Chapter 15 #3
Or at least it had, until Misha forced his way back in when he returned from Russia and became the new Pakhan.
“We have that in common, then,” Luna says. “I went to college and grad school and got away from all this, only to end up back in it when I married Matteo. Love makes you do strange things.”
It takes me a second to remember that Matteo is Priest’s real name just like Scorpion’s is Lorenzo.
The soft smile on her face and the tone of her voice say it all.
She’s head over heels for her husband. But the feeling is apparently mutual.
I never see Priest far from her side. From what I can tell, they have a real, happy marriage.
Not the standard arranged marriage that’s all too common in worlds like ours.
“So you went to grad school,” I say, changing the subject and doing everything I can to keep my mind off how drastically different my situation is from hers.
“Isla and I both did,” Luna answers. “It’s how we met and became friends.”
“We’re creative writing and English lit nerds,” Isla confirms, grinning.
Not the background I’d have guessed for women involved with the Andriani brothers.
I finish the last swallow of my lemon drop, feeling liquid courage take hold. “Tell me more.”
The two instantly launch into a story of how they first bonded in a poetry class over their mutual dislike of a pompous know-it-all fellow student.
Literature is so not my cup of tea, but their enthusiasm for the subject is infectious.
I like these two. And I like hearing about their interests.
It shocks me to realize I’m enjoying myself.
I don’t know if it’s the vodka or the company. Maybe a bit of both.
We finish our first round, and all three of us head to the bar for a second, the dinner forgotten for now. Isla volunteers to make the next shaker, which is probably a good thing because I’d have us all completely drunk out of our minds in no time if it were left up to me.
“Scorpion tells us you’re a ballerina,” Isla says as she shakes up her batch of lemon drops.
The last thing I want to talk about is me.
Or the life I had up until a few weeks ago.
“I was one,” I say noncommittally.
I should win an Academy Award for how nonchalant I sound, like it’s not killing me to give up everything I’ve dreamed of. But even if I like Luna and Isla, I don’t know them well enough to decide whether I can trust them. I need to watch my back.
“He sent me the link to a video of one of your shows,” Luna adds. “You’re very talented. I didn’t think the show was all that long ago…”
“I left the company when things changed,” I explain tightly.
But then it occurs to me that Scorpion sent her a link. It would be touching if he weren’t my kidnapper and the man I was forced into marrying. But he is, and I’m not about to let myself soften toward him.
“Things,” Isla probes, pouring the lemon drops into the waiting glasses. “You mean you and Scorpion?”
Lorenzo mentioned something about Isla being new to the family.
She’s not married to Saint yet, but everyone seems to think it’s a given that he’ll propose any day.
It’s clear she’s not following why I’d have to give up my career.
Maybe she doesn’t know how archaic many of the men in the Bratva and the Mafia are.
If not, she’ll find out soon enough. I hope for her sake that it’s not the hard way.
“I have a lot on my plate at the moment,” I explain, taking up my glass and gripping the stem so tightly I’m amazed it doesn’t shatter. “Ballet requires intense focus and dedication. I can’t devote the time I need to that with everything as it is.”
“Will you go back to it after you’re settled down with Scorpion?” Luna asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“Well, there’s always plenty of time to think about it.” She lifts her glass in another toast. “Here’s to a new sister.”
I lift my glass to join in, only belatedly realizing she’s talking about me and not Isla. Technically, I became a part of the Andriani family yesterday.
I clink glasses with the two women. “To the both of you. Thank you for being so welcoming to me.”
“You don’t need to thank us. You’re family now.” Luna smiles warmly. She’s a breathtaking woman, with dark hair and rich brown eyes, and she and Priest make a striking couple.
“You’re in good hands with the Andrianis,” Isla tells me, as if she’s sensing all the emotions rioting inside me—the fear, the anxiety, the regrets.
I don’t know what to say, but thankfully, Luna saves me from having to respond.
“Let’s get to work on the lasagna,” she suggests. “We’re going to need some food if we keep drinking lemon drops, and I’m excited to try my hand at this ancient Andriani family recipe. Somehow, I managed to pry it out of Zia Maria, and this is my first time making it on my own.”
We divvy up jobs and make short work of the lasagna, then pop the pan into one oven and the breadsticks into another. Then we start on another round of lemon drops. Like the night before, my mind slowly starts to numb, and I don’t care.
It’s just what I need—to forget.