Cruel Surprise

Chapter 1

ALLIE

The priest is missing. He was supposed to be at my wedding a half hour ago, but he still hasn’t shown up.

My father’s getting impatient.

“Can’t anyone just say the words? We can deal with the paperwork later.”

But some rituals and traditions can’t be changed, especially not in the deeply Catholic Cosa Nostra.

Mother shakes her head and scowls at him.

“Bad enough she made certain… mistakes.” She bounces my one-year-old daughter, Rosie, on her knee.

“But to marry her without a priest? You might as well damn her straight to hell.”

“As if we’re not all bound there anyway,” Papa mutters, which only earns him another hard look.

“Fine, we’ll wait, but if Father Michael’s not here in ten minutes, I’m getting up on that altar and performing the ceremony myself.

” He storms out of my suite, probably heading off to make sure my future husband doesn’t back out at the last minute.

He had enough trouble finding me this match. He doesn’t need another year of searching for a man to make his ruined daughter at least somewhat whole again.

I can’t really pretend I’m upset by the delay.

I busy myself in the mirror, fussing with my hair and makeup, even though they’re both finished.

Mother’s frown only deepens. She’s surrounded by peeling wallpaper.

A water stain lurks above her head. I keep telling myself I’m going to fix these rooms up, but I never do.

I was only given this suite because I needed more space when Rosie was born. They never felt like mine.

“Don’t look so excited. A late priest isn’t going to get you out of doing the right thing.”

“I know that, Mama. I promise, I’m not happy.”

Mother scoffs, shaking her head. She doesn’t appreciate my humor at all.

“You know how hard this has been on our family. As if life isn’t difficult enough.

Your brothers are out every day earning and keeping this family afloat alongside your father, and all you had to do was keep your legs closed.

” Her bouncing gets a little too aggressive, and Rosie starts to fuss.

I quickly get up and take my daughter away.

Mother composes herself and has the good sense to look somewhat ashamed as I place Rosie in her playpen.

“I’ve apologized a thousand times over.” I sit back down in front of the mirror, feeling small, thin, and emotionally squeezed. “I made a mistake, and now I’m going to make it right. I’m not trying to get out of this.”

“Good.” Mother stands abruptly. “I’m going to make sure everything is ready. And maybe I’ll find Father Michael too.” She pauses to kiss Rosie before she storms off, leaving me alone with my little girl.

Quiet settles in the room. I stare at myself, feeling like I’m going to shatter into a million little pieces at any moment.

And maybe that would be better for everyone. Mama can raise Rosie the way she sees fit, and I won’t be such a stain on everyone anymore. Except maybe my groom won’t be so happy, but I don’t really care what he thinks.

“You’re my priority now,” I murmur, lifting Rosie into my arms. She calls me mommy in her squeaking little voice and makes a bunch of cute noises. In another month or two, I bet she’ll be walking.

That’s my girl, a bundle of joy, energy, and pure mayhem.

I don’t know how I found myself here. For the millionth time since I realized I was pregnant, I wonder how I screwed up my life so badly.

But the strangest part is I wouldn’t go back and change anything.

There’s this game people play sometimes. They like to imagine what their life would be like if they could restart from the beginning with all their current memories intact. They talk about investing in Apple, buying Bitcoin, stuff like that.

I’d never take that deal.

For me, there’s a bright dividing line.

Before Rosie and after.

I wouldn’t go back because I can’t guarantee Rosie would be born. Even if I managed to make all the same mistakes in the exact right order, who knows which sperm hits that egg?

It’s funny to think of myself back then, before she came wailing into this world.

I was so bored and empty. I spent all my time waiting for my father to find a match for me and sneaking out to go dancing in the city with friends.

It was stupid, but I was twenty-one and had nothing else going on.

So why not break a few rules? It wasn’t really hurting anyone.

That’s what I told myself anyway.

Now here I am, holding my baby daughter, waiting to marry a total stranger.

There’s a knock at the door. It opens and my brother Gabriel comes in. He’s the oldest, right at thirty, then there’s Dominic at twenty-eight, and little old baby me, the oopsie-baby. A mistake back then, a mistake now.

Gabriel glances at Rosie. His face is hard for a moment before he reaches for her.

I hand my little daughter over and the normally tough-as-nails enforcer softens into mush as he coos and makes babbling noises for her.

She grins and laughs and squeals as he tickles her.

I watch them, feeling warm for a brief moment.

He’s nicer to my daughter than he ever was to me.

“Mom found the priest,” he says at last. Rosie snuggles into him as he holds her against his chest. “Turns out Father Michael came down with something and he sent another guy in his place.”

“Fantastic.” I sink down in front of the mirror. “How’s my future husband?”

“He’s not so bad.” But Gabriel doesn’t sound very convincing. “It’s a good deal for you, Allie. He can’t have kids of his own, so he’s happy to get a daughter in the mix.”

“He’s almost Dad’s age.”

“You won’t have to worry about sharing his bed.”

I grimace slightly. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“I’m only saying this is a good thing. You’re getting stability for Rosie.”

“I know. It’s fine, honestly. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“You’re doing the right thing.” He lowers Rosie down into her playpen and lingers beside me. “The others won’t say it, but I’m going to. Life’s been hard since Rosie came along. She’s a fucking treasure, but people talk in our world. This marriage is going to fix that.”

“You think it’ll stop them talking?” I smile sadly to myself. “They’ll always find something new to say.”

Gabriel grunts and doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t understand. He’s tall, handsome, and strong, the kind of man people don’t fuck with. Nobody speaks badly about him, not unless they want their teeth smashed in.

He has no idea what it’s like.

Being ruined.

The door opens again and Mother appears. “It’s time,” she says, glancing at her oldest son. “Did you tell her about the priest?”

“She knows.” Gabriel kisses Mama’s cheek. “I’ll see you out there.” He leaves as I stand and gather myself. Mother walks over and lifts Rosie up, holding her tightly.

“You don’t have to look so worried. I’m not going to mess this up.”

For once, Mama’s expression wavers. “I know you won’t.” She walks over and lightly brushes her fingers across my hair, smiling slightly to herself. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” I smile despite myself. It’s probably the nicest she’s been to me in years. “How many people are out there?”

“Not too many. We kept it small.” Her expression hardens again. “We should get moving. No need to delay any longer.”

The ceremony is taking place in the back garden of the Russo manor.

Papa’s waiting for us in the hall, and he walks with me toward the sliding doors as Mama goes off with Rosie to find her seat among the guests.

Nervous energy bristles through me as I walk the halls of the strange old house for what feels like the last time.

The halls are large and cramped. Old rugs suck up noise like water down a drain.

The wallpaper is old and peeling in the corners, and I swear there are more spiderwebs than working lighting fixtures.

Moldy water spots mar the ceilings in some of the rooms, though we don’t use most of those anyway.

Papa doesn’t say anything as we make our way through the ancient house, past sitting areas that were once glorious and beautiful but are now packed with tarped furniture and cold from lack of working heat.

The manor has always been like this ever since I was a little girl.

We’re about an hour outside of New York, over on the Jersey side of the river, in a little rural town.

Papa always used to talk about the glory days of this place, how it was always filled with staff, family, and friends, and there was never a single speck of dust where it didn’t belong.

But time always makes a mess of everything.

Now the manor is halfway crumbling and my parents can barely afford the upkeep.

Everything has gotten progressively worse these last five years, like everything has been coming to a head.

We stop when we reach the door. I can see shadows through the drawn blinds. Papa clears his throat. Piano music floats through the air. He seems tense and uncertain.

“Your fiancé has made me certain promises,” he starts to say but stops himself. He clears his throat. “It’s going to be good for all of us.”

I wonder if I should ask how much he sold me for, but that isn’t fair.

“I know, Papa. I’m not afraid.”

“You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life.” He smiles slightly and looks at me. “Remember that awful fight we got into when you were twelve?”

“I hid in the treehouse for an entire night.”

“It stormed like crazy. I watched from upstairs as the trees swayed, and I kept thinking you’d come running home to apologize.”

“Most terrifying night of my life.”

“I was proud of you. Pissed as hell, but proud.”

I lean against his shoulder and slip my hand through his arm. “Got my stubbornness from you.”

“A proper Russo woman.”

“It’s going to be okay, Papa.”

“I know, sweetie. I just hope you really believe it.”

The wedding march starts and we walk forward together. He pushes aside the curtains and slides the door wide.

I’m assaulted by midafternoon sunlight as we transition outside.

I take a moment to adjust. There are two sets of chairs placed on either side of an aisle.

Past it, the old gazebo is draped in lace and flowers.

It looks surprisingly nice. There are maybe fifty people in attendance, even fewer than I had guessed, and they’re all staring at me.

None of them are smiling. My family is on the right and the made men and associates are on the left. The groom has nobody with him.

My future husband stands inside the gazebo at the makeshift altar in a black tuxedo spread tight across his impressive stomach.

He watches me with a dour frown, clearly not interested in his future bride.

I wonder what he’s thinking. Maybe he wishes this weren’t happening too.

My feet feel heavy, and I almost stumble except I notice Rosie sitting on Mama’s lap in the front row. That gives me a little strength.

I’m not doing this for my parents. I’m not doing it for my family or even for me.

This marriage is for Rosie.

She needs stability. She needs a father, even one like Sal Mancini. He’s a bigshot lawyer, and he’ll be able to provide a good life for her.

Everything seems normal. At least as normal as it can be, given the circumstances.

I take a breath and keep walking as the piano plays on. I get closer and closer to the altar, and I almost don’t notice him standing patiently toward the back.

But then I look at the replacement priest, and I nearly scream.

He’s staring at me. I know that cold look. The intensity of the gaze. His eyes are a deep, crystal blue, like frozen arctic water fresh from a glacier. He’s wearing a crisp black suit, and I have no idea how anyone believed he could be a man of God.

Not with the face of a demon.

A beautiful hellish monster.

His jaw is cut and sharp. Stubble covers his cheeks. His hair is slightly curly and kept short. His full lips are pinched into a frown like he’s trying very hard to concentrate.

His stare doesn’t waver from me.

This can’t be happening. I look around in a panic. Doesn’t anyone recognize him? Don’t they know who’s standing up there waiting for me?

“Allie, what are you doing?” Papa hisses in my ear. Only then do I realize I’ve been standing still and not walking. Everyone’s staring. Mama seems on the verge of slapping me into motion. “You can’t stop here.”

“But… that priest, he’s…”

Papa pulls me on. “It’s fine. I thought you said you weren’t going to make a scene?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Just keep moving. Say the words. Don’t embarrass me further.”

He deposits me roughly across from Salvatore, but I can’t even look at him.

The fake priest eats up all my attention. He seems to glow with intensity and beauty. It’s like a dark flame burning in his eyes. Masculine energy and power roll off him in waves and make my core tense as I remember that one single night we spent together.

I knew him for hours at most.

But I haven’t forgotten him, not a single time.

Mass Cardone.

Killer, monster, God among mortals.

The father of my daughter.

He leans forward as though he’s about to start the ceremony.

But instead, he pulls something from his jacket.

It’s midnight black and polished to a sheen. Nobody reacts as my mouth opens. I try to cry out, but I can’t make a noise.

Mass aims the gun at Sal’s head, still looking me straight in the eye.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you, Allie,” Mass says, his voice a sub-bass rumble that makes my toes tingle. “And now I’m here to take what’s mine.”

Sal looks around in a panic. “What the hell is going on?” he chirps.

Mass pulls the trigger.