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"This is the dinner, Evelyn." Jenkins says, his voice barely above a whisper. Everyone's clued in except me.
Inside the beautiful Roman Catholic church stands a group of men. The discussion is heated, and the man raising his voice is none other than Alessandro De Luca.
"This is not the way this was supposed to happen, Oz! You know it and I know it. She's going to flip the fuck out, and rightfully so! Who the fuck does this?" Alessandro's face runs red except where a scar runs down his cheek and into a short black beard. It's as trim and clean-cut as his suit, a well-tailored charcoal grey suit with his cerulean shirt close to the same shade of blue in his eyes.
"Will you calm down?" The man's stature has all the energy of a bull in a China shop.
However, everyone stops once they realize I'm here. My father, Don Matteo Rossi, Alessandro, and I believe the man with him is Don De Luca's consigliere. There's a priest in the archway of the main auditorium who looks like he's ready to make his peace with God.
I square my shoulders, walking confidently toward men who are discussing my life without me.
"Will one of you please tell me what the hell is going on? Dad?" I turn to my father.
He approaches me with a smile that's far more awkward than it needs to be. "The Montegnas are moving in on our territories. We don't have the muscle we used to since Peter took off. We need a strong front, a union."
I can't help but notice Alessandro taking an ominous step toward me. I pull away from my father, but Alessandro's hand comes out to stop me. The simple gesture of his hand on my back, strong and steady, keeps me in place.
"Not so fast, mio dolce." The bass in his voice sends tremors to my core, but there's a darkness in his tone, the devil behind his sharp blue eyes. "You can't possibly think I'd let my bride jilt me at the altar."
3
ALESSANDRO
Up close, Evelyn Rossi has the cutest constellation of freckles spread across the bridge of her nose, just under those radiant green eyes. They're wide with fury at the moment as her supple, dark pink lips fire off one foul word after another. I grip her by the arm, which forces her to snap her face at me.
"Get your fucking hands off me right now." Her commands are just like her freckles, cute. The same tall gentleman from the viral video steps forward to enforce her command, but I shoot him a look, daring him to try. He cracks his knuckles, moving his neck from side to side, preparing for what he thinks is going to be a fistfight.
"No, no, no. Stand down, Lurch. We're not going to tear up Father Andrews’s church. My wife and I are going to have a sit down to hash out these details. Father Andrew?" I call over to the priest, who's shaking with fear a few feet away from us.
Father Andrew trembles as he replies. "Uh, um, yes, Mr. De Luca, sir?"
"Can you please bring us somewhere private? I'd like to have a talk with my wife."
"Stop calling me that, and get your filthy fucking hands off me," Evelyn hisses beside me. She tries to shake loose of my grip. Her breasts jostling under the cream-colored silk blouse makes me wonder what she looks like out of her clothes.
For fuck's sake. Now's not the time for this. It's even worse with her in front of me. At least on a phone or TV screen, I can change the channel, scroll by, or my all-time preference, shut it off. In front of me, my sweet Evelyn is irresistible, devastating, and a distraction in a way neither Family needs.
Father Andrews nods and shows us into his private office. I finally release my hold of her. Evelyn rubs her arm and sits down on the sofa in the office. Now, why does a priest have a couch in his office?
That's none of my concern, but at least it's convenient. Don Rossi and Oz follow us into the room, where they each take a seat. I choose to stand, leaning back against the desk while Evelyn rocks her knee up and down, pouting and cursing under her breath.
"You really should watch your language, mio dolce. You're in a church," I tell her.
She snarls and glares at me before sliding the back of her hand under chin toward me, cursing me with a very familiar gesture anyone would tremble for making.
"Evelyn," Don Rossi sighs. He's got dark brown eyes that seem set in a permanent scowl.
"You lied to me. Shay knows what's going on and I don't? This doesn't make sense. One of you had better start talking or I start walking." She's adamant about that, and I'm ready to stop her, but she stays in her seat.
Oz starts, telling her, "Both of our Families have suffered losses recently. Don De Luca is ill, and well, your pocket politician is on the run."
"That's not telling me anything about why he insists on calling me his wife. Shana told me about a treaty, not a marriage."
I fold my arms across my chest, stroking my beard and thinking of the next time I can get in to my barber. This idea of a treaty isn't mine, but my loyalty to my father, to my Family, is the only reason I'm going along with this nonsense. However, not telling Evelyn about the setup is a stupid idea, and it's wasting time.
"The marriage anchors the alliance between our Families," I tell her. "We don't have time for this. In order for both of our organizations to work together, everyone has to see that this isn't some ploy to keep the jackals off our territories."
"What's happened so far?" she asks, her eyes softening as they shift between us.
