3. Marco
Marco
Despite the fact I’ve just been legally bound to the woman whose uncle tortured my brother, I’ve got to hand it to my new wife.
The venue is classy. Perched on the bottom of the old carved staircase in the corner of the Garden Room like a bridge troll, I throw back my umpteenth bourbon and request another from a passing waiter as I hand him my empty glass.
Leaning heavily on the iron railing, I soak in the splendor of my wedding reception proceeding happily without me.
The Bennett in Tribeca is some kind of elite social club that requires a six-figure membership deposit and a five-figure annual fee.
I guess all these gilded mirrors and hand-painted murals cost a fortune in upkeep.
Bianca somehow managed to cram a hundred people into the place, and they all mill about the differently themed rooms with their cocktails. Some sit in the earth-toned velvet chairs by one of the brick fireplaces, and others claim seats at high-top tables draped with ivory linen.
A library in the far corner has a rotating bookcase that doubles as a secret entrance to the dining area. Just past that lies the Grand Room, where our ceremony space has been converted to a seating area that spills out onto a small patio.
Squinting through the crowd, I spy a group of attractive ladies snapping selfies in front of the built-in bookshelves. A curvy woman with big tits and wavy black hair holds up a copy of Moby Dick and throws up a peace sign, her lips puckered as the flash of a phone camera goes off.
I should go over and introduce my Moby Dick to them.
I start meandering in their direction when my wife meets my eye from across the crowd, where she’s speaking oh-so-seriously with Arthur Walders, Manhattan’s District Attorney, who enjoyed a landslide campaign thanks to the Council’s generous donations that ensured his cooperation for the duration of his term.
Bianca’s lips purse with disapproval, and I drop back onto the step with a huff.
I can still feel her on my lips. Taste her on my tongue.
That’s the part that throws me off-balance the most.
I can still feel her. Like she branded me. When it comes to women, I mark them, not the other way around. But hours have gone by since the ceremony, and my body continues to buzz with the phantom press of hers.
Dante’s unexpected and permanent departure a month ago flipped my life upside down. Losing both my brother and father so close together sent me reeling, and ever since, I’ve been off my game.
Damn you, Dante.
The thought sours before I even finish thinking it.
My older brother spent his whole life looking after me.
He’s always been there, and this is the only time I’ve ever had to clean up one of his messes instead of the other way around.
After the pain and suffering he’s endured, I can’t begrudge him his happiness with Sara.
Even if a small part of me resents him for abandoning me here to pay for his sins.
For taking off without telling me and only calling once since then to share that the Council saddled him with the blame for Enzo Conti’s death, even knowing a rogue agent shot him.
He also shared Enzo’s last words before he died.
“I’m not proud of what I did to you. Or to Dulce, for that matter. She was my sister, after all. Adopted or not.”
Neither of us is entirely sure if that was an admission of guilt in our mother’s murder, but one thing’s for certain. I strongly suspect the Conti family’s involvement.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I gesture at the waiter who’s collecting glasses off a nearby table and remind him to bring me a bourbon.
My wife has moved on to greet Angelo D’Benedetto, President of the Cement and Concrete Workers District Council. With her back to me now and my vision only slightly morphed, I scan the room for the Moby Dick girls.
I really need to get laid.
A nice hard fuck will get my mind off the Ice Princess long enough for me to focus on more important matters.
After Dante fled, the Council disbanded his company in retaliation.
Though I saved what I could of the tech and research, I found myself painfully unprepared to deal with the fallout.
Angry investors, deals dead in the water, a board of trustees demanding answers.
Not to mention the thousands of suddenly jobless former employees.
The damages amounted to more than I could account for out of my own pocket, and even after increasing our smuggling operation, the Argentos still flirted with bankruptcy until the Council offered me a way out of the very shitstorm they created.
Although…offer is the polite way of phrasing it. Demand would be more accurate…and I’m in no position to refuse.
The lanky, sandy-haired busboy returns, and as he bends down to deliver my bourbon, I pat him roughly on the shoulder and use the leverage to hoist myself to a vertical position, only stumbling once before I offer him a broad grin.
“Good service. That’ll get you far in life, kid. Don’t forget it.” My words are only marginally slurred, so I think he understands.
I stagger through the guests, somehow managing to avoid bumping into anyone important. What am I doing again? Something about a whale? Never mind.
One of my enforcers, Zosimo “Zo” Carullo, also doubles as my go-to guy, and I need to consult with him to decide what comes next. We used to be close, but a rift I don’t believe can ever be bridged has opened between us.
Still, he’s one of the few people I can trust to handle the assets we received for Bianca’s dowry. Guns, a drug lab, and several strip clubs all require immediate integration into our operation, while an influx of new Conti soldiers will need vetting and training.
All told, marrying Bianca will help recoup the losses from SilverTech, so while I don’t love the methodology, I can’t deny the results. The familiar, skunky smell of weed invades my senses, and any lingering resolve to act like a responsible adult crumbles.
“You’re nothing more than a weak-minded disappointment. If you were even half the man Dante is—”
With a growl, I shake away the memory of Giovanni’s voice.
I butted heads with Papà while he was alive, but I still mourn his passing with everything in me.
Come hell or high water, I’ll find out what happened at SilverTech and if Enzo’s death is linked to Gio’s.
As of now, I can’t spot the thread connecting them, but the timing is interesting.
Dante faces off with Enzo, and Enzo dies.
In a call from a burner phone after he left the country, my brother informed me that Enzo’s death came at the hands of a rogue agent rather than his like the Council claims. Not even a week later, a maid discovers Gio dead in his townhome, and now Bianca and I are forced into a Council-appointed marriage?
My darling wife must know something, even if the jobs were too messy to attribute to her.
A month ago, I could have blackmailed her into telling me, but if the photo and video with the male escort get out now, the attention drawn will humiliate me just as much as her.
I lock eyes with a beautiful amber bottle of Woodford Reserve as a familiar rumble of laughter reaches my ears. I whip my head around a little too fast, and my vision blurs before I can focus on the source. The fog of my inebriation clears, if only marginally.
Though he has his back to me, I’d recognize Sergio Romano and his cocky confidence anywhere.
What the hell is he doing here?
It doesn’t matter. With enough booze, I can pretend I never saw him and go back to pretending he doesn’t exist.
I’m dodging my fifth-grade science teacher—where the hell did Bianca find these people?—when a slight figure blocks my path.
Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.
My bride glares up at me. She’s model-tall, but I still dwarf her by several inches. “How much alcohol have you had tonight?”
While her aloof mask is firmly in place, irritability radiates from her like a perfume. Good. After everything the Contis have done, she deserves misery.
I crowd her personal space, albeit a little unsteadily.
Bianca’s lip curls as she scans me from head to foot, but I let her aversion roll off me like a cheap trick after a ten-dollar blowjob.
“Not nearly enough.” My eyes wander over her of their own accord.
“You know, you’re better at faking it than I gave you credit for. ”
Her eyes narrow, and a brief war plays out in those dark brown depths right before curiosity wins out. “What exactly does that mean?”
I rock back onto my heels. “The human act. Truly, flawless execution. If I hadn’t watched you almost choke to death on your pride during the ceremony, I might have actually believed blood flowed through those veins instead of ice water.”
The rage that flashes over her expression is the most emotion she’s shown all day.
When her mouth opens, I brace for her to strike.
“And if I hadn’t watched you slur your way through your vows, I might have worried I married a threat.
Let’s get one thing clear, Argento. You can play the unhinged playboy all you want out there, but in here, you’re just a functional alcoholic holding the title your father built. ”
Ouch.
I hum, swaying toward her, oddly intrigued by the hint of bite she just displayed. I fully intend to continue poking the bear when I realize we have an audience.
Livia Conti hovers a few feet away, clutching a bottle of champagne in her gloved hands. A dark, rosy mark high on her left cheek looks like the result of a smack, though I can’t imagine who’d lay a hand on the smaller, younger Conti girl.
Maybe she’s just terrible at applying makeup.
“Hello, Livia.” I croon her name and snag her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. “My new sister-in-law. You know, I’ve never had a sister before. Perfect timing, since it seems I’m in need of a new sibling altogether.”
Bianca makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat, and murder shines in her eyes. Not due to jealousy. No, it’s something fierce and primal.
Interesting.
Releasing Livia to prevent Bianca from popping a vein, I shove my hands into my pockets and inspect Bianca’s little sister.
Livia possesses the same golden brown hair as Bianca, but her dark green eyes verge on hazel.
They’re a year apart, but the physical differences are undeniable.
Where Bianca is tall and commanding, packed with the lean, functional muscle of a woman bred to be a killer, Livia is tinier and finer-boned.
Every so often, an unnatural stillness overtakes her, almost as if she’s trying to disappear, and she constantly scans her surroundings.
She appears delicate and breakable, but I wonder how much of that is real. If she’s anything like my new bride, iron will lurks somewhere beneath the deceptive fragility.
Another mystery I’ll have to unravel at some point.
“Here.” Livia extends the bottle to me, which I accept gingerly while raising my brows in question. She nibbles her lower lip and tilts her head at me in an assessing way before she answers. “For…courage.”
“Courage? Courage for what? Last I checked, I already did the hard part.”
While Bianca rolls her eyes, Livia’s golden-green gaze narrows. “You have to consummate the union. Someone from the Council is waiting in the honeymoon suite now.”
My laughter is explosive. Shit. I’d forgotten all about that archaic rule. The Cerimonia del Talamo is essentially a bedding ceremony and one of the Council’s beloved Codes. Any marriage sanctioned by the masked Councilors will be subjected to this and witnessed by a Council representative.
Once the marriage is consummated, any attempt to pursue an annulment or divorce results in punishment…aka death.
I swipe the champagne from Livia and tilt the bottle back just a little, letting the cold bubbly run down my throat. This night just improved markedly. I might be shackled to the Ice Princess, but booze and sex are my specialties.
If anyone’s coming out on top tonight—pun intended—it’s me.