I’ve always known this is my duty to the family, the price of being a Pomponio. I’m proud of my name and proud of where I come from. Part of that heritage means marrying for political reasons. I’ll just have to make the best of it. Maybe King has a more dangerous job, one that will make me a widow before I’m twenty-five, despite his age. If not, I’ll just have to put my foot down from the start, show him I’m not some subservient little house slave. I’ve always been a rebellious daughter. Now I’ll be a rebellious wife instead. I’m going from being my father’s property to my husband’s, after all. Does it really matter which man is trying to control me?
Dad takes my silence for obedience and lets out a heavy breath. “Sylvia can help you plan. I’d also like you to involve the daughters of the other Families. One from each Family as a bridesmaid along with some of our girls. With all five families together, we look stronger than ever against the Russian and Irish organizations.”
I don’t have to ask why we’re showing unity to the Bratva. There are lots of other crime families besides the Italian ones. Dad will want to show the whole city that we’re peaceful with the Valentis. It protects us from their allies and makes us look stronger than ever.
“Do I have to invite Lizzie Salvatore?” I ask, dreading the thought of the trashy little New Jersey princess being one of my bridesmaids. She’s fun to party with because she’s been doing it since she was thirteen and she knows all the party spots. But she’ll probably cut her dress to right below her ass, get falling-down drunk, and conveniently forget to wear underwear. I might not care for my groom much, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want a nice wedding. Every girl deserves that, even if she has to marry a heartless stranger.
“All the families,” Dad repeats. “You got six weeks. You’ll use the place in the Hamptons for the reception. And I expect you to call your future husband and make an apology. A man doesn’t want to marry a drunk.”
With that, Dad takes his leave. I slump down on the couch, laying my head back and taking a deep breath. Despite the day’s events, I’m not a drunk. I wish I were. Then I could just numb out the whole thing. Swim through the soup of life in a disoriented fog.
Even I know I wouldn’t be happy with that, though. Yes, I like to party and get stupid on occasion, and lately I’ve been doing it more than I should. But alcohol is a rebellion, an assertion of my independence. It’s not something I use to cope with life’s traumas. I can deal with those just fine on my own. I don’t need help. I’ve fought too hard for my little freedoms to walk into a cage of my own making.
two
King Dolce
“How’s things?” I ask, watching my brother carefully as we stand in front of the mirrors, a tailor at our feet. Guilt twists inside me, like it does every time I look into his haunted eyes. He’s going to have to learn to hide that look if he’s going to survive in this world. The mafia’s not the only place that will destroy a man if he doesn’t put on a coat of armor too thick for pain to penetrate.
“Fine,” Royal says, holding out his arms and adjusting the sleeves of his coat, shrugging to make sure it settles onto his shoulders right. I can tell he’s been hitting the weights hard. He’s as big as I am now, though he’s only sixteen.
Beyond him, the twins are getting their trousers pinned, too.
“Don’t give me that shit,” I say to Royal, lowering my voice. “I’m your brother. I know you’re not fucking fine.”
It’s been eight months since the kidnapping that was supposed to be staged but turned way too fucking real. Six months since his twin disappeared into a dark river and never returned. I stopped expecting him to go back to normal a long time ago. But I don’t want him to hate me for this, to think I walked away and washed my hands clean of them. If I could have traded places with him in that basement, I would have. If I could have traded places with Crystal in that water, I would have.
I should have saved him. I should have saved her.
I’ve failed them all so many times, in such catastrophic, irreparable ways.
“I can’t believe our big bro is getting married,” Duke says, throwing an arm around his twin’s shoulder and grinning at me. “It’s like you’re a grown up or something.”
I manage a half smile. “Or somethingsounds about right.”
“Yeah,” Royal says. “We should be askingyouhow things are.”
They’ve been here a few days, and I’ve already told them how things are. But it’s hard to talk with our parents around. Ma needs a lot of attention, and Dad’s always lurking, looking for an angle to work to his advantage.
“I don’t even know the girl,” I say with a shrug, holding my arms for the tailor to pin my sleeves. “She didn’t want to get to know me before the wedding. It’s weird, right? Even if she didn’t choose this, you’d think she’d want to get familiar with the person she’s spending the rest of her life with.”
“Guess she has the rest of her life to get to know you,” Royal says.
“Hey, you’re lucky, alright?” Duke says. “You’d never get a girl that hot to marry you if she did know you.”
He and Baron crack up, and I slug his shoulder because that’s what I’m supposed to do, but it already feels different, like when I walked into Ma’s the night before I became a made guy. Like this is a memory, a life I’m no longer a part of. It’s only been a couple months since I left, and over the past few days we’ve caught up on anything we’ve missed. They’ll always be my brothers, my first family. But they’ve also always been closer with each other. I was the protector, almost their dad. I looked out for them and tried to keep them safe. And now I don’t.
“Think about it this way,” Baron says. “You get the goods, and you don’t have to work for it. You don’t have to get her to like you or worry if she’s going to say yes. You don’t have to do anything, and you get one of the hottest girls in New York.”
“Yeah,” I say, remembering the bratty girl I met at her father’s house. Pretty sure I’ll be doing plenty of work in our marriage, even if love’s not part of the equation. Love plays no part in the Life, and it will play no part in mine.
That’s for the best.
“Don’t even worry about us,” Royal says, throwing an arm around the twins’ shoulders. The three of them look like a wedding photo, all the happy groomsmen getting their tuxes altered for the big day. Looking at them, you’d never know how toxic our family is. From the outside, we look like the perfect Italian family, living the fucking American dream.
“Yeah, man,” Duke says. “It’s your wedding. You’re supposed to be the happiest man alive, right?”
“I think Dad’s the happiest man alive,” Royal says bitterly. “He thought you’d be a grunt in Uncle Al’s army, and here you are marrying the daughter of a don.”