Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
PRIEST
W hen the ordeal was over, I took Ivy’s hand in mine and we moved outside to the garden where a long banquet table was set up, its centerpiece a large fountain adorned with angels.
“Why did you two decide to have your reception in the church garden?” Juliette, my sister-in-law, asked.
Ivy just shrugged and I almost groaned. I didn’t have to wonder why she stood stiffly next to me, not even looking my way, pretending I wasn’t here.
I. Fucked. Up.
I should have pushed past my reflex and sealed my mouth to hers.
She was the first woman I ever willingly touched. Sure, I’d had women, but the idea of intimacy always stirred nightmares and a cold sweat beneath my skin. So, until my encounter with Ivy, I’d usually let women get down on their knees and suck me off and then be on their merry way. After all, I was a sinner, never a saint.
Ivy had been the first to make me forget my aversion and bring me to my literal knees.
The moment I’d spotted her in my club, I recognized her from the little heist she and her friends performed in Chicago. The girls royally fucked up when they decided to dump medical-grade essential oil all over my brother’s Royally Lucky casino, their diversion tactics doing little else than cause a shit storm that would take weeks to set right and make it so that I could never smell lavender without seeing red again. I’d studied the surveillance footage enough to have memorized Ivy Murphy’s every feature.
So, I decided to teach her a lesson. I didn’t expect to enjoy touching her or to become fucking obsessed at the tender age of twenty-five. For almost two years, I’d been stalking and fantasizing about this woman, unable to move on. One taste of her and I got addicted.
“You two are acting weird,” Juliette muttered as we all sat down, her eyes on Ivy and myself.
My sister-in-law hadn’t been the same since Ivy’s father’s death. Dante mentioned she’d been experiencing depression episodes after each visit with her friends. He recommended avoiding them, which would be a feat in itself, considering how close the girls were. Obviously, Juliette refused, claiming she deserved any and all punishment. She wanted to stand by her friends, no matter what.
It was a commendable decision, but probably unwise.
“Let them be,” Dante scolded softly. “It’s their day, and if they demand we stand on our heads, we will do that.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t ask that of you,” Ivy assured them, while I was certainly tempted. It didn’t escape me that my wife threw curious glances Juliette’s way. “You’ve been kind of anxious lately, Jules. Are you okay?”
I watched my sister-in-law grab her glass of wine and gulp it down in one go. “Of course, I’m always great.”
Ivy raised her brow. “You always say that. Even as you set the house on fire, you tried to convince us all you’re great.”
Juliette grimaced. “Fake it till you make it. Isn’t that our motto?”
I’d have to have a talk with Dante about her. If we were to keep her secret, she’d have to stop acting so suspicious.
My brother took a large sip of wine before he leaned over to me. “Are you okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous about your wedding night?” he teased.
Fuck, maybe I should admit to my big brother I’d never kissed a woman. Or maybe better not. He might die from laughter. Goddammit, I should have stopped at a brothel and practiced some kissing with a random woman before my wedding day, but the thought had me breaking out in hives.
I decided to change subjects, speaking in an Italian dialect that was usually difficult to understand for anyone who wasn’t native to it. “You’ll have to calm Juliette down. She’s acting suspicious.”
He nodded, understanding where I was going with this. “It’s almost worse that they’re best friends.”
My eyes found Ivy, who was listening to something Wynter whispered in her ear, and the two chuckled. Basilio stared at his wife, as if willing her to look at him. He just couldn’t live without her, and considering what Wynter and Basilio had gone through, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. My cousin only had eyes for Wynter.
Kind of like you with your wife , my mind mocked.
My wife. Fuck. Ivy was all fucking mine now, and I’d be damned if I let anyone hurt her. Except, how in the fuck was I supposed to explain that I hadn’t kissed a woman and I was almost twenty-seven?
“You got a strange look on your face, Christian.” Dante tilted his head toward Ivy. “Just follow your intuition. Or maybe her lead.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you insinuating?”
“The girls are… were… a bit wild.” He grinned.
“Best if you stop talking right now,” I remarked coldly. I had no intention of having this conversation with him. Some things were sacred.
“All I’m saying is don’t overthink it.”
I raised a skeptical brow. “Really?”
He nodded, then was jostled in his seat as Basilio appeared out of nowhere, smirking like the jerk he could sometimes be.
“Apparently all the girls are singing your praises,” he drawled, clapping a palm on the back of Dante’s head. “Because Ivy told them you actually asked her to marry you.”
“Unlike the rest of y’all,” Emory chimed in. “Oh wait, my bad. Christian did drug her and then kidnap her, so… more or less like you, Basilio.” My cousin’s dark eyes met mine. “The question is… how in the fuck did you manage to keep her after that?”
“It’s a secret,” I answered, then chose to skirt as close as possible to the truth. “And sort of an alliance.”
“Alliance?” Emory questioned. “What kind?”
I shrugged. “The kind involving Sofia Volkov.”
My cousins shared a glance, before Basilio asked, “You know anything involving Sofia turns into disaster. Nothing but death and heartbreak follows that woman.”
“I know, but this kind of alliance with my wife will end Sofia’s life,” I said. “I’ll update you via the Syndicate.”
They all nodded, understanding my unspoken meaning. We couldn’t discuss this in the open.
“Either way, Ivy and I are on the same page about Sofia.”
Basilio shrugged. “Good for her, because sometimes love is a battlefield.”
Emory shot him a look of disbelief. “Are you quoting some cheesy song?”
Basilio gave an exaggerated bow in her direction. “In another life, I’d be a songwriter and help my sister find her lover.”
Emory shot him her best glare. “Someone already wrote that song and your sister can have as many lovers as she wishes. She doesn’t need anyone’s help. How about you stick to being a kingpin and serenade your own wife.”
Dante must have seen where this was headed because he rose from his chair and clinked his knife against the champagne glass to silence the small group.
I sent him a warning look, which only made him grin. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we celebrate the wedding of my brother and Ivy, no longer Murphy, but DiLustro.” Ivy smiled tensely. “Welcome to the family.”
I flinched when I saw her hand curl into a fist, clutching her wedding dress. For some reason, I wanted to reach out and unfurl her fingers, link them with my own. But I knew after my fuckup, she’d probably pull it back and punch me.
It was time to send everyone away and make things right with my wife.
If she’d have me.
I was enjoying the sound of Ivy’s chiming laugh as she beamed at her brothers. The pricks were protective, doting over her since they arrived. It was risky having them here, too close to Juliette and the shit that happened with Ivy’s father, but I couldn’t find it in me to regret the decision.
My wife looked happy. For the most part.
“Hello, son.” My papà’s voice pulled my gaze from my favorite view.
“Hello, Christian. Thank you for inviting Frank and me,” was Aisling’s greeting. I just nodded slowly, staring past her and onto the makeshift dance floor surrounded by flowers. “I have a gift for you.”
I didn’t turn to look at her. I couldn’t, not without thinking about my dark history. The sort of history that shaped me, destroyed my childhood, and molded me into this twisted, dark person.
She might have not participated in my torture like Vittoria, but Aisling had a hand in turning me into the fucked-up person that I was today.
“I have property in Ireland, and I’m giving it to you and Ivy.”
When I said nothing, my papà decided to chime in. “Christian, I believe a thank-you is in order.”
“I don’t have any need for property in Ireland,” I deadpanned. The truth was, I wanted nothing to do with her, but I didn’t think my father would take that information well.
“Nonetheless, it’s yours,” Aisling interrupted, tipping her chin stubbornly. I’d seen the same mannerism in Wynter, and while it didn’t bother me with my sister, it agitated me to see it on my birth mother. “I’ve already transferred it to your and your wife’s names.” I remained silent, my jaw grinding painfully. “I hope this gives us all a chance to start anew.”
I barked out a cold laugh. “Start anew? You want me to be cordial?” This woman, who left her child behind with a stranger , had the audacity to show up here today bearing gifts? My papà opened his mouth but I didn’t give him a chance to get a word in. “Do you think Vittoria enjoyed raising your bastard child?”
Surprise flickered in his gaze, his expression grim.
“What is he talking about, Frank?” Aisling questioned.
“I have no idea, love.”
Tension crept through the space between us, seconds ticking by in silence while wheels turned in my papà’s brain.
“Unbelievable,” I finally said quietly as my eyes flashed with rage and my lips curled. “Please understand this, Aisling. Whatever you want from me, you’re never going to get it.” I let my words sink in before I continued. “So why don’t you do us all a favor and stop trying?”
I turned to leave, my pulse hammering, when Aisling’s words had my step faltering.
“I’ll never stop trying,” she shot back, her voice too soft for anyone else to hear her but Papà and me. “Not until my dying breath.”
My hands curled to fists and I kept walking, not sparing her another glance. She didn’t deserve it.