Remo chuckled. “No, we will attack the day before. The future bride will spend the night before her wedding in a hotel in Indianapolis with the women of her family. The men of the family will be at stag night. There will be only the usual guards.”
“Are you sure there won’t be additional safety measures in place?” I asked.
Remo raised his eyebrows at Fabiano, who shrugged.
“They won’t expect an attack like that. It’s never been done before. To disturb a wedding is regarded as somewhat sacrilegious by most members of the Outfit.”
Remo snorted. “Sacrilegious,” he said. “Dante attacked my territory. I will show them my version of sacrilegious. Don’t worry.”
“I told you before, it was my father’s doing,” Fabiano muttered. “We should try to get our hands on him and not a woman.”
Remo’s grin turned dangerous. “You will get him. I’m sure Dante will see reason and exchange him for his niece … eventually. I will show him just how sacrilegious we are in Las Vegas.”
Fabiano grimaced. It was obvious that he didn’t like the idea, but he knew better than to argue with Remo when my brother was this excited about an idea.
“This is genius or insanity,” Savio said with a laugh. “Given that it’s your plan, Remo, it’s probably insanity.”
“I think I have a better plan,” I began. “It’ll send a more symbolic message. The bride will probably be taken to church from the hotel in a limousine. There will be even less people around. She will have her mother in the car with her, a bodyguard, and the driver, and perhaps one or two cars as a convoy. We can attack then. It would be absolutely dishonorable to do so, but we have always had our own interpretation of honor.”
Remo laughed darkly. “Nino, you are a fucking genius. The girl will already be in her wedding dress. We will steal a bride from under their noses, right before her wedding night. No better symbol than that.”
Fabiano shot me a look, but if he thought I had the power to stop Remo at this point, he hadn’t seen the way Remo looked at Cavallaro’s niece. Remo got up, obviously unable to sit still any longer.
“I’d prefer if we could keep that plan from my wife. It might trigger some images from her past that I don’t want to resurface.”
Remo waved me off, pacing the room like a caged tiger. His eyes focused on the image on his phone screen.
“If we attack Dante’s family, he will take war to a new level,” Fabiano said.
“I hope he does,” Remo murmured.
Two hours later, I found Kiara at the piano, her eyes closed, head tilted to the side as she played a melody she had been working on since she moved here. She never talked about her music, but I had a good ear. “I made time for gun training today,” I said.
She jerked upright, her dazed eyes zeroing in on me. Slowly, she stood. She wore one of her modest dresses that reached her knees, but even those clothes did nothing to hide the enticing swell of her breasts, her narrow waist, or soft curve of her hips.
“Where?” she asked curiously as she padded toward me on bare feet. To my surprise, her toes were painted red. It was a color I’d favor in her clothes as well.
“I set up a target in the garden.” I gestured at my gun holster. “And you have a selection of these guns or we could go down into the basement to our weapon room.”
She laughed then bit her lip. “I think one of your guns will do.”
I led her outside to the west side of the gardens, and we stopped close to the target. “Have you ever held a gun?”
“No,” she admitted.
I shook my head. Growing up in the mafia, girls should learn how to handle guns from a young age. They were smaller and less muscular than men. Why add the disadvantage of being inept at using a gun? I handed Kiara my semi-automatic. It was easy to handle. She took it carefully, but her grip was all wrong. I moved around her and positioned myself behind her back. Her sweet perfume wafted into my nose. I’d never thought I’d like it, but Kiara obviously used a brand my senses favored. She glanced over her shoulder with a hint of shyness. I was glad that her facial expressions were slowly becoming less of a mystery to me. It made my life and her life indefinitely easier.
“Lift your arms and aim at the target.”
She did, but we had work to do. “I will adjust your hold and stance,” I explained. I touched her hips, and she stiffened, but I angled her the way I wanted her then moved on to her arms and pushed them down a couple of inches. I faced her again and corrected her fingers on the gun. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to stand in front of the barrel. What if I shoot you by accident?”