Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Fiero
I’ve always thought that weddings are never about the couple getting married—they’re about the families, the politics and the circus surrounding them. But not this one.
This one is about Augusto Zanotti, Di Santo underboss and former ‘Surgeon,’ and Erin Applebaum, a divorcee from California who knows shit about the mafia, and no one else.
Maybe it’s because they’re a little older, in their forties and fifties, so they’re past the bullshit displays of wealth and extravagance that seem to color most Italian weddings.
Maybe it’s the fact Augie is simply a cool son-of-a-bitch who doesn’t let aesthetics dictate what’s meant to be the happiest day of his life.
Whatever the reason, this wedding is small and perfectly formed.
The ceremony and reception take place at a small, exclusive vineyard on the North Fork.
The bride eschews the traditional bridal gown in favor of an ivory jumpsuit, which, if the oohs and aahs of the Castellano sisters is anything to go by, is apparently a good fashion choice.
The canapes served so far have been unpretentious and the guns largely hidden. All in all, a respectable affair. Even though the majority of guests would be deemed by the rest of humanity as thoroughly unrespectable.
I stand beside my brothers at the edge of the outdoor space, watching Augie Zanotti stand at the altar looking relaxed and so happy I wonder if someone painted that smile on his face.
Beside me, Remo shifts impatiently, adjusting the cuff of his jacket. If an event doesn’t provide some sort of opportunity to negotiate a black market deal or make a new, darkly profitable connection, it’s a waste of his time.
The girl on his arm is young, pretty and blonde. Very much a stereotypical mafia catch. Her enormous sunglasses are perched on her head and she’s pawing at Remo’s arms like she’s acting out a part in The Godfather.
Remo hardly glances at her. If she wasn’t clutching at him possessively, he’d probably forget he even brought her. He’d certainly forgotten her name when I went to introduce myself.
Cassio stands off to my right, his date quietly composed, her eyes a touch too wide.
At least she looks like she understands where she is.
She’s hardly spoken a word since she arrived, which is probably how Cass likes it.
He’s too chaotic and too ambitious to let a woman into his thoughts, let alone his conversation.
Brando, on the other hand, has gone straight for the jugular, bringing a fucking supermodel as his guest. He’s the better looking of all of us but the most fucked up.
Girls seem to be drawn to his ‘edge,’ which is fine if you like being largely ignored, fucked with zero emotion and then dumped like a sack of moldy bread.
And me?
I’m here with Vivienne, who is making her way back from the bathroom, as ever a picture of calm composure.
She’s used to coming along to these things as my plus one. She’s old enough to be my aunt, but she knows this world inside out and, importantly, she’s not intimidated by it. I can pretty much leave her to any conversation and she’ll hold her own—and report back.
But for the first time in my existence, I wish someone else was standing in her place.
There’s no way I could have brought Pfeiffer here. Not while my brothers still want to see her broken into pieces on my bedroom floor. And not while I’m trying to come to terms with why I don’t want to do that anymore.
I’m falling too fast.
I think about her every waking minute. I check my phone without realizing, just to see if she’s been in touch. I find myself wanting to feed her, clothe her and parade her around New York so that everyone knows she’s mine and anyone who touches her will die a slow, agonizing death.
I’ve thought about subletting the Fagan’s little outhouse so I can carve up any man who dares to look, let alone touch.
It's all very over the top.
And all highly inconvenient.
But I don’t give a fuck. Not when it comes to her.
The ceremony ends and the guests shift en masse. People stand and wipe tears of happiness from their cheeks.
The reception is also decidedly un-messy. A crooner sings love songs in the corner of the lawn while wait staff hand out endless glasses of champagne.
Remo has his head down at a high table with a guy I vaguely recognize as one of the Di Santo associates based in Florida.
They’re probably figuring out a coke route to supply our casinos in Atlantic City.
His date wanders around clutching two glasses of champagne, her heels wobbling precariously with each step.
My gaze roams the garden landing on Brando. He’s seated at one of the tables, silently flipping his blade, his staggering beautiful date trying—and failing—to gain his attention.
Cassio saunters up to me, nodding to Vivienne who gracefully slips away.
He leans beside me at the bar, and orders a drink.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“I’d rather be somewhere else,” I reply.
He glances sideways. “With her?”
Each of my brothers is perceptive. Cass is the only one who demonstrates any compassion. So I tell him the truth, not only because he might get it, but because I need to tell someone.
“Yeah.”
Cassio exhales slowly, taking his glass from the bartender.
“Does Remo know?”
“He suspects.”
There’s a long pause and for the first time in my life I’m anxious to reach the end of it.
Cass turns to me and lowers his voice. “How deep are you?”
My back teeth grind. Again, I can’t lie to him, because unlike Remo, the walking anger management therapy case in point, Cass won’t judge.
I sink my face into my hands. “So fucking deep I can’t see.”
“Cazzo,” he murmurs.
I can feel him studying me. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t know.”
I lift my head and rub fingertips into my eye sockets, already weary of the conversation.
“Do you want to… you know… be with her? Officially?”
His furrowed brow suggests ‘yes’ would not be the ideal answer. But it is the truth, so I nod.
He shakes his head as if he just misheard. “But… what about—"
“I don’t care anymore.” I say the words quietly but they still land like a fucking bomb.
Cassio’s jaw goes slack. “What?”
I huff out a breath, instantly feeling lighter. “I don’t care if she broke me.”
He turns his body to face me square.
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.” I stare into the amber liquid in my glass. “Everything I know now, about what she went through with her uncle…”
He falls quiet.
“She doesn’t remember what she did.” I say. “Nothing. That whole time in her life is fractured.”
“Trauma will do that,” he says, darkly. “It happened to me.”
I glance up. “What?”
He gestures toward me. “When you… retreated. There are things I don’t remember from that time. I blocked it out. Figured at the time I was partly to blame.”
My face contorts. “How could it have been your fault, Cass?”
“I was a kid,” he shrugs. “I saw what Father did to you and I didn’t step in to help. None of us did—”
“Good!” I snap. “He would only have done the same to you.”
“Well, as a kid I blamed myself. And now there are huge chunks of memory I’ve tucked away in the back of my mind. Not on purpose. It just… happened.”
My expression softens. “So, you understand?”
“I understand trauma. I don’t understand how you’d forgive her so easily.”
There’s another pause, then I make an admission I might regret.
“I want to be with her.”
Cass goes deathly quiet then pans his gaze slowly across the happily chattering guests.
“Does she know?”
My grip tightens slightly on the glass. “No.” Maybe.
“Does she suspect?”
“Possibly.” I think brutally murdering three men in her honor might have given her a clue.
“How long do you need?”
What he’s really asking is how long does he need to keep this a secret from Remo and Brando before I quit being a pussy and come clean.
“A few more days.”
He nods and turns back to the bar, waving an empty glass in the bartender’s direction.
“Remo will lose his mind when he finds out you’ve done a full one-eighty. This means everything to him. You know how long he’s wanted retribution for what we all lost?”
“Yeah, I know. Fifteen years.”
“If you choose her, you may not get him back.”
I nod, grief seeping into my bones from the knowledge of what I’m going to do. Because across the city, in my penthouse, there’s a woman waiting for me.
And everything inside me is already choosing her over revenge.