19. Lexi

19

LEXI

T he center aisle is crowded as I make my way toward the back of the church. Mourners press in around me until I lose sight of Mia. A woman steps into my path, her smile fake, her fur coat real as they come. She extends a hand dripping in diamonds, and I know the only way to get past her is to give her a moment of attention.

"Lexi Giovanni, you are a sight, darling," she drawls.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh, you can call me Joan. Joan Balistrieri. My husband, Fortuna, is your grandfather's attorney. I think that makes us friends, don't you?"

"I—"

"Now, I have to say, the pictures from your engagement party did not do you justice. You are far prettier than those gossiping trollops claimed." She looks me up and down. "You simply must share your designer with me. The way your curves are so tastefully accentuated… I don't know how they do it."

There are so many backhanded compliments in there that I opt to simply smile in response. Something tells me snapping at this woman wouldn't be smart.

She doesn't seem to mind filling the silence.

"Now, I won't lie and say I was thrilled to hear of your choice of fiancé," she says, not bothering to hide the distaste in her expression. "But you do make a beautiful couple. And what a power duo, eh?"

"Um…" I have no idea what to say to that. "Thank you."

"Grandma, there you are." A beautiful blonde appears, threading her arm through Joan's. "Sorry," she says to me, smiling apologetically. "She got away from me."

"No problem. You're Andy, right?" I remember her from the meeting the other day. Toros's wife.

"Yeah. You're Lexi. It's nice to meet you. Well, nice is probably the wrong word considering the circumstances." She winces at that but there's no trace of animosity, which surprises me considering she's married to Franco's general. In fact, her friendliness seems genuine and more welcoming than most of the others I've met in this city.

"Your dress is beautiful," I tell her, gesturing to what must be a designer piece the way it fits her.

"Thanks," she says. "I have a thing for clothes. Yours is great too, by the way, and your hair—you have to tell me who you use."

"Oh, you two should have lunch," Joan puts in, her eyes lighting up.

Andy and I share a quick look.

"Maybe another time," Andy says, her smile slipping a little. "Come on, Grandma. We've kept Lexi long enough."

"Of course, darling," Joan tells Andy, patting her arm. And then to me, "Wonderful to meet you."

"You too."

Andy flashes me another smile before tugging the older woman back toward Franco and his men. Joan's fur bounces along in her wake. I'm left with the distinct impression that, despite the older woman's general judginess, I've somehow won her approval, such as it is.

I push through the crowd again, making slow progress.

A couple more people smile and say hello. They look friendly if curious. Some of them offer their congratulations, which is so out of place at a funeral, it takes me a minute to realize they're talking about my engagement. One woman asks if I'll take a picture with her. She gushes about how she can't believe she met me— the mafia princess —before her friends pull her away.

Just before I reach the spot where I last saw Mia, another figure steps in front of me and blocks my path. A dark suit, broad shoulders and torso—not another Joan, at least. Still, I'll need to make pleasantries before I can excuse myself. I start to extend my hand and prepare for more small talk when I finally look up and see who's standing before me.

When I do, I freeze, my insides rippling with dread.

"Dom," I manage after peeling my lips apart.

"Hello, beautiful." His smile is cold.

"Don't call me that."

"Would you prefer a pet name? I'm partial to princess. Or do you have a stage name you'd like me to use?"

"Fuck you."

"Language, sweetheart." He clicks his tongue, gesturing to the crowded space. "We're in a church, after all."

I glance around, hoping for another interruption. There are people surrounding us on all sides, but somehow, they seem to know not to bother us. Their conversations swirl, their laughter echoing off the church walls.

Where's Mia? Or Razor? Or Grey? Surely, at any moment, one of them will come along and end this.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"An update," he answers, and my dread turns to ice-cold fear.

"This is not the place," I hiss, darting glances around us.

"This is the perfect place," Dom says. "A public event that makes sense for a quick conversation between polite acquaintances." He flashes his teeth in what he probably thinks is a smile. "No one will even question it. Unless you'd rather reconvene in a more intimate setting?"

"I'm not reconvening with you anywhere," I snap.

He lowers his voice. "Careful. Your tone's drawing attention. You wouldn't want to give yourself away here."

I swallow the urge to cough as his overbearing cologne chokes the air from my lungs. He's right. If I cause a scene, it will only raise more questions.

"Now, what do you have for me?" he asks, his tone unmistakably threatening.

I zero in on the thin, pink line marring his cheek. It's healed a little but even so my lips twist at the fading injury. The one I gave him. "I have nothing for you," I tell him. "Unless you want me to even things up and put a scratch on the other side."

"Watch your fucking mouth," he warns.

When I try to shove past him, he grabs my arm and squeezes until I make a small sound of pain.

"You don't walk away from me unless I say we're done," he growls.

"Do we have a problem?" Mia's voice rings out loud enough that a few of the nearby guests glance over at us.

I'm not sure whether to be relieved or worried that Mia's here to witness this interaction, but at least Dom releases me. I yank my arm away, taking a full step back. On either side of me, Mia and Dom stare one another down, tension filling the empty space between them.

"No problem at all," he drawls. "You look exceptionally hot today, Mia. Using a funeral to hook an eligible bachelor?"

"You have five seconds to disappear before Grey joins us. After that, I can't promise you'll walk out of here with all your limbs."

"Sexy and mouthy." He grins. "Just the way I like them. When are you going to have dinner with me?"

"Let me pick the place, and we can do it tonight," she says lightly. "I'll make sure the chef seasons your food extra special. In fact, don't plan to live past dessert."

He snorts. "Cute."

A quick glance at me lets me know this isn't over. But he doesn't say anything else before turning away.

Mia speaks up, stopping him. "That's twice now you've put your hands on Lexi without her permission."

A few more guests look over. The conversations closest to us go quiet.

Dom turns back, his smile twisting toward cruelty. "Is that what she told you?" he asks Mia. "That she didn't want it?"

Rage burns in my chest. I want to interject, but Mia glances at me and shakes her head curtly, telling me to be quiet.

"She doesn't have to tell me anything," Mia says. "That scratch on your face speaks volumes."

The crowd murmurs, pressing in closer now. As much as I want to out Dom for being an asshole, this isn't a good thing, the nosy onlookers. It'll cost us—if not with Dom then with Franco or Vincenzo. There's always a cost in Indigo Hills.

At Mia's words, Dom stalks over to her, pressing into her personal space until the crowd goes still, waiting to see what he'll do. "This scratch is nothing compared to what I'll do to you if?—"

"Dominic." Franco's voice rings out sharply in the tense silence.

Dom turns, the scowl on his face smoothing into a cool mask that's almost scarier than his fury. "Yeah, boss?"

"Car's waiting," Franco snaps. "Let's go."

"Sure thing." Dom strides by me then disappears into the vestibule.

When he's gone, Franco remains, his attention fixed on me. The crowd watches it all unfold. Joan must be giddy with delight at witnessing such drama up close.

Mia comes up beside me, and I'm grateful. Her closeness is a reinforcement I need right now.

"Hello, granddaughter," Franco says finally.

"Hi."

Behind him, Santiago and Conrad catch my eye and dip their head at me. I look from them to Franco, surprised at their acknowledgment.

A beat of silence passes.

Then Franco grunts and walks away, his generals trailing in his wake.

When they're gone, the crowd returns to their own conversations. I can hear my name buzzing around until Mia grabs my elbow, leading me away from the guests and into a small alcove cut off from the rest of the space.

"What the heck was that about?" she asks me.

"I don't know. He's never acknowledged me as his family before, much less in public."

"Not Franco," she says impatiently. "Although, yeah, that was a new development. I'm talking about Dom. What did he want?"

"He was just being handsy," I admit with real disgust.

"What a scumbag."

"I basically told him that, and when I tried to walk away, he grabbed me."

"Ugh. He's like a toddler who doesn't understand no." Her annoyance flashes toward something deeper, so maybe I'm not the first person she knows who's been subjected to Dom's interest.

"Has he ever…put his hands on you?" I ask.

"What? No." She blows out a breath. "But there are others…"

My stomach sinks. "Someone has to stop him."

"Believe me, he's on my list."

Before I can ask exactly what list that is, Razor walks up.

"Where have you been?" Mia demands.

"Dutch said to keep an eye on the doors while he got the car."

She rolls her eyes. "Where's Grey? Did he finish talking to my father?"

"I haven't seen him," Razor says. "What's he talking to Charlie about?"

"I'm here," Grey says, joining us.

He looks distracted, and for a moment, I worry he heard Dom's comments and followed him outside. But there's no blood or sign of a fight. His suit is spotless and perfectly pressed as always.

"What is it?" he asks when he looks at me.

"Nothing," I say. "I was afraid you ran into Dom."

"Why would you—" One glance at Mia has him narrowing his eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing worth talking about here," Mia says, ushering us all toward the exit. "Come on. Car's waiting out front."

"What about Ramsey?" Razor asks.

I glance back to see Ramsey and his aunt standing in front of the casket. Her shoulders are bent forward and shaking. Ramsey has one arm wrapped around her in comfort, though his posture is stiff.

"Razor, you stay behind with him," Grey says. "I'll send Dutch back inside to help. Take him home and get him drunk if you can. We don't need him noticing anything off about tonight."

Razor nods then hurries off.

"Come on," Grey says to me and Mia. "You can both tell me everything in the car."