I look from him to JJ Kane, our one-time rival, now our partner in Trinity Enterprises, a company with three-way holdings between theCosa Nostra, the Kane company, and the Bratva.
"It’s all right, bro." Seb closes the distance to JJ and holds out his hand. "Wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow."
"Things change," JJ says in his clipped British accent. He glowers at me. "You set up a meeting with your ally, then shot him in his face. Why?"
"Who are you to question me?" I growl.
JJ stiffens. He looks me up and down. "I was picking off twits like you with my gun when you were still in short pants, young man."
I blink. "You Brits have strange insults."
"Should I call youtesta di cazzoinstead?" JJ remarks.
I glower at him.
"Thought not. What’s your excuse, motherfucker?" He takes a step forward, but Seb plants his body between us.
"Not a time to fight, guys. The hard-won truce is important to both our businesses. Let’s see this through with a calm head, shall we?"
JJ glares at me. I crack my neck, then raise my hands to show they are empty.
Some of the tension in the room dissipates.
JJ doesn’t take his gaze off me. "Well? What’s your excuse?" he asks.
"Thestronzowas looking to barter his sister, my future wife, with the head of the Mexican cartel."
JJ seems taken aback. Then, "Fuck." He rubs the back of his neck. "The last thing we need is to give those bastards an entry point into Europe. And to think, he’d do that to his own sister. I knew Diego was a slime ball, but this is remorseless, even for him."
"Ergo…" I whip out my gun and aim it in JJ’s direction.
JJ freezes. So does everyone else in the room. Silence cloaks us while nervous tension bleeds into every available corner of the space.
"Massimo," Michael growls.
"Just demonstrating how I shot thattesta di cazzo, which you are not, JJ. So, you have nothing to worry about, do you?" I flip the gun over and slide it back into my waistband.
"Motherfucker." Seb releases a breath. "You’re losing itstronzo."
"Asshole." Axel runs his fingers through his hair.
"Watch it,fratello," Luca says in a mild voice. "You’re changing, and not that I don’t appreciate it—it’s good not to be the only spontaneous one in the room—still, a little bit of warning before pulling such a trick next time?"
Adrian shuffles his feet next to me. He stays silent, but his displeasure pours off of him.
Only JJ stays silent, then he bursts out laughing. "You have some balls, motherfucker, I’ll give you that. And as much as I hate to admit it, I admire your courage and conviction. You did what it took to keep your woman safe, I respect that." He walks over and holds out his hand. I shake it.
He jerks his chin in my direction, then turns to Michael. "We need to talk."
34
Olivia
"We need to talk." Solene pulls her knees close to her chest. We’re in one of the guest rooms of their temporary home, which I have taken over as a dressing space. She’s huddled on the window seat watching me as I get dressed. In my wedding dress. Or what I’ve chosen as my wedding dress. At least, it’s a dress. For which that asshole should be grateful. Not that it makes a difference to him. As long as I turn up in front of the priest and say my vows and wear his stupid ring on my finger, he’ll have fulfilled his role as a faithful grandson who kept his promise to his Nonna, and then everything will be okay. My family will be safe, and I’ll finally be able to pursue my dream. I run my palms down the fabric of my dress. It hugs my waist and flows in an A-line to my ankles. There are slits that run up each side, so my thighs flash with every step I take. If he doesn’t like it, then too fucking bad. He chose a tigress, not a lamb, and he’d better be able to deal with it. Or not. More fun if he can’t. He should know from the time I scratched his back the first time he fucked me that my nails are sharper than they seem, and I’m not above using them to get my way.
I glance at my black-tipped nails, then lean closer to the mirror to apply the dark red to my lips. So what if it makes my skin appear chalkier and the scar on my cheek stand out even more? He knew what he was getting, and lest he forget, I’m going to remind him.
"Are you really going to wear that?" My mother breezes into my room. She’s wearing a black dress that flows to her ankles. Her features are pale, her eyes are swollen like she’s been crying, but the expression on her face is one of horror. "Surely not," she continues without waiting for an answer. Yep, that’s my ma. She can hold a conversation with herself without much effort. And that includes asking questions and supplying multiple possible answers to them, all by herself.