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Emma must have picked up the thread of fear behind her whisper because she refrained from cracking a joke. “We’re neck deep in the mafia," she muttered. "Of course, I don’t trust any of these bastards.”
Help me!
Please.
Hands scrunched tight, Ana deliberately focused on the veil, counting every flower. Retaining every bit of calm that she could. But her aide continued, unable to resist another warning. “Gio isn’t an exception, though. He’s the rule. Hell, he’s already gone off the deep end with that bloody statement, executing his parents’ security guy right at their funeral like a freakin’ psycho. If there was ever a candidate for wife killer–”
“Emma,” she warned, her stomach roiling.
The petite woman pursed her lips, unabashed. “I’m sorry, but I just want you to be safe. And unless he reveals himself to be the Dalai Lama, I would not lower your guard around Gio Bernardi,” she spat.
“What’s going on here?”
The two of them tensed as the tall, thin woman appeared in the doorway along with another woman, who appeared to be the hairdresser. At Ana’s frantic gesture, Emma slunk off to the corner to busy herself with the wedding accessories.
“Auntie,” Ana greeted.
Her aunt harrumphed, eyeing Emma suspiciously as she came around to inspect the room. Ana’s heart thundered as the woman surveyed the dress, the veil, and then her newly polished face and nails. How much had she heard?
She glanced at Emma, who looked unbothered by the intense scrutiny, and then back at her aunt, who gave nothing away as well. Her keen eyes were seemingly focused on the wedding preparations. But there was no telling what lecture awaited her once they were alone.
Badmouthing one’s fiancé was inadvisable for any bride, but for her, it could mean a death sentence.
“Leave us.”
Shit.
Ana didn’t dare lock eyes with Emma as she obeyed her aunt’s command. Instead, she carefully smoothed over her silk robe, counting each frill along her sleeves. Unlike the wedding dress, it wasn’t one of her designs, though it was exquisite. Perhaps she should expand to lingerie? It was already a challenge getting her hands on pure silk, though. Maybe Emma could try–
“You know what’s at stake today, don’t you?”
The low warning sent chills down her spine.
It was soft, but not entirely out of the hairdresser’s hearing. That poor woman trembled as she plugged in the heating tools and powered them up, clearly sensing the tension in the room. Or perhaps she’d been warned of the thousand ways she would suffer if she screwed up her job.
Her aunt didn’t trust any of the help. Most of the Family did not.
Auntie stood with her arms crossed, monitoring as the stylist began constructing a simple but elegant updo. She stood tall, with a chin-length dark bob and hair parted in the middle. Her frame was trim, every inch of her polished.
“Make sure to add volume at the top,” she advised, as if they hadn’t already had two trials finalizing the hairstyle.
Ana grimaced as the stylist nervously yanked her hair. Years of etiquette training kept her pose intact even as pins and needles pricked her scalp. And that’s what her aunt chose to remind her of when the stylist eventually left.
“So many years of teaching you poise.” Her aunt circled her, observing every inch with a look that almost resembled…pride? “You’ve adopted it well.”
Ana flushed, allowing a bit of vanity to sweep in at the praise and at the delicate picture she made in the mirror. Her light brown hair was gleaming, pinned into a large, sleek knot with a diamond hairpiece adorning it. It allowed her narrow face and long neck to be exposed, giving her an almost waiflike appearance.
“The last thing I want,” her chin was caught between two fingers, “is for you to burn it all to the ground by gossiping about your new Don behind his back. Is that clear?”
Ice water poured over her.
“Ana?” Her aunt’s ice-blue eyes flickered, the wrinkles at the corner deepening.
She nodded quietly.
“Good. And like I told you many times before, fire that wretched girl.”
“But–”
