6. Cristiano

C ristiano

I turn back to the conversation and try to curb my flaring nostrils.

Cazzo.

If the sight of that woman in a red silk fucking slip wasn't enough to make me itchy and irritable, then the sheer balls on her could make me feverish.

I saw the mug out the corner of my eye the second she walked into the room. It's as if our bodies are connected through heat. Whenever she comes within a few feet of me, my skin burns. I felt it in the bar, then again in the church, and I felt it just now as she entered the room.

Part of me wanted to crack up laughing at her little joke, because the nerve it takes to serve something like that to a Di Santo ... But I'm here representing my brother, the don , and it won't do to find practical jokes amusing.

"As Savero has said, this alliance will be beneficial in many ways ..."

I turn my attention back to her father, though my gaze wants to remain on the door she just disappeared through. "How so?"

"Not only will it strengthen our defenses at the port and open up opportunities for a broader variety of shipments ..."

Well put.

I've been under the impression Tony Castellano doesn't have much say in this "alliance," but it seems he's just as on board with it as my brother is. Either that or he's putting on a damn good show. I suppose there's nothing like opportunistic butchery to incentivize loyalty.

"... it will also mean we can join forces against some of our common enemies, such as the Marchesis."

My eyes narrow. "What do you have against the Marchesis?"

Tony pauses, and grief floods through me. I know that pause.

"They killed my wife, the mother of my four girls. Right in front of Trilby."

I suck in a ragged breath as pieces of a puzzle fall into place. I knew I'd heard his daughter's name somewhere before. "Fuck," I say softly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

The temptation to kick myself is real. I haven't forgotten the bartender's explanation of why Tony's eldest daughter only ventures out drinking once a year, but it never occurred to me her mother might have been murdered, and I never would have dreamed she was at the scene when it happened.

My stomach twists into a guilty knot. We're not so different, the Castellano girl and me, after all. I lost my mother at seventeen, ten years ago; she lost hers at fifteen, five years ago. Both our moms were killed by the Marchesis. The biggest difference between us is that I was allowed to leave the Cosa Nostra, while she's about to be swallowed up by it whole.

"Appreciate it." Tony sighs tightly. "They were sending a message."

I rarely use the gun in my waistband—I carry it out of habit more than anything—but right now it's warming my back, making its presence known.

"What kind of message?" I ask.

"They didn't like that I was working with your father. They offered me bigger contracts, greater profits, but I refused to work with them."

"Why?"

Tony turns to me, and the emotion in his features is genuine. "I respected your father. I know a lot of what he did was below the law, but at least he did it with integrity. He had principles, and that's hard to find in anyone these days."

Sadness curls a fist around my heart. Since finding out about my father's passing, I haven't given myself a moment to grieve—but it will come, along with a barrage of guilt for having fled so young and stayed away for so long.

Tony exhales heavily. "With the opportunities my port can offer and the partnerships your brother is looking to develop, we may be able to drive the Marchesis out of New York altogether."

Although I don't always agree with my brother's approach, the blood in my veins runs hot. "I agree."

Tony stops and looks at me. "Are you back in the family? I know your father hoped you'd return."

"No, I'm not. And I'm only staying a short while, then I'm heading back to Vegas."

"It's a shame," Tony says. "I like you."

I smile. "You should probably keep that to yourself."

"Ah, who fucking cares? We're in business now."

"Correction—you and my brother are in business. I simply run casinos. I have good connections with the authorities. Valuable ones. They'd be seriously compromised if I were to come back into the family."

We both stand and button our jackets.

"But you're loyal to Savero, no?" he asks.

"Of course I am."

"You would never side with the authorities?"

"Not when it comes to family."

Tony side-eyes me. I know what he's thinking.

"I prefer to think of it not as hypocrisy but compartmentalizing," I explain.

He grins. "He's lucky to have such a loyal brother."

I'm pleased Tony can't see my face as I follow him to the dining room. Savero doesn't see it that way. He puts on a good show to the rest of our "family," but I know he's counting the hours until I leave. He's never particularly wanted me around, and I've never known why. Still, I can't afford to hold a grudge.

"I'm lucky to have him," I say. "He saved my life when I was eight years old. I'd never dream of being anything but loyal."

Tony rests a hand on the back of a chair and turns to face me. "What happened?"

I push my hands into my pockets to keep them from fidgeting restlessly. Telling this story stirs up strange emotions I can't always explain.

"We were playing down by our boathouse. Nonni, my grandfather, used to keep a boat down there, and we'd sometimes sneak on board with some sodas and hide from our father. This one evening, we were play-fighting, and I fell overboard. I wasn't an experienced swimmer back then, so when I kicked my legs, they got caught up in one of the boat ropes, and I was pulled under. Savero dove in and cut me free."

Tony simply stares at me. It's a common reaction. I've given up trying to explain any further, because it is what it is. Savero saved me from drowning, and I will be forever indebted to him for that.

"Good heavens. That sounds horrific."

"Yeah, well, thankfully, I don't remember too much about it."

"That was some quick thinking on his part." There's awe in Tony's voice, which isn't something I hear very often when it comes to my brother. "He must have had a knife or something. Boat ropes are tough old things."

"Hmm." I pause. "I haven't given much thought to the details, to be honest. I was just glad to be alive."

" Cavolo ," Tony says quietly. "He saved your life."

"He did, and I will never be able to repay him. We don't often see eye to eye anymore, and we go about our businesses very differently, but we're blood, and I will always support him in one way or another."

"That makes him a very lucky man." Tony says, a belated smile not reaching his eyes. "Please, take a seat. I'll go see where dinner is."

My throat is suddenly dry, and I could use a moment. "Actually, do you mind if I use your restroom?"

I follow Tony's directions down the hall and close the restroom door behind me. Then I stare at my reflection in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, I don't feel sure of my next move, and for someone who runs casinos for a living, that's not a good place to be.

I like Tony. He doesn't deserve to be handing over his life's work and his eldest daughter to someone who only has eyes for blood, gore and a quick, dirty buck. Although Father's business ventures were hardly legal, they weren't short-termist, and there was at least some political motivation, some rational thought, behind them. Savero is like a hyperactive kid in a china shop; he doesn't care what he breaks, as long as he gets a kick out of it and enough money to blow on a lineup of hookers. I don't agree with the way he does business, and neither did our father.

I splash some cold water onto my face. It isn't just the conversation with Tony that's turned up my inner temperature—it's been flaring since the second his daughter opened the door. She can't be given to my brother. He won't have the first clue what to do with a thinking, feeling human who doesn't expect payment for her services.

When I first met her, I thought she was meek and misguided, but the more I learn about the Castellano girl, the more I see a kind of fire behind her eyes that she can't help but release. But then as soon as she does, she shuts down as if it's the worst thing she could have done.

I'm under no illusions about what life is like for Cosa Nostra women. My mother was one after all. I know what the expectations are.

The Castellano girl is doing everything in her power to appear the perfect potential Mafia wife, but there's more to her than a pretty dress and polished words. I've seen glimpses of her true character, and it's only served to whet my appetite. I want to know exactly who my future sister-in-law is, and importantly, how the hell she's going to handle my brother.

I press the towel to my face and close my eyes. An image of her walking across the bar, her white dress fluttering around her thighs, glides across my lids. I brace my hands on the vanity and stare down at the faucet. I can never conjure that image again. Not if I'm to get through the rest of my life with her as a sister .

As I wrench open the restroom door, I immediately collide with something soft, smooth, and rippling . Castellano falls backward and only misses hitting the wall because I've got a hand wrapped around her arm.

A gasp parts her lips, and I realize I've just broken the only promise I've ever made to myself.

I was never meant to touch her again.

And now ... it's too late.