4. Trilby
T rilby
I’m barely holding myself together by the time we pull up to The Grand. Mercifully, my sisters have gossiped among themselves allowing me to hold back tears in the privacy of the car window. Papa has also stayed silent, the two of us bearing a secret that is already eating up my insides.
Witnessing my future husband callously murdering one of his soldiers at his own father’s funeral, then stepping over him like he’s a dead rat has filled me with the kind of anxiety a stiff drink and a mood-enhancing pill could only attempt to alleviate. And neither of those things are an option. I may not have been born into the Cosa Nostra, but I’ve lived on the edge of it for long enough to know what’s acceptable and what could get us outcast or even killed.
A good Italian Mafia wife doesn’t drink to excess, doesn’t take drugs, doesn’t argue, and doesn’t express opinions. She only speaks when it’s acceptable to, she dresses conservatively, and she takes good care of her husband and then herself. The only difference between a Mafia bride and a Stepford wife is that the former’s white picket fence is bulletproof.
These are rules I have to live by now, if I value my life and that of my family. What’s more, there I was thinking the only introduction I’d have to contend with today was my introduction to Savero Di Santo, not the brother no one talks about.
I can feel the anger colliding with fear deep in my chest. Papa talked to Cristiano like he was a long-lost son, whereas I didn’t even know he existed. That encounter alone has left me dizzy and disoriented, especially knowing what Savero is capable of. If only I could remember a word of my conversation with Cristiano that night. The not-knowing is crippling.
Something pink and blue looms overhead, and we all crane our necks to the sky. Tess is the only one who finds the power of speech.
“What the hell is that?”
“ Madonna! Contessa! It is for your sister.” Allegra gasps.
“Seriously,” Tess says, undeterred. “What is it?”
I sigh into my lap, while Sera squints and says, “It’s a balloon ...”
“A giant inflatable heart with a crown on it,” Bambi adds.
“ Cazzo! How inappropriate,” Tess says, her lip curling into its signature grimace. “It’s a funeral, for heaven’s sake.”
“You don’t know Di Santo arranged it,” Sera said. “There could be another engagement taking place here.”
Tess’s eyes widen, and her voice drops several octaves. “That’s why it says ‘Di Santo and Castellano’ on the back?”
I groan inwardly and step out of the car.
“Well, I think it’s romantic,” Sera says, working overtime to make me feel better. I don’t have the heart to tell her nothing she says or does today will work. I’ve sunk into a pit of despair, yet I can do nothing but plaster a big smile on my face and push pretty words out of my mouth.
As we walk into the hotel, I hear Tess whisper behind me. “Don’t you think it’s weird he’s chosen today to celebrate his engagement? I mean, everyone’s dressed in black.”
“Some might say it’s fitting,” I mutter under my breath.
“But his father just died,” she continues. “He’s supposed to be grieving.”
“People grieve in different ways,” Allegra says curtly. “Mr. Di Santo is doing what his father would have wanted him to do. What respectable Italian man wouldn’t want a wife and a family? Settling down with a good woman may be his own way of paying his respects to the late don.”
I spin around, unsure I heard her correctly.
“You are a good woman, Trilby,” she says through a clenched jaw.
“Don’t choke, Allegra,” I deadpan.
She straightens her shoulders. “Come on, girls. I need you all to be on your best behavior. This is an important moment for our family.”
We file into the expansive function room. High, ornate ceilings tower over us, and gold-trimmed walls close us in like caged birds.
“So what did he say to you?” Sera asks.
I swallow down vomit. “Nothing of note.”
“Not even ‘you look beautiful’?” Tess says, striking another blow to my self-esteem.
“He has a funeral to attend to and far more important things to be thinking about,” I reply. Like dismembering a living being while he’s choking to death right in front of us.
“It was his decision to turn a funeral into an engagement party,” Tess says. “I think it’s rude.”
“Trust me.” I smooth the creases from the journey out of my dress. “This is not going to be a party.”
I glance up to see her looking at something over my shoulder. Turning to follow her gaze, I see several groups of men, all dressed in black, flooding into the room like termites. I watch them enter one by one, their conversations as tight as the lines on their brows. There’s only one man I recognize: Benny Bernadi. His quiet and mysterious reputation seems to enter the room before he does, as the volume drops by a couple of decibels when he steps inside.
His gaze does a circuit of the room and lands on our little group—more specifically, on Tess. She’s dressed in her usual signature black but has somehow managed to find a way to make respectable look debauched. She’s wearing a long black maxi dress that clings to her like a second skin. One bare leg shows through a long slit up the side, and the leather straps of her gladiator stilettos wind up to her knee like a vine. Still, I cough and draw her attention my way. I don’t like how he’s looking at her—like she’d make a decent meal.
“Not rude ...” Sera comes to my defense, drawing my attention from Benny’s perusal of our younger sister. “ Important. Tril’s about to marry the most powerful man in the city. What do you expect?”
I squeeze Sera’s hand.
Tess leans in until her breath whispers across my cheek. “Who’s the broody guy by his side?”
I locate Savero and pan to his right. My pulse quickens at the insidious sense of shame. “That’s his brother, Cristiano.”
“Wow. Even with that dirty scowl, he’s the hottest guy in the room.”
“From the little I’ve seen of him, he’s a grumpy asshole,” I say, hoping that concludes the topic.
I should know my sister better than that.
“Grumpy and gorgeous . He could tell me to go to hell and I’d look forward to the trip.”
His eyes lift and lock with mine, instantly quieting everything around me. Tess is still speaking, but I don’t hear her. I can’t tell from this distance if he’s angry, irritated, or simply disappointed by the knowledge I’ll soon be his sister-in-law. I tear my gaze away. I wish he’d do the same, but the side of my face glows hot, and somehow I know he’s still staring at me from across the room.
I turn my attention back to Tess. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Do you know if he’s single?”
I inhale sharply. “I literally just met him, Tess. I have no idea.”
She jerks slightly. “All right, all right. No need to bite my head off.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling suddenly guilty and transparent. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
She sighs and seems to notice my discomfort for the first time today. “It’s okay. It’s all pretty surreal, being in a room with all these armed men. It’s making me feel nervous, and I’m not even marrying one of them. Here—maybe this will help.”
She pushes a flute of champagne into my hand then touches it with hers. It makes a ting that sounds decadent and everything this afternoon isn’t. I go for a sip but suck in half the glass, hoping to fill the sudden hole in my chest.
“Easy, tiger,” Sera whispers. “Don’t let the family see ...”
I take another sip. The champagne is delicious. Light, fresh, just dry enough. It softens the tautness in my temples. “Which one?”
Her brows knit together.
I clarify. “His, ours, or the firm?”
She looks across the room. “Isn’t the firm his family? They all seem to be from the same Sicilian stock. Slick black hair, oily skin, same wardrobes, by the looks of it ...”
I snicker into my flute. “Right?”
Her head tilts to one side, and her eyes narrow. “The women though ...”
I look up sharply. “What about them?”
Sera covers her lips with her flute and lowers her voice. “They seem to be from a different stock altogether.”
I train my focus on her despite the urge to look at what she’s seeing. “What do you mean?” I hadn’t even stopped to consider there might be other women in Savero’s life, but of course there are.
“They’re either all of Scandinavian blood or they’ve paid a truckload of money to look like they are.”
I turn enough of a fraction to be in wholehearted agreement. The entire far corner is filled with blonde blow-dries, inflatable busts, and hemlines that showed a little too much skin for a funeral.
“Forget marrying the don,” I mutter. “Those women look even more frightening.”
Sera clasps my hand and smiles sympathetically. “Come on—let’s have a walk.”
The evening drags by slowly. We stand through toast after toast dedicated to the great man that was Gianni Di Santo. We eat caviar and foie gras and drink expensive champagne (when no one’s looking) and conveniently ignore the fact people would have died so my fiancé could fund this reception.
“What’s going through your head right now?” Sera asks as we look through the terrace windows at the darkening sky.
“That I’ve never seen so many Breitling watches in one room before.”
She smirks and nudges me with her elbow.
The sound of the PA system cranking up again makes us turn toward the stage, and my heart starts beating erratically. I can only imagine I’ve been in denial up until now, because with the announcement of my engagement to Savero Di Santo imminent, I feel an instinctive need to escape.
A host’s voice booms over the speakers. “Please join me in welcoming Mr. Savero Di Santo back to the stage.”
A rousing cheer fills the room as Savero reappears. The authenticity of it repulses me. He takes the microphone and coasts his gaze across the audience. I feel suddenly faint.
“Oh God, this is it,” Sera whispers.
I grip her hand for support.
“Some may say that a funeral—especially the funeral of someone as loved and well-respected as my father—is an unconventional place to announce an engagement. But who knows when I’ll have all those closest to me together in one room again?”
“And alive ...” I mutter under my breath.
“As many of you know, my father enjoyed a successful business partnership with the Castellanos, and the port has played a fundamental role in some of our import and export operations. With Father’s passing, I believe we can only strengthen that partnership. So, not only will we be co-owners of Castellano Shipping from this day forth, but I’m also delighted to introduce my new fiancée, Trilby Castellano.”
“Holy hell,” Sera mutters under her breath.
“Smile,” Allegra says, discreetly jabbing me with her elbow.
A hundred eyes turn toward me, but there’s only one pair I can feel. My gaze is drawn to Cristiano, and the weight of his glare almost pulls me under.
I gasp for air as the room spins around me.
“Trilby ...” Sera grips my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” I manage through short, panting breaths. “Just give me a moment.”
Pull yourself together, Trilby.
I think I’m having a mild panic attack, but I can’t let it show on my face. The last thing a Mafia don needs—especially one as unhinged as Savero—is a wife who can barely stand unaided at her own engagement announcement. This marriage means everything to Papa; his entire life’s work and our family’s livelihood—hell, even our lives — is at stake. I can’t give Savero any reason to call it off.
Up ahead, my fiancé receives slaps on the back and raised glasses. I may as well not exist for all the congratulations I receive.
On the few occasions I glance across the room with the hope of a returned smile, at least, from the vast collection of brassy blondes, I get anything but. If a look could cause a thousand cuts, I’d be bleeding out on the function-room floor.
I lock eyes with the matriarch of the female entourage—the wife of one of the capos—and regret it instantly. She sits on a floral club chair, her hair tinged yellow and voluminous, her weathered tan compressed into a too-shiny black bandeau dress. Her head is pulled back, her chin slightly raised, allowing her a view of me through lowered lids. She’s flanked on either side by two lookalikes who make a show of swiveling their bodies fully toward her and then back in my direction. They’re gossiping about me and not making any attempt to hide it.
For what it’s worth, I agree with them. I’m not the right woman for their don. But it’s not like I have any say in the matter. My heart cracks a little at the reminder I’m not the reason he’s marrying me. The man I’m set to spend the rest of my life with only wants me because of what my father can offer him.
Sera does her best to put me at ease, but I can’t focus. “Have you eaten anything yet?” she asks.
My eyes round. “You think I can stomach food right now? I can barely stomach life.”
“It might help.” She nods encouragingly. “Just a little bite. Come on—the food is right over there. I’ll go with you.”
I huff out a tense breath. “Fine. I’ll give it my best shot.”
I follow her through crowded bodies, feeling the heaviness of judgment as people watch me pass. Just as we reach the table, Sera stops short.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Sorry, Tril, I just need the restroom real quick.”
I swing my head toward the buffet and then back to the chasm now lying between us and the rest of our family. “Now? You can’t hold on a couple minutes?”
She stares at me pleadingly.
“Fine. Go. I’ll meet you back here.”
“I’m sorry,” she squeaks. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”
I grit my teeth and walk up to the table of food. Stretching across the back of the room, it would be piled high with Italian antipasti and other delicacies had the rest of the guests not already devoured half of it. I slide a thin porcelain plate from the top of a pile and eye what’s left of the cold meats and marinated vegetables. It’s as I’m spooning some limp salad onto my plate that I feel a hot breath across my neck. It’s so hot, in fact, it feels angry.
My cheeks warm as I stare at my plate. I can almost taste his presence behind me. My heart races, and I have to force my hands to move mechanically from one dish to another.
The hot breath continues to graze my ear and warm my left side. I step to the right, training my eyes on a dish of pasta salad. As I lift the serving spoon, his voice chafes against my ear.
“You’re marrying my brother?”
My heart clatters against my rib cage. I dare not look up. Instead I focus on scooping another spoon of salad and lowering it onto my plate.
The hot breath continues to burn, searing the side of my face.
“Answer me, Castellano.”
Hearing my family name sound so bitter against his lips makes me startle. When I look up, I’m swallowed whole by his eyes. They’re larger than Savero’s and a richer brown, almost burgundy.
I take a breath. “It seems so, yes.”
Shame leaches into my veins as images of the night at Joe’s Bar flash blurrily across my lids.
I was intoxicated .
So intoxicated I don’t remember much about our encounter at all.
I wouldn’t have kissed him—I know that much. I’ve kissed boys before from my school and was so underwhelmed by the experience I simply don’t see the point in it. But something about the way he held my hand in the church earlier today ... it felt familiar.
God, please say I didn’t touch him.
Blood rushes into my cheeks as I gaze up at the man who is to become my brother-in-law. “I’m sorry if I was ... inappropriate. I’d had a difficult day ...”
“And a bucketload to drink.” His voice is sharp, and no smile accompanies his words, only judgment. He also isn’t denying I was inappropriate, which means ...
Oh God.
My face burns. “Did we ...? Um, did I ...?” I don’t even know what I’m asking. I wouldn’t know how to be forward with a man.
I crane my neck to look up at him. His shoulders are as broad as his height is foreboding. It would take nothing for him to snap me in two—and from the way he’s glaring at me, I think he might want to.
“We talked,” he says. “That’s it.”
Relief floods through me, softening my bones to the point I have to steady myself by gripping the table. But something in his expression seems ... resentful.
“Okay.” I force a smile, but it falls quickly when he takes a step toward me.
He bends his neck until his lips skim the comb at the side of my head. A cool shiver coasts down my spine. His whisper is soft, in stark contrast to the sharpness of his words.
“If you hate violence so much, why are you marrying the most violent man in New York?”
I stagger back a step and stare at him. Then I do something completely out of character.
I laugh.
His eyes narrow.
When I speak, my voice is low and thick with bitterness. “You think I have a choice?”
I don’t know what has possessed me to be so brutally honest with the one person closer to my fiancé than perhaps anyone else in the world, but instead of feeling terrified—which would be the most logical emotion right now—I feel ... liberated.
His forehead softens, and a corner of his mouth twitches into a smile that he erases with a swipe of his thumb. “And there I was, thinking you were going to be just like the rest of them.”
My heart pounds against my rib cage. What is that supposed to mean?
“Did you get home all right?”
The change in topic almost gives me whiplash. “Yes. I did, thanks.”
Several seconds pass, and he doesn’t move. The heat of his glare is close to unbearable. His jacket bunches where his hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and a glimmer of steel shines through a fold. He’s armed, but it doesn’t turn my stomach as much as it should.
“When did you and my brother meet?”
I straighten my shoulders. “Today. In the church, after the service.”
His eyes widen a fraction. “You only met him today?”
“Just seconds before he introduced me to you, in fact.”
His jaw works from side to side. The pause drags out uncomfortably, until I have to look away. But when he leans into my space and whispers hoarsely, I can’t mistake his words.
“So you met me first.”
I turn my head to see him staring at me, his eyes almost black. My lips part as a raw thrill skitters down my spine.
Sera bursts into the space between us. “Ugh, I’m sorry about that, Tril.” Oblivious to the tension she just cut like a knife, she coasts her gaze across the buffet table. “Where’s all the food?”
Cristiano clears his throat. “Apologies. It appears my family has eaten most of it.”
Sera jumps as if she’s only just noticed he’s there, then she backs up into me. “Oh gosh, I wasn’t implying anything. It’s food, isn’t it? I mean, that’s what it’s there for.”
Ignoring her, his attention rests on me like a heavy weight. “Congratulations, Miss Castellano. I wish you and my brother all the happiness in the world.”
My heart pounds as he walks away. I can’t believe what I just said. I basically admitted I’m only marrying his brother because it’s what others want, not my own choice. Worse, he didn’t give me any clue my secret was safe with him. If I was anxious before, I’m positively incapacitated with nerves now.
“Jeez, it’s eat or be eaten in this place. Do you think Papa will let us grab a pizza on the way home?” Sera says as Cristiano disappears into the crowd.
I push my plate toward her. “Have mine. I’m not hungry.”
She looks up eagerly. “Are you sure? The bride-to-be has to eat.”
“I’m sure Allegra would prefer that I don’t between now and the wedding.” And I don’t think that will be a problem given that all I need to do is close my eyes and picture the scene from the church to put me off food forever.
Sera shovels a forkful of pasta salad into her mouth and shrugs in agreement.
While she eats, I scan the room. Not much has changed. The Scandinavian Barbie dolls are still seated in one corner, black suits line the walls and fill half the floor, and my small family hovers near the glass doors that open onto the garden terrace. I feel a surprising urge to join them. I want them to form a protective circle around me and reassure me that, marriage or no marriage, they’ll be there for me.
My gaze catches on Papa. The lines on his brow are deep, and though his hands are pushed casually into his pockets, his arms are rigid. He’s no more at ease than I am. I feel the weight of our situation settle in my stomach. Our family’s future rests on my shoulders. I have to do everything in my power to make this work.
Straightening my spine, I ignore the curious eyes of other mourners as I return—if only temporarily—to the fold.
After several hours of faking happiness and suffering the remnants of yesterday’s hangover and today’s horror show, I’m exhausted.
“Are we leaving soon?” Bambi whines, and I could hug her for asking the question I’d be scolded for asking.
“Hush, Bambi. It won’t be much longer now,” Allegra whispers before stiffening and snapping her mouth shut.
I look up to see the cause of her uncharacteristic silence. Savero is heading toward us. My skin breaks out in a cool sweat. On one side of him is what I assume to be a capo. He hasn’t left Savero’s side since I saw him at the church. On the other is Cristiano.
I train my focus on Savero, afraid of what I might see if my gaze glides too far to the left. I can’t be certain I won’t start hyperventilating if I look into those eyes again.
Savero stops in front of me, not sparing the rest of my family a glance.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” I say.
His gaze travels down my black dress and settles on the nude shoes before climbing slowly back up to my face. I search for any clue he might like what he sees, but I can’t seem to focus on anything other than the side of his jacket where the blade is hidden.
For some inexplicable reason, my eyes ache to look at Cristiano, but I don’t allow it. That could invite a whole other world of fear.
“We’re about to leave, but I wanted to thank you for being here,” Savero says, and I bite back another urge to laugh hysterically. I’m still in shock—that’s the only explanation. “I will see you Tuesday.”
I blink. “Tuesday?”
“Yes. Your father invited me to dinner.” His face is impassive.
I force another smile. “Wonderful. It will be a pleasure to welcome you to our home.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. With one of his hands, he reaches up and grips my chin firmly, making me suck in a breath. These were the same fingers he plunged into a man’s throat only a few hours ago. I want to be sick. He pushes my face slowly from side to side as if inspecting a diamond for flaws.
For a few seconds I hold my inhale, not daring to move my eyes away from his. When he releases me, I blink across to where Cristiano is standing.
Was standing.
He’s gone.
A hot breath floods out of my lungs. There’s immense relief, but I still want to crawl into a hole in the floor.
Savero doesn’t notice. Instead he takes my hand and pushes a roll of green notes into it. “Your dress will be couture, the flowers will be white, and the food will be Italian.”
I frown, not quite understanding.
Allegra, who is clearly none-the-wiser about the earlier scene Papa and I were treated to, puts a hand on my arm and begins to thank Savero for his generous contribution to the wedding costs, but then an ear-splitting bang knocks us—and everyone around us—to the ground.
That sound ... It should take me straight back to the car I was sitting in when Mama was shot. It should flood me with grief, send my heart up my throat, and set my pulse throbbing through my temples. Yet I feel strangely calm.
Gradually, I become aware of my cheek grazing the hotel carpet and a few screams from the outer edges of the room. Black suits move around in my peripheral vision, and all the blonde women previously sitting on club chairs are on the floor. They know the drill.
Voices shout above me, and I lift my head to see Savero sauntering toward the terrace doors. They’re ajar, and a light illuminates the manicured lawns. The other family members don’t seem too alarmed, so I carefully pull myself up and crane my neck to look outside.
A male figure stands out there, silhouetted by moonlight. A curl of smoke snakes upward from a cigarette in his left hand.
I press my palms into the carpet and shift sideways for a closer look. When the edges of the silhouette crystalize, my heart skitters to a halt.
Cristiano is standing alone in the center of the lawn, a gun resting against his thigh. My gaze travels down his legs to the grass, where a now deflated giant heart covers the ground.
Tess crawls toward me on her hands and knees. “Thank God he shot that thing down. Ten more minutes, and it would have been me.”