Chapter 9 Caterina
Caterina
A never-ending receiving line forms of Morelli cousins, De Luca captains and New York faces I’ll never remember as Alessio and I are handed flutes of champagne.
Afraid, I’ll wind up spilling it, I down the bubbly liquid in one gulp.
I cough but find it delightfully refreshing on my tongue.
I’ve never tasted champagne. My glass is immediately refilled, but the glass doesn’t quite reach my lips before my wrist is locked in an iron grip.
“You will not be drunk at our reception nor when I bed you later so slow the fuck down.”
My cheeks redden, but a little devil inside wishes to provoke him for treating me like a child. “I’m married now, a grown woman in our world. And, maybe it would be better to be insensible later.”
His eyes narrow. “Your father praised your obedience when he offered you in marriage.”
Anger makes that little devil in me bolder. “That’s the only thing he’d prize in a daughter. Is that what you want out of your wife?”
He smirks without answering. “No more champagne until dinner.”
“What if I disobey? Are you going to cut off my fingers so I can’t lift my glass?”
“No. I’ll cut off the fingers of whoever refills your glass and make you watch me do it.
” I shudder beneath the weight of his gaze because I know he’s capable of that.
“I won’t fuck you if you’re comatose, and I am looking forward to making you mine tonight, wife.
Now, smile like the happy bride you are. ”
Trembling, I paste on my social smile as his father and Bibi are first to offer their congratulations. “My son,” Silvio says, his voice booming with pride when he claps his shoulder. “Your bride is the picture of loveliness.”
Alessio inclines his head in agreement as Silvio drags me into an uncomfortably tight embrace. Alessio immediately stiffens beside me. “Don’t worry, child,” Silvio says. “The bad blood will die with you.”
With me. The champagne flute slips from my fingers, shattering on the floor as all the blood drains from my face.
“A little clumsy, aren’t we?” Bibi tuts, rolling her eyes. The servers hurriedly sweep up the mess as she whispers in my ear. “Don’t cry tonight when he breaks you in. A woman’s tears to a De Luca are like blood in the water to a shark.”
I start shaking where I stand, unable to control my trembling until Alessio wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me away from his father and stepmother.
“What did she say?” he huffs in my ear. I can’t bring myself to repeat it, worried he’ll only say something worse in return and then I’ll never make it through this.
I’m saved from responding by my parents who are next in line.
My brothers and Margareta stand behind them.
My parents and Margareta speak but Dante, Nico and Alessio only stare at each other.
The tension is so thick it could be cut with the knife as they wait for someone to flinch.
I rush forward to hug Dante, knowing he’s most likely to act rashly.
He holds me tightly, but I know he’s still busy trying to murder Alessio with his eyes.
The arrival of Don Vicini and his family immediately after that helps prevent any violence, and I paste on a bright smile for them, knowing Sofia will soon be wed to the future Don.
Armando steps forward next, introducing his father, Giovanni.
Gia has said he's one of her father's most valued men, but he has not been rewarded with the advancement he deserves, and he remains a soldier.
He's around ten years older than my father with a surprisingly kindly air about him.
Some men hide their monster better than others though.
"I understand you were stuck with my son as your guard for nearly two years in Chicago, you poor girl.
" I can't help grinning at his obvious playfulness.
When he turns to Alessio, I'm struck by something else.
His hand rests on Alessio's shoulder, much as his father did earlier, but Alessio does not seem stiff or eager to shake off the touch.
Instinct tells me my new husband respects Armando's father and the affection between them feels more natural.
"This is a special day for you, Sio. You have been blessed with a radiant girl. Remember what I told you."
"What did he tell you?" I murmur once Armando and Giovanni have moved on.
"Never let your guard down around a Morelli."
I frown, suspecting a lie but not knowing him well enough to be sure. "My brothers told me similar things about your family, but I like your sisters, Frankie and Valdo very much." He's not looking at me, but I catch a glimmer of something before he masks it.
The rest of the receiving line passes in a blur beyond one of the De Luca captains leering at me. “Lorenzo.” The way Alessio says the man’s name is a clear warning.
“Oh, I mean no disrespect. I’m admiring with my eyes, no more,” the man says, still leering. “Wouldn’t want to wind up like that old bodyguard.”
“What did he mean? What old bodyguard?” I ask Alessio after the man moves on.
He keeps his eyes facing forward when he replies, “No idea.”
That's a lie, and I want to know more, but the line keeps moving and suddenly the tall man Gia and Sofia pointed out stands before us. The bastard half-brother.
He’s wearing a jacket but no tie. Where his shirt is open I can see burn scars on his throat, leading up to his left ear. His three-headed wolf tattoo is smaller, beneath his right ear for that reason. There’s no warmth in his eyes when he rasps in flawless Italian, “I migliori auguri a te.”
“Grazie, Nerio,” Alessio answers with equal coldness. That was the least convincing best wishes and thanks I’ve ever heard.
The man leaves us without another word. “He didn’t kiss my hand or speak to me,” I comment, not offended by his lack of social graces but surprised, nonetheless.
“There would’ve been blood had he dared.”
Looking into his eyes, I realize Alessio is deadly serious. “He’s your other half-brother, right?” I ask, at a loss for what else to say.
Momentary surprise flashes across his face before his cool mask slips back in place.
“Those girls do love to chatter in the nursery.” I scowl at his dismissive tone.
“Yes, he is, but don’t worry. My father sent him to work in Salt Lake City years ago.
He rarely comes to Vegas and only when the old man invites him. ”
“Why would I worry about him coming to town?”
“If you knew him, you’d know why.”
With that ominous non-answer, I clasp my hands together and turn to the next in line.
***
Glad to have the never-ending receiving line behind me, the real party has barely begun when I feel a different variety of discomfort building. “Where are you going?” Alessio asks sharply when I stand from the head table.
“To the ladies’ room. Do I need your permission for that?” I snap back, annoyed by the way Armando’s snickering from Alessio’s other side.
“You’ll need to wait. It’s time for our first dance as man and wife, my darling.”
I want to roll my eyes at him and his ‘my darling’ but I see he’s right. Everyone is staring at us expectantly so I allow him to guide me to the dancefloor as the crowd starts clinking their glasses, calling out, “Bacio! Bacio!” Sadists.
“I believe they want us to kiss again,” he taunts, turning me toward him.
I’ve barely drawn a proper breath in preparation – will he bite me this time?
– when Alessio presses his lips to mine and…
oh. It’s not like the first one. It’s swift but soft.
Just a touch of heat that leaves me wanting more.
A sweetheart’s kiss. I can’t tell if he even realizes how it affected me as the band begins to play. It’s probably best he never realizes.
He pulls me close and we begin to sway. He moves more gracefully than expected. I suppose predators generally do. “Thinking of running?” he asks in a low, deadly voice.
I am now. But, I won’t admit that. “I’m thinking of peeing all over you if this song lasts too long.
” Realizing I said that part aloud, I nearly clap my hand over my mouth - I should know better than to taunt this man - but he throws his head back and laughs, a deep, rumbling sound.
The act seems to startle several of the guests.
“They don’t know what to make of your laughter,” I comment.
“That’s because when the Reaper laughs, it’s generally a bad thing for whoever hears it,” he says, darkly.
That sounded like a threat, and I stiffen as the image of him torturing someone and laughing madly like the Joker comes to mind. But, his hand on my waist is warm and steady, and there’s part of me that might like to make him laugh again.
Once our dance ends, I have to dance with my father, then his father while Alessio dances with Bibi and then my mother. Then, other couples take to the floor. Carlo Vicini leads Sofia out, and they receive several nods of approval.
Just as I’m hoping to escape, Alessio’s cousin Rocco comes my way, intending to claim a dance.
It’s tradition to dance with the groom’s male family members, and it would be rude for me to decline, but I do not want to dance with him.
Frankie has shared too many disturbing tales about him.
She should know having lived under the same roof with him the past three years.
“My pretty new cousin owes me a dance,” Rocco says, his unctuous tone and elevator eyes making my skin crawl.
“My wife is on her way to the ladies’ room.
” Alessio has joined us unexpectedly. Hearing him call me ‘my wife’ is going to take getting used to.
“She’ll be dancing with me again when she returns.
” Annoyance burns in Rocco’s eyes, but he’s not stupid enough to argue with Alessio.
“Go on before you have an accident in that dress,” he drawls, loud enough for Rocco to hear.
I flush scarlet and want to smack him, but he did save me from the unwanted dance, so I quickly nod, murmuring my thanks.
Alone at last, I find relief in the fancy powder room down the hall despite the incredible awkwardness of trying to pee with an abundance of lace and crinoline hoisted up around my ears.
Frankie offered to help me with the dress, but I honestly just wanted five minutes to myself.
I’ve had this dress on for three hours already, and there’s several more to go before Alessio’s expected to take it off of me.
I may not be loving my wedding reception, but I’m not ready for that either.
I startle when the door opens, and two women walk in chatting, standing at the mirror to reapply makeup.
I recognize one voice as Margareta’s, and the other is a friend of hers from New York.
“I cannot wait to get out of this godforsaken desert,” Margareta complains.
“Give me your wine. My husband is being an asshole about it as usual.”
“But, you’re pregnant.”
“So?”
The other woman says no more and, between the crack in the door, I can see Margareta drinking. I hold my breath and hope they won’t notice my white satin heels under the stall door. Does Margareta often drink or is it just the wedding?
“I’m surprised he made you come here since you’re getting closer to your time,” her friend comments.
“Oh, Nico tried to make me stay home, but I insisted on being here.”
“Why? Because of the Seconda?”
Ew, I don’t want to hear about this or think about it.
Not when it comes to my brother. And, not when it comes to my husband either.
For a large wedding like this, the Trio generally celebrates for two nights – a reception following the ceremony where the guests drink and dance well into the morning hours after the newlywed couple retires for the bedding, and then the Seconda Notte, or Second Night, where the men gather to discuss business without their wives or children present.
It’s viewed as an opportunity for bonds to be renewed and lucrative new arrangements may be made.
But, there are also women there, the best prostitutes from the best houses who they may take their pleasure with once the business talk has ended.
In the Trio, a man is only truly expected to be faithful to his oath and Capo.
And, over the decades, it’s become a tradition for the newly married groom to participate in the fun.
“I don’t care what he does as far as that goes. I hate him with every fiber of my being. If my father hadn’t forced this marriage on me…”
I knew they were unhappy, but she hates Nico?
“So, why are you here?”
“Because I wanted the chance to see…” A loud noise outside the restroom interrupts. “What was that?”
“I heard it, too,” her friend says, concerned.
It sounded like firecrackers but instinct tells me it’s not. A split second later, I hear screams and know for certain that it was gunfire.