrobe of yours.”
Madi scoffs. “What’s yours is mine and all that, husband. ” She flips a strand of her newly blue hair over her shoulder. “Maybe you should have married someone with less expensive taste.”
I chuckle, moving toward her so I can wrap an arm around her waist and pull her slight frame against mine. She’s not dressed yet and we need to leave in ten minutes to make her family’s get-together. “What’s really going on, princess?”
White teeth pull her bottom lip between them, and her dark eyes look down, away from me.
“Tell me,” I say, lifting her chin with my forefinger so she’s forced to meet my eyes.
“My mother.” She sighs. “She’s gonna flip the fuck out when she sees me.”
Ah, the hair.
To me, Madi has always seemed like such a strong spitfire of a woman. I didn’t think she was intimidated by anything. Seeing this vulnerability over her mother tugs at something in my chest.
“So?”
Madi rolls her eyes. “You don’t get it.” She tries to pull herself from my grasp, but I stop her, pulling her back against my chest tight.
“No, I get it. I don’t understand why you’re bothered. What does her opinion matter? The woman I know doesn’t give a fuck what other people think about her.”
She smiles a bit at that. “You’re right.”
“I’ll tell you what, princess. If you’re a good girl and get a pretty dress on this body in the next ten minutes, I’ll give you a reward when we get back later tonight.
A brightening grin spreads on her pretty face. “Yeah? Promise.”
“Promise.”
Ten minutes later, we’re in the car with Madi dressed in a pale blue sundress that I have the urge to rip off her body. It complements her blue hair that falls in soft curls down her back. Twenty after that, we’re pulling up to her family’s mansion outside the French Quarter.
The Costello brood is thinner than it was four years ago when I started working with Marcus. He’s gone, as is his uncle, Carmine Sr. died of cancer about a year ago, and the oldest Romano girl committed suicide about three years before that to avoid an arranged marriage. The youngest Romano girl ran away to New York on the day of her arranged marriage. And Sam still sits in a prison cell in Orleans Parish. Of all the Costellos, all that’s left is Caterina and Madi, Damien and Carlotta, John and his parents, Cosetta and James. They fill in the gaps with their capos and the wives, though. Even some children run through the back gardens, making the place feel livelier.
No wonder Madi is anxious; all the cousins she leaned on are gone. Except for John, who’s a fucking psychopath. I groan as Madi makes a beeline for him. The last thing I want to do is talk to the man who kidnapped me and had me beaten to send a message. On his arm is the small brunette who smiles brightly when she sees Madi.
“Your hair!” Zoe shouts, immediately running her fingers through the blue locks. “It looks so good.”
“Thank you.” Madi flips some over her shoulder. She’s grinning, and I can’t get over how much I like the sight of it.
“You like her.” The words are deadpan leaving John’s lips. Not a trace of emotion behind them. The empty look on his face is concerning. I’ve worked with a bunch of criminals as a defense attorney, but none of them were quite like John Vitale.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I make my way to the bar to get a whiskey, hoping John won’t follow me. Of course he does.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he says as I order my drink. “It’s good motivation.”
I can’t even say that John is cocky or smug. The way he talks is so even, so void of emotion, that I don’t think he’s taunting me as much as he’s making an observation.
“I’m working on it,” I say, tossing the whiskey back and sliding the glass in front of the bartender for a refill. “I have a meeting with him tomorrow.” I don’t say Sam’s name for worry that someone will overhear me. Damien is here, wandering around somewhere behind me. For the moment, I need to keep my double play a secret. John knows I’m working with Damien, but Damien doesn’t know that I’m working with John. And neither knows I plan to fuck them both over.
“Good.” John nods, then takes another sip of his drink. “The quicker you do your job, the sooner this will all be over. In the meantime, I have another task for you.”
I withhold the groan building in my chest. I have no desire to do any more favors for John, but if I want to keep him from getting suspicious that I’m up to something, the best move is to play along. Even if I don’t want to help him.
“What is it?”
“Draw up some papers for me.” His lips twist into a smile. Whether he means it or if it’s an act, I’m not sure. “I want Saints and Sinners in my name.”
I take a sip of my whiskey just in time to nearly spit it out. “What?” If I draw up paperwork that puts Saints and Sinners in John’s name, Damien will surely kill me.
I’m stuck between be killed or be killed.
“Why?”
“Just do what I say, yeah?” John pats my shoulder right as Damien approaches us. I take another sip of whiskey to wash down the bitter taste in my mouth.
“Uncle.” John nods to him—what should be a sign of respect, but we all know it isn’t. This family is still suspicious that John is the reason Marcus isn’t here anymore. The fact is glaringly obvious from the way Caterina watches him with malice. Not that anyone will do or say a thing. Damien benefited from John’s actions, and the women all act like they have no idea what their family is involved in. Except Madi. I can see her peeking at me, worry etched on her face.
I think my little wife is falling for me.
The thought blooms in my head, then travels directly to my heart. We’ve turned a corner recently, and it’s not just sex between us anymore. John might be right; I might also be falling for my wife.
“John,” Damien says, almost dismissively to his nephew. John doesn’t need much more of a hint. He tilts his head to us and walks away without any more of a goodbye.
“What did he want?” Damien asks gruffly. He’s wearing black slacks, but his suit jacket is abandoned, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. The New Orleans heat has him sweating, drips running down his temple. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at the moisture.
“Just trying to get to know me.” I shrug. “I think he’s feeling a little protective over Madi.”
Damien snorts. “Him and his cousin both. They got that from Junior. He put fucking women on a pedestal. If he were alive, arranged marriages would be banned from this family.” Damien snorts like he told a funny joke.
Part of me wonders if the girls would be better off if Junior was here.
Then Marcus wouldn’t have been able to promise Madi to me like she was nothing but an object to be traded and sold.
My eyes land on my girl, still talking to Zoe, who’s now been joined by John. She’d probably be happier if I wasn’t in her life.
I chuckle anyway to placate him. “Well, he’s not here.”
Damien grins. “That’s right.” He clinks his glass against mine like we’re cheering for the fact that his brother-in-law is dead. “Let’s get a cigar, hmm?” It sounds like a question, but it’s not. So I nod and follow Damien as he leads me inside to the office that used to belong to Marcus and his father before him. Seems like a death sentence to be in the office when you think about all the men who once inhabited it.
Damien rounds the desk, pulling a box of Cubans from one of the drawers. He meets me on the other side, handing me a cigar and gesturing for me to sit in one of the deep red leather chairs. Lighting his cigar first before handing the lighter to me, he leans back in his seat, inhaling a puff of smoke. It blows from his lips in thick white clouds as I light up mine. I still hate smoking; I have to hide my grimace as I puff my own cigar. Disgusting.
“So, how’s it going?” There’s more to that question left invisibly lingering between us.
What he means is: how is getting rid of Sam going ?
“I joined his defense team,” I say, taking another puff of the disgusting cigar.
Damien raises one eyebrow, looking at me skeptically.
“I’m going to work it from the inside,” I say. “Join his defense team while I figure out the best way to fuck him over.”
“Staying in prison isn’t enough, you know that, right?” Clouds of white smoke blow from his lips. “That boy is determined.”
I swallow my laugh. I know he’s determined from experience. He sent his psychopath cousin after me to make sure I switched sides.
“I’ll be able to handle it,” I assure him.
Before Damien is able to respond, I hear a shriek that sounds suspiciously like Madi, followed by, “Get off me!”
I’m out of my chair in an instant, my cigar landing in the ashtray. I take the hall quickly, leading myself back to the patio where I find my bride pushing her mother away from her.
“You look ridiculous!” Caterina shouts. They’re making a scene, people are gathered around the stone patio, watching the fight between mother and daughter.
“Your opinion doesn’t matter.” Madi’s fists clench by her sides, her cheeks red. She’s pissed.
“What’s going on?” I ask, stepping forward and putting an arm between Madi and her mother.
“Her hair.” Caterina waves her hand dramatically, also red in the face - could be from alcohol or anger.
“What about it?”
“It’s blue! ” She huffs.
“It is,” I say calmly. “I never asked you to have it dyed, did I? Now I suggest you shut the fuck up about my wife’s hair.”
Caterina’s face pales as she looks at me, shocked. I think she assumed I’d be on her side and want Madi to dye her hair once again to that dark brown color. I bet she never thought it was me who told her to change it back.
“But-”
I wave my hand to cut her off. “I don’t care, Caterina. I don’t want to hear it. If you can’t behave around your daughter, then we’re leaving.” I extend my hand to Madi. She takes it immediately, a small smile on her lips.
I don’t wait to hear what anyone else says. I just take Madi’s hand and lead her back to my car, opening the passenger door for her.
She doesn’t get in, though. Instead, her arm wraps around me, and she pushes onto her tiptoes to give me a sweet kiss.
“Thank you,” she says, and the smile on her face is worth it. Worth everything.