2. Isabella
2
ISABELLA
I t feels like someone is grabbing hold of my windpipe and slowly crushing it between their fingers.
Every second I spend staring at this goddamn entree, the more trapped I feel. But can I bring myself to move? Apparently not.
Apparently, the news that Teo Vitale will be the new don of the Guild is too much for my stupid brain and even stupider body to handle.
This is not how tonight was supposed to go.
There’s a buzz in my earpiece. At the very least, I seem to have the wherewithal to lean forward, allowing my blonde hair to cascade over my ear as I oh-so-casually reach up to press the receiver.
“What the hell is going on, Issy?” My brother’s voice crackles in my ear.
I hide my grimace with a dazzling smile, pretending to be absorbed in the conversation across the table. The Californian mafioso is regaling everyone in earshot about his thirteen-hour flight to Brooklyn because “he wouldn’t miss this wedding for the world”.
The fact that the Morettis deemed him important enough to sit at table thirty-five doesn’t seem to be putting a damper on his theatrics.
I tap my finger against the small device in my ear. Dot, dot, dot. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dot, dot.
S.O.S.
This is not how tonight was supposed to go.
The Prince’s Hand has known a seventeen-year alliance with the Guild. It’s one that so very rarely demands something from the other. It’s more of an agreement to stay out of each other's way, really.
But it’s an alliance nonetheless.
One that my brother desperately needs for his mafioso to feel secure in their operations. But one that was brutally severed the second Giuliano Moretti drew his last breath.
I glance over to the head table at my once-target. Cassandra Bellini, now Moretti, I suppose. The sweet little songbird who captured Giuliano’s son’s heart. As green as they come, new to the underworld, and in desperate need of some powerful friends.
I’d dug up everything I could about her, even visited her hometown in Ohio to establish a connection with her past. I know her favorite coffee shop, her favorite clothing store. I even dug up her high school records.
Average, average, average. The perfect target to befriend and manipulate.
Do I feel shame for taking advantage of a pregnant woman? No, not really. My family needs this. Which means I would have secured the alliance by the time they returned from their honeymoon.
Not that it matters now.
“Pick up in ten minutes, Issy. Hang tight.”
I let out a breath of relief at my brother’s words and sit back in my chair.
It’s one thing to convince someone you don’t know to give you something you want.
It’s another thing entirely to confront your sworn enemy when he now holds all the playing cards.
“What about you, Meribeth? You said you traveled from South Africa?”
It takes me a second to realize the Californian mafioso is talking to me. Right. I thumb the place card in front of me. Unfortunately, the real Meribeth Igwe was detained at JFK this morning.
I shoot the Californian a sweet smile. “The journey wasn’t so bad. Like you said, I wouldn’t miss this wedding for the world.”
This seems to appease him enough to begin talking about himself again.
I subtly look down at my Cartier watch—eight minutes until pick-up. I should really excuse myself and get going.
“Meribeth!”
My smile is plastered on my face before I turn around to see a man approaching our table. I noted him earlier, he’s one of Rocco’s groomsmen—dark features, quiet demeanor, went with the vegan option.
“Hi,” I reply lightly, trying to remember his name.
“Dante,” he helpfully supplies as he gestures somewhat goofily to his chest. “We worked on the shipment a few months ago? I called you a few times?”
I lightly smack my forehead. “Of course!”
“How have you been?”
I glance down at my watch again—five minutes. “You know, actually, not so great. The flight over was a bit rough, so I’m probably going to go lie down for a bit.”
Dante’s face falls in sympathy. “Let me walk you out.”
I stand up, excusing myself from the table, before turning back to him. “That’s all right, I’m sure you’re very busy.”
He holds his arm out anyway. “Allow me to insist.”
Backed into a corner, I meekly reach out to take his arm.
“That’s very kind of you…”
SLAM.
It happens so quickly that my eyes water in shock. One second, we’re standing there; the next, Dante has my arm pinned behind my back and my face pushed into the table.
Shit.
“You know, Meribeth. I know it’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure when we last met, you weren’t Italian. Or blonde,” Dante remarks casually.
“Ever heard of hair dye?”
My face is slammed against the table again.
It shouldn’t be surprising that none of the wedding guests seem to react to this. What's a mafia wedding without a bit of drama, right?
But it still stings to see the Californians looking down his nose at me.
“Help a girl out, would ya?”
He ignores me.
“Who exactly are you, blondie?” Dante asks. “Cuz you sure as hell aren’t on the invite list.”
“I–”
“ Dante. ”
A sharp voice clips at our ears. From my angle—smashed into the table—I can just about make out a flash of red hair.
“Can we do this somewhere that is NOT in the middle of the goddamn reception?”
The hand holding me down instantly releases me, and I find myself smirking as I stand back up again. The fiery maid of honor looks torn between who she wants to strangle first.
Dante, however, only tightens his grip on my arms. “Gatecrasher. Do you want to get Rocco, or…?”
“Take her to Teo,” Red snaps back. “He can deal with it.”
Dread hollows out my entire being. There is no possible way I can be within striking distance of that man. My pick-up will be here any second.
There’s only one thing for it.
I snap my head back without warning, causing Dante to hiss as his nose is crushed on impact. His hands loosen on my arms, and I yank them free, jerking away for him as I turn to sprint out the door…only to feel the press of cool metal against my throat.
“Stop. Making. A. Fucking. Scene,” Red seethes in my ear.
Where the hell did she even get a knife from? Everyone was checked three times before we even entered the church, including the bride and groom.
A second later, Dante is back, manhandling me into compliance. “Do you think maybe you might be taking your role as maid of honor too seriously, Mia?”
Mia doesn’t reply. Instead, she turns back to the room. “As you were.”
With a shove, Dante marches us all forward and out of the reception hall, away from all the curious and bemused glances of the wedding guests.
With every step, a cool feeling spreads further through my body, threatening to send me into my own personal ice age. This has gone so horribly wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I should have left the moment Rocco made the announcement.
Teo Vitale. The new don of the Guild.
The son of the family who tried to ruin mine.
The name alone is one my mother taught me to fear and despise. How quickly it triggers memories of a fraught history of violence and greed and death.
How much of my training has been to protect myself from him? How much of my education did I spend becoming a technological weapon to secure my family’s safety? How much have I studied him to ensure we always remained one step ahead?
There was always the possibility that I would see him today, and my instruction was not to engage under any circumstances.
This could jeopardize everything I’ve ever done to stay out of his line of sight.
“In here,” Dante grunts.
Suddenly, I’m shoved through a door to the side and into a near-empty conference room. The blade at my throat scratches across my skin. Mia doesn’t care that it draws blood as she pushes me to my knees.
“What the hell is going on?”
Finally, kneeling on the floor, my entire body succumbs to the cold. I’m frozen in place by the timbre of that voice.
“Gatecrasher,” Mia announces.
“Then chuck her out.”
Please. Please, please, please .
“You’re the goddamn don now, Teo,” Mia snaps. “She’s your responsibility.”
“She broke my nose,” Dante adds from behind me. It’s likely that he’s guarding the door.
I imagine his nose is already swelling. I imagine the blood dribbling down his chin so that I can distract myself enough to stop my fingers from trembling.
Come on, pull yourself together. It’s just fear.
He’s not the boogeyman. He’s just a person. A person who can bleed, just like everyone else.
“All right, all right!”
I stare at a spot on the pristine white and gold carpet, trying to regulate my breathing.
The only way I survive this is if I’m very, very smart. I can’t look at him. I can’t give him anything. Because the moment he learns my name, I may as well be dead.
“You.”
I keep staring at the carpet.
“Who are you?”
I don’t respond.
Smack.
My cheek burns, and I still don’t look up.
“Mia.”
“She ruined the entrees!” she whines but steps away from me anyway.
“Let me handle this.”
The redhead, thankfully, falls silent.
A pair of dark leather shoes enter my field of vision, and I struggle not to cave in on myself.
“I asked you a question.”
Suddenly, a rough hand yanks my chin upward.
My breath catches in my throat.
His dark hair tumbles out of its hair tie, framing his strong jawline and flawless skin. These are the trademarks of an aristocrat disguised by a short-cut beard and the tattoos that crawl up his neck from below his white shirt collar.
But what draws me in most are his endlessly dark eyes. There’s nearly no distinction between their onyx color and the blackness of his pupils. They are framed by a pair of thick brows set in a seemingly perpetual scowl.
I imagined Teo Vitale to be many things: a monster, an enemy, a threat.
Never once did I think he would be…beautiful.
And that somehow frustrates me more than everything he has ever done to my family.
Of course, I’ve seen his photo before. I’ve studied it. Programmed every camera in our casinos to alert me if his face was ever detected inside or nearby.
It’s funny how much a lens of hatred can mar your perception of someone. In my case, a lens that is overwhelmed the moment the scent of sandalwood and vanilla washes over me.
“Who are you?” he asks, and I’ll be damned, but I watch his perfect lips curve around each word with more attention that I should give to anything about him.
“Someone who didn’t want to miss the party of the year,” I reply, channeling all my frustration into the way I’m speaking in order to keep my words steady.
He smirks. “There are two ways this is going to go. You can either tell me who you are, or I’m going to take that earpiece of yours and leave you to Mia while I trace the connection back to whoever sent you.”
In my periphery, I can see Mia twirling her knife expertly over her fingers.
Teo tips my head back to examine the scratch along my neck. “Although it seems she might have already jumped the gun.”
A calloused finger swipes along the tender graze, and I do my best not to flinch.
“I would hate for her to cut up your pretty little neck.”
I try to ignore how his words make my mouth water and focus on a plan. My pick-up should be here by now. Leon will be looking for me. I just need to buy him some time.
“I’d never say no to a bit of knife play,” I flirt right back. A part of me violently protests against it, but it’s easier to do than I had thought it would be.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
His eyes don’t leave my face as he holds his hand out to the side. Mia only hesitates for a beat before handing over her knife.
I raise an eyebrow at him as the blade settles once more against my neck. “Is this how you like your women? On their knees and at your disposal?”
“As a matter of fact…”
“Teo.”
His eyes tear away from mine to regard Dante.
“An unknown vehicle has approached the front of the hotel. Gray Lamborghini Aventador.”
“Gun it down.”
“No!” My protest erupts from my mouth before I can stop it.
Teo gives me a curious look. “No?”
“Do it, Dante,” Mia encourages anyway.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Please,” desperation floods my words.
It’s Teo’s turn to raise his eyebrow at me, waiting expectantly.
I swallow hard.
“My name is Isabella Natali. I’m here to secure an alliance between the Prince’s Hand and the Guild.”