Page 68 of Fallen Rook

“She can have a million-dollar flower budget for all I care,” Achilles cut in. “The Camorra won’t be footing the bill for it, though.”

“We’ll see about that.” Alex smiled mockingly, taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “How many guests are you inviting?”

“Four hundred,” Luca said without missing a beat. “You?”

“Same.” Alex set his whiskey down. “And you insist on it taking place on Crimson Key?”

Luca nodded. “It’s a family tradition.”

“Is your legacy worth keeping at this point?” Alex quirked a sardonic eyebrow. “Camorra women seem to have a particular taste for the Russians. Perhaps whatever you’re doing isn’t working anymore.”

“Bold words from someone whose sister been handed between us brothers like a ticking fucking bomb.” Achilles laughed.

Slava growled, “One more word about Katya—”

“And?” Luca tilted his head sideways, amused. “What will you do, Slava?”

Slava and Luca were engaged in a stare-off I had no doubt my brother would win. Luca, for all his faults, was the coldest, most efficiently cruel bastard alive.

“Relax, Slava,” Alex drawled good-naturedly. “The brothers are a little high-strung. Understandable, considering the amount of shit the Camorra’s in. No offense, of course.”

“You’re a small man on a big throne, Alex.” Luca’s words sliced the air like a dull knife, blunt yet cutting. “Don’t worry about offending us. Your ability to do so is nonexistent. Now, let’s get back to the topic of the wedding.”

I took it all in, my breath trapped in my lungs. So it was really happening. I was marrying Katya after all. And I had no say in it. Luca wouldn’t go through the pains of making all of these arrangements if he didn’t intend to execute the plan. It occurred to me that I hadn’t even had the balls to ask my older brother about my future. I had to hear it in this forum, in front of near-complete strangers.

Slava flicked his gaze to me, fidgeting with his Rolex. “You gonna let her finish college?”

“Of course.”

It had never occurred to me not to. I wasn’t a misogynistic asshole like my late father.

“What about being faithful?” he pressed. “We’ve seen some of the Camorra’s marriage alliances. They leave a lot to be desired.”

He was talking about Luca and Sofia. And the fact that Jeremie, their brother, was her live-in bodyguard now. Of course, Jeremie wasn’t here today. Luca would’ve killed him before he even parked the car outside the club. But I knew he was working remotely for the Bratva, doing black hat shit.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Achilles interjected again, apparently not in the mood for diplomacy. “Whatever happens between Enzo and Katya is between them. He doesn’t work for your ass. Oh, and a general note for future reference”—Achilles snapped his fingers—“talk about our private lives again, and I’ll make sure it’s the last time you use your mouth.”

I tossed a glance at Luca, who sat back, looking remarkably at ease with the situation. He wouldn’t let Alex and the Bratva see how deep the cut of being dumped by Sofia ran. The temperature in the room fell deep into arctic territory, with one of our soldiers hurrying to pour everyone more whiskey.

“Easy there, Achilles.” Alex’s smirk broadened. “Bratva men have a history of playing with Ferrante women. This is simply what we do from time to time.”

Achilles flashed his teeth in what he considered a smile. “Come a little closer and say that to my face. See how that works out for you.”

Fond of all his organs exactly where they were, Alex decided not to take him up on the tempting offer, choosing to examine the artwork behind my head instead.

For some bizarre reason, Achilles and Alex never looked each other in the eye. I couldn’t fathom what could be the cause for such awkwardness, but I was a little too busy with my own clusterfuck of a life to investigate.

“Who owns the horrendous Lambo outside?” Alex asked, changing the subject.

“You mean the enticing piece of art?” I flicked cigarette ash from my slacks. “Me.”

“You know what they say about Italian cars.” Slava grinned. “Beautiful but impractical, unreliable, and high maintenance.”

He wasn’t talking about cars, and we all knew it. My mouth lifted at the corners serenely.

“You know what they say about Russian cars…” I tapped my chin, then dropped my hand. “Oh, my bad, you don’t have any.”

“I’m bored,” Luca announced, playing with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “This wedding is happening with or without swans and flowers. Now, let’s talk shop.”