Chapter Thirty-One
I could easily forgive his pride,
if he had not mortified mine.
Jane Austen
present
Minka is angry at me, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
Since we relocated to the safe house a few weeks ago, we came to a tentative truce, but that ended last night when I told her that she couldn’t go to her sister’s play. Hell, that probably ended the night before that when I ditched her after she came.
But I couldn’t stay in the same room with her. Not when she was so fucking tempting, her perfect, naked body pressed against me and her face flushed from coming harder than I’d ever seen a woman come.
I shouldn’t have even indulged my attraction to her. I should have left as soon as I came into the safe house and saw her touching herself. But I couldn’t. She was like the best gift I’ve ever received, laying on the bed for me to unwrap and play with.
And when I finally saw her come undone, I forcibly reigned myself in as well as I could until I couldn’t stay in the same room as her any longer. I dashed out into the alleyway; whipped myself out; and like a fucking scumbag, jerked off in the empty alley to the image of her pretty pussy opened up in from me. The only saving grace was that I was hidden from view of the street by the giant blue trash container.
The real surprise, though, was yesterday, when she didn’t suggest that I give myself up to the blood debt. I’m still surprised that she hasn’t brought it up, especially since I can feel her anger radiating off of her in waves right now, as I park the car in the full graveled parking lot of an abandoned miniature market.
“What the heck?” she asks, smoothing down the dress I gave her earlier, a smoking hot, formfitting red number that reaches down to the middle of her thigh. Earlier, I had to force myself not to tear it off of her and demand a repeat of last time. “This is where they’re getting married?” For the first time since yesterday, she looks me in the eye. “Lucy’s not normal. At all.”
“None of this is normal,” I mutter, referring to us, but obviously I agree with her.
Ever since I met her, I’ve noticed that Lucy continually flirts with the border between sanity and insanity, but whatever. She’s happy, Asher’s happy, and I suppose at the end of the day that’s all that matters.
I give Minka my arm, and she reluctantly takes it, knowing she doesn’t have a cat’s chance in Hell of walking in her heels on this cobbled road unscathed without my help. I lead her to the front of the rundown, dilapidated building and knock on the door three times—one long knock, followed by two quick ones. The eye level slit on the door slides open, and we’re met with silence on the other end.
“Siamo qui per il matrimonio,” I say in perfect Italian, telling the guy that we’re here for the wedding.
“Nomi?”
“Niccolaio Andretti e Mink—”
The sound of the slit sliding shut cuts me off, and the door immediately opens after. My reputation must precede me, because the guard, probably an associate but no higher than a soldier, averts his eyes as he leads us down the musty hallways into a stairwell that only goes down.
Minka’s grip tightens on my arm, and I refrain from patting her hand reassuringly. She’d no doubt find a way to take offense to such a gesture. I slow my pace, so she can keep up on the wobbly stairwell in her spectacularly high heels. Once we reach the bottom, we’re greeted by a maze of tunnels.
“Where are we?” Minka whispers, but the resounding echo of the tunnels carries her voice loudly.
“During the prohibition era, the Romano boss had the bright idea of building tunnels that connected his businesses. They’re all over New York City. They used them to smuggle alcohol, which made them even more money than drugs did. We’ll be going to one of the old smuggling stops right now,” I reply, helping Minka into the golf cart.
“And where’s that?”
“The church.”
Minka mutters something, and knowing her, it was probably a PG-rated curse. We’re both silent as the guard drives us to the stairwell that exits into the church. As soon as we’re out of the golf cart, the guard, with his eyes still averted from me, murmurs a quiet salutation in Italian and leaves without another word.
“Why all the cloak and dagger?” Minka asks as we make our way up the stairs.
“To avoid paparazzi. We were assigned to that post, but there are several assigned routes for today in order to get all of the guests to the church in a timely manner.”
When the guard stationed at the top of the staircase opens the door for us, we’re greeted by the sight of John with Red Senior.
He glances past us quickly before doing a double take and approaching us, a resigned and reluctant expression on his face. “Nick. Minka,” he says, inclining his head slightly to each of us. “I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced you to Ashley.”
“Nice to properly meet you both,” Ashley says, hiding her uncertainty behind a shaky smile.
I notice that she has a ring on her ring finger.
“Congratulations!” someone says, approaching our small group and slapping John on the back. Ashley looks grateful for the interruption, and together the three of them leave us alone without another word.
I lead Minka down the aisle towards one of the rows in the middle. Usually, the groom’s friends and family sit on one side of the aisle while the wife’s family sit on the other, but the seating arrangement is open, since Lucy is a foster child with very few friends, except for some chick named Aimee. Speaking of Aimee, Lucy’s maid of honor, I make a mental note to stay clear of her. I’ve only heard bad things about her.
That she’s funny. Hilarious. A riot.
Gross.
“You’re grumpy again,” Minka remarks as we slide into one of the pews in the front.
“No, I’m not.”
She looks pointedly at the thinly set line of my mouth.
“Fine,” I admit, “maybe I’m a little grumpy. I don’t like weddings.”
“Why not?”
“Actually, I don’t like Romano weddings. Too many trigger happy people that have been taught all of their lives to hate someone with my last name.”
“And do they?”
“What?”
“Do they hate you because of your last name?”
“Y—” I cut myself off and really consider it. “Huh. They don’t.”
If I really think about it, they do avoid me and avert their eyes, but it’s not because I’m an Andretti. It’s because I’m the fixer. It’s the same reaction I’ve seen Asher garner, and I suspect that, like Asher, I’ll get these looks long after I retire from this position.
I’m startled by the realization, but now that I’m aware of it, it doesn’t take me long to figure out why it’s been years since I’ve been treated like a pariah thanks to my last name—Vincent Romano.
As the fixer, I’ve worked under his tutelage as the head of enforcement from the start, and he’s always been quick to punish people who have mistreated me. To set them straight with the words of a well-respected man. And in the rare chance that didn’t work, to force them into submission.
I look diagonally across the aisle at Vincent Romano, wanting to study him after this revelation. But I frown when I see him. Something’s off about him tonight. He looks a little ragged, a little less put together.
In normal circumstances, this would be concerning… but this isn’t a normal circumstance. This is Asher’s wedding, which makes it even more alarming, because we all know Vincent would give up his life to make this day perfect for the man he considers to be his son.
One glance at Asher standing before the Romano boss, who was ordained to complete the ceremony, and I can tell that Asher sees it, too, because he keeps glancing at Vincent when he should be clearing his mind and focusing on Lucy and this wedding.
I make eye contact with Asher, and he quirks a questioning eyebrow in Vincent’s direction. I shrug, hoping it conveys my confusion. Asher nods, his frown deepening, but it immediately clears when the wedding music begins to play and the flower girl, one of Vincent’s nieces, Bastian’s youngest sister, starts walking slowly down the aisle and tossing flower petals or some shit.
I ignore the procession of women and men walking down the aisle, glad that Asher didn’t bother asking me to be one of his groomsmen, because we both know that I’d hate it and do a shit job of planning everything except the bachelor party.
Next to Minka, one of the notoriously handsy caporegimes tries to subtly scoot closer to her. I cut him a glare so harsh it quickly takes care of that problem.
Minka looks startled by my reaction before amusement and a dash of determination quickly take over her features. “For someone who was so quick to run a couple of nights ago, you sure are possessive.” Her tone adopts a teasing lilt, but I suspect she’s serious when she says, “You know, it would be great if you could get over this crush you have on me.”
I barely refrain from scowling. “I don’t have a crush.”
“Then, what do you call this?” she asks, gesturing to our proximity and the way I’ve angled my body to ward off other unwanted assholes.
I sigh in resignation, putting a little distance between us, not even bothering to wonder why she says half of the shit she says. She wasn’t complaining when I was watching her come undone in front of me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?” I ask.
Her eyes widen slightly, like she’s just remembering that she doesn’t like me, and she returns her attention to the wedding. Aimee, Lucy’s maid of honor, and Asher’s best man, some friend he knows from his childhood, have finally reached the end of the aisle, and everyone has turned their attention to the entrance, where Lucy is now standing.
Sometime in the past ten minutes, Vincent exited the room from the side and made his way to the entrance, where he’s now escorting Lucy down the aisle. When she passes the first row, Lucy sends a beaming smile to one of the older ladies sitting on the pew, who I recognize as Lucy’s former social worker from one of the background searches I conducted when I finally learned Lucy’s real name.
When I return my eyes to Asher, I see something flash in his eyes. Nerves, maybe? I doubt it. Then again, he is about to hitch himself to Lucy, who’s weird as fuck, for all of eternity. And that’s exactly what’s happening.
For. All. Of. Fucking. Eternity.
After all, Asher doesn’t do things half assed.
I know this because when he offered me refuge in Romano territory after I saved his life, he set me up with a forty million dollar brownstone, a high-paying job and eventually two security guards from Black Security. And just when I thought that was the end of the surprises, he took me by surprise again by befriending me.
And as Lucy and Asher exchange vows and give each other genuine promises of forever, I find myself pushing aside my derision for marriage and wondering what it would be like to find someone who I’d like to spend forever with. Or, baby steps, the type of woman I’d like to date to begin with.
Whoever she is would have to be able to put up with my asshole tendencies. She’d have to be fierce and capable of one Hell of a mean streak. Nice girls are overrated. Sure, I want a woman who can be kind, but I also want her to have a spine. One hell of a backbone. Preferably one that leads to an ass as fine as Minka’s.
Hell, who am I kidding?
It’s Minka I want.