Page 20 of Legacy of Deception

“Why do you say that?”

“They’re friends.”

He drew his eyebrows together. “It’s possible Vito’s up to something. Or this guy just knows Dad through Vito, and it’s nothing.” I’d go with it, but Lorenzo had been gone for longer than he’d been back, and he didn’t know EJ. Not that I did all that much either. Therein lay the trouble.

“Seems unlikely,” I said, acknowledging his more relaxed perspective on the subject. Unfortunately, it was just going to be something we didn’t see eye to eye on. “I’ll see what I can find out, but if you uncover anything else, let me know.” There really wasn’t much more to say, especially since anything I could have come up with would have been interrupted by the outlandish sight before me.

Brooklyn had finally decided to show up.

Only, she was dressed as a…bird. A stunner of a bird with bitable shoulders, her long, elegant neck on display along with her lean, graceful legs.

As much as I refused to believe we were a compatible match in any way, I had to credit how every detail about her had clearly been meticulously crafted to bring men to their knees. She was the living, breathing embodiment of weakness.

One I couldn’t afford.

Not when I had other plans. For my father, for myself, for the company.

Unable to focus on anything outside of her, I turned to leave Lorenzo standing there. “I’ll see you inside,” I told him before strolling toward Brooklyn. It was what any good fiancé would do.

Before I consumed whatever gap there was left between us, my eyes flitted over to Bianca Morelli, who was tapping Capri on the shoulder. Capri’s face practically lit up like a bulb when she met Bianca’s stare. Bianca shifted on her feet as she held her baby on her hip. I would’ve said there was a remote possibility we’d be back here for Vera’s christening, but that ship had sailed, the ceremony already having happened from what I’d heard from Dom. It had been a smaller ceremony. Only Morellis and her husband’s parents.

The pulse in Brooklyn’s neck jumped when I stopped in front of her. Her lips parted as she got ready to say something. First, I got a whiff of her perfume, though. A scent that would be locked in a mental drawer that belonged solely to her. Begrudgingly or not. She smelled of vanilla and something just as sweet but floral. Maybe lavender? Whatever the distinct smell was, it was fresh and pleasant, classy even. “I hope I’m not late, or that you didn’t miss me too much.” She extended her hands to my tie, tightening it, even though it didn’t need that. It didn’t need her touching it at all. Her idle hands could stay right where they had been. By her side.

The disingenuous behavior hung in the air heavily like sopping wet long hair down a woman’s back. Exhaustion from all the misconceptions I’d experienced with my own blood throughout the years crept up my throat, burning the back of it with an acidic desire to break free. “Like a hernia. Can’t miss you when you’re never truly gone.” I followed her gaze as heat smoldered it slowly. It was reminiscent of watching sand fall through an hourglass. Meanwhile, her hands slipped away from my tie.

“Au contraire, I miss you even when you’re with me.” Her words had more meaning than they were letting on. They prickled with regret that could leave more scars than a slice from a dagger. “I can’t seem to get enough of you,” she murmured.

“Packing it on, are we?” My grin was as condescending as my remark. “You know I’m not bugged, right? And no one’s listening in on our conversation?”

“Obviously—”

“You’re paranoid.”

“Oh, Marco, I wish you could see I’m not the enemy here.” Strength and courage dripped from her words, but so did delusion as she continued. “If I could stop this wedding from happening, I would. If there was another way—”

Obliterating everything, I asked, “How many birds should I be mourning?” Whether she felt there was no other way was inconsequential to me. I didn’t need her convictions, not when I was taking control of the situation in my own way.

“I’ll have you know the feathers are fake.” Her eyes sharpened, her tone flat.

Dread filled my chest. “And completely inappropriate for a christening.”

“What do you want from me?”

Languid discontent consumed me. “Nothing. That’s just it.”

Pause.

Offering a rueful smile, I placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the doors. “We better get inside so we’re not the last ones. Wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”

My pulse had an unsteady beat around her, and I think, while unfamiliar, I was learning to get used to it.

Chapter 9

have your secrets

BROOKLYN

I crossed my arms at my wrists and leaned forward in my seat, my purse safely on my lap. Beside me was Marco, who I tried very much to ignore, albeit unsuccessfully with the way the wood pew sounded when he rested his bulging arms on the back of the one in front of us as he leaned forward in prayer.