I leave for the church early. Call it wedding jitters or obsessive behavior; call it good planning or nerves. I don’t care. All I know is I can’t waste another fucking hour on the Palladino compound, listening to wrinkly old uncles complain that their suits must have shrunk at the dry cleaners. Such bullshit.
Instead, I grab Gianni by the scruff of the neck and march him out to the waiting convoy of armored limos, all the way to the front of the line. I push him into the back seat and pile in after, tugging my waistcoat straight.
“You’ve fucked up my hair.”
I ignore my second in command, slamming the door shut and nodding for the driver to pull away.
“It was already fucked up.”
Gianni curses loudly, pressing his slicked-back hair flat in the rear view mirror. His black curls are naturally wild, and no amount of product or wishful thinking will change that fact. But does he take my advice? No.
“Those Serpico girls are gonna think I’m trash. Look! You made my collar go all weird.”
“They already think we’re trash. We’ve killed half their men.” The Serpicos killed ours too, and that’s why we can kiss and make up like this. Nice, right? “You don’t want a Serpico, cousin. I’m getting the only good one.”
Thebestone. The best woman everywhere.
I remember the first time I saw Mia three years ago, sipping from a cocktail at an exclusive bar in the city. The red tint to her brunette waves. The satisfied curl to her lips. The way her dress nipped in at her waist and shifted against her tanned thighs; those endless legs, stretching on for miles.
The mere sight of her was enough. A punch to the gut.
It was seeing her work the room, though, that tipped me over the edge. Seeing her play everyone around her, dancing them on her strings. Fuck. What a woman.
But my fiance aside, they’re called Serpico because they’re a bunch of snakes. And she’s called Mia because she is mine. It’s fate.
“You think they’ll go through with it, then?”
Gianni’s only asking, not trying to piss me off, but I still grind my teeth until my molars ache. I stare out of the tinted window, my leg jiggling against the limo floor, and I’m wound tight because I’m not fucking sure.
They’d better.
Oh, they’d better.
If they keep Mia from me, there will be hell to pay.
“‘Course they will.” Gianni answers his own question, sensing my plunging mood. He claps me on the shoulder; gives a little shake. “They won’t back down now, Leo. They wouldn’t dare. Everyone thinks you’re a madman.”
Iama madman. Let’s call a spade a spade.
“Yes. She will be there,” I say, trying to convince myself too. Tapping my fingers on my knee. “Mia will come. She’ll honor our agreement.”
Because if there’s one thing the Serpico princess takes seriously, it’s her reputation. She’s crafted it with precision and care over the years; she’s honed it like a blade. And if she pulls outnow, if she jilts a rival kingpin at the altar…
I don’t like backing her into a corner like this.
But I won’t waste this chance, either. She’ll be glad about it one day—maybe even tonight, once I’ve made her come so many times that she’s forgotten her old name.
“Check all the back rooms when we get there. Forget about your fucking hair for ten minutes.” I take refuge in orders, my mind racing with all the things we need to do. All the ways this could still go wrong. “Go around the balconies, too. Check for eye lines and stashed weapons. Anything looks wrong, you report straight to me.”
“It’s a church,” Gianni says, appalled. “You don’t think they’d break the ceasefire in a church?”
I shrug. “We’re all animals, cousin. So check the balconies.”
“Yes, boss.”
He’s nervous now too, but at least he’s shut up about his stupid hair. We both need to focus. I won’t have bullets flying in the same room as my fiance, no way.
“She’ll come,” I say, and I sound even less sure than before.