Chapter Two

Renzo

You could cut the tension in the church with a fucking knife.

Neither side of the aisle was happy about this arrangement.

The Costas felt like they’d been forced into something, that they had to offer up one of their girls like a sacrificial lamb.

And my family, well, they weren’t exactly thrilled about a Costa in our midst. They’d been enemies of our organization for many years, and no one trusted having one of them in the inner circle.

In the end, though, I was the boss.

This was my decision.

And they had to fall in line.

Only half of my crew was seated, shifting uncomfortably in their suits unlike the Costas who were practically strapped into suits while they were still in diapers.

The rest of my people were standing in the wings, scattered around the cathedral, armed and ready to act if this shit went sideways.

My gaze was on one of my men at the side of the building who was watching something in the crowd that had me on edge as the sounds of The Bridal March drifted up to the high ceilings of the church.

No one stood.

Like we all knew any sudden movement could cause chaos to break out with how tense everyone was about this gathering.

When my man in the wings relaxed, I turned toward the aisle, finally getting a look at my bride as she walked to me.

All the Costa women were gorgeous, so I hadn’t even bothered to look into which one they’d decided to have me marry.

And she was that.

Gorgeous.

She was short and slight, so small it seemed crazy that the family put the weight of this alliance on her petite shoulders, with long, dark hair, and a sweet, round face dominated by dark blue eyes.

I’d hoped for pretty. And I got it.

What I didn’t expect, though, was how fucking young she was. She couldn’t be older than twenty, twenty-one. A fucking baby, really, to be handed off to a man her family didn’t know from Adam.

The fuck were they thinking?

I’d half-expected to turn to find some eighty-year-old widow walking toward me. And, technically, they’d be within the terms of our agreement to do so.

But no.

Here was my bride.

A kid, really, climbing up the steps to stand beside me, making me all the more aware of how small she was with how I towered over her.

To her family, I had to look like a predator about to devour its prey.

I didn’t hear a fucking thing the priest droned on and on about concerning the sanctity of marriage. There was nothing holy about this union.

I found myself turning toward Lore at the right time, though, looking down and noticing for the first time that her hands were clasped tightly together, not wrapped around a bouquet of flowers.

I’d ordered one, I was sure. There weren’t a lot of details I’d needed to iron out, so I knew what I’d done.

Sent the engagement ring to her house along with cash she’d need to buy a dress.

Reserved the church.

Made sure the bridal suite had anything she might need in it.

Bought the wedding bands.

And ordered a bouquet from a local florist.

But here she was, without it.

It seemed for the best, though, since she had no one to hand it off to when I had to reach for her hand to say my vows.

Only to find her shaking like a goddamn leaf.

Costas.

Fucking animals subjecting this kid to some unknown fate.

But here we were.

It was too late to go back now.

So I slid the ring on her tiny finger as I said my vows, then felt her cold fingers on my hand as she said hers, her voice trembling, barely loud enough for me and the priest to hear, then slid the ring on my finger.

I’d made sure ahead of the time to talk to the priest about not making room for objections, and not including words like ‘love’ in our vows, and also not to declare it was time to kiss the bride.

I was pretty sure Lore’s father and brothers would say Fuck the alliance, charge up to the altar, and skin me alive if they had to sit through that.

As soon it was done, it was time to go.

Before the Costas decided that they didn’t want this alliance after all.

We had to get the hell out of Dodge before shit went down.

In the car, I yanked at my tie and unbuttoned several buttons, unaccustomed to wearing suits, save for funerals.

Sure, the idea of the mob these days was all designer suits, silk ties, and ten-thousand-dollar watches.

But my organization had always been a little more rough around the edges. We hadn’t been raised in cushy brownstones in Manhattan. Most of us crawled out of the cracks of the most dangerous neighborhood in Brooklyn.

The backseat was quiet as we drove from the church to the apartment building, and I didn’t know what the fuck to say, so I said nothing.

“So, are you just not going to talk to your wife?” Rico, my driver, and one of my oldest friends, asked as we stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building.

“The fuck am I supposed to say?” I asked, shaking my head. “She looks like she’d drop dead if I accidentally talk too fucking loud.”

“I know I’ve said it about fifty times already,” Rico said. “But this was a really bad fucking idea.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I heard you the last fifty times. You want a war with the Costas?” I asked. “Do I need to remind you that a war with them means one with the Morellis, D’Onofrios, and even the fucking Espositos?”

There were five New York crime families.

All of them had marriage-based alliances now.

Against us.

The only way to ensure equal footing against them was this marriage.

Whether any of us wanted to accept that or not.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “You want me to go get some food? Been a long-ass day.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, then watching him walk off before turning back to the SUV to notice Lore hadn’t even climbed out of the car yet.

With a sigh, I walked toward the car, pulling open the door.

“Come on, mouse,” I said, waiting for her to climb out before leading her into the building.

The silence on the way up was painful.

I had no fucking idea what to say to this woman who would now be in my apartment all the time.

Women tended to fall into two categories for me.

Ones I wanted to fuck, so I charmed them.

And the ones I worked with—being the only crime family I knew of in the entire United States that allowed female capos—in which case, I talked to them about work shit.

Lore fell into an in-between that I didn’t know how to navigate.

A woman who would be an intimate part of my life, but one I didn’t need to flirt with. We were already married.

And she sure as shit was nothing like the female capos in my organization. Women with ice in their veins and venom on their lips. I damn sure couldn’t talk to Lore the way I’d speak to them.

So I said nothing as we moved into the apartment, making a beeline for the bar, in desperate need of a drink. Or ten.

It had been a stressful fucking day.

I heard the quiet click of Lore’s heels, stopping just a few feet inside of the door. Likely having no goddamn idea what to do, where to go.

A fish out of water.

I was saved, though, by the door opening behind her, making her gasp, before Elian called out in his usual, rough voice, “I’m here, boss.”

I nodded at that as I lifted my glass, and threw back the liquid fire.

Refilled.

And threw that back as well.

By the time I filled the third glass, I could hear Elian speaking to Lore.

Ever my right-hand man.

I knew he had this shit covered.

So I walked through the apartment, and closed myself in my office, needing a moment of peace and quiet to get my thoughts together.

By the time I emerged, Lore was gone.

And the apartment was full of my men, food, booze, and music.

A wedding party, it seemed.

Minus the bride.

Who never reemerged.

I tried to tell myself that was probably for the best.

But I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her as the party raged on, getting louder as everyone got drunker.

Those big blue eyes on me as she came down the aisle.

Her delicate hand in mine.

My ring on her finger.

And all the implications that came with that.

The party showed no signs of dying down as the day finally got the better of me, making me sneak away unnoticed, and head upstairs toward my bedroom.

I moved inside, closing the door, and muffling the sounds below.

Somehow, despite marrying the woman, despite moving her into my apartment, I didn’t expect to see her right there in my room.

But there she was.

Changed out of the wedding dress.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in a buttery pink silk robe, the shoulder slipped down to reveal a slash of skin and the strap of what seemed like another silky pink piece of clothing.

Lingerie?

I hadn’t been expecting that.

Hell, I hadn’t anticipated consummating my marriage at all, to be honest, since I’d been half-expecting an eighty-year-old.

But, I don’t know, maybe my mind could be changed on that…