I growled, “I am no fool.”
Strong hands gripped my face before he kissed my forehead. “Then stop acting foolish.”
“I can see—”
“Is your name now Mrs. Rossi?”
“Father—”
Those strong hands shook my head. “Every day. Let’s make every one of them count.”
My heart split open.
There it was. The truth.
Like a child, I rushed and wrapped my arms around his midsection so I could hide in his shoulder while clinging to the life still inside him.
Arms that were already weakening held me to him. He chuckled “I hope the rest of my security team doesn’t expect this treatment.”
I forced a laugh, searching for the strength to become a numb Suit again, and pulled away. “Maybe the jeweler would like such affection when he arrives?”
Straightening his suit jacket, he rolled his eyes. “He’s already a pain in the ass and doesn’t even arrive until tomorrow.” The man was Italian but lived where the dollars were being made: New York City. “His wife and daughter, the following day.”
I nodded. “Yes. Pietro gave us the details.”
The front door opened, and Mr. Giordano exited his house. “The clever one has returned.”
I wasn’t accustomed to watching the two men interact and was surprised at the endearing embrace. Afterward, my father was full of respect. “Sir, I have returned at your request.”
“Thank you. Thank you. I wish for my son’s union to commence with no interruptions. Good for business. Good for business.” He guided my father away. “Let us talk over brandy.”
Two days later, many Giordanos were in the back yard with the brothers’ wives and visiting family members. Tables were set up, and they were enjoying refreshments Mrs. Rossi and her kitchen staff had made. Their clothing—dresses and spring attire—and snotty laughter were grating on my nerves, which seemed to be on fire for no apparent reason.
Maybe it was the fact that my father needed rest, not to be a tour guide for an unappreciative stranger. The jeweler’s every step was full of arrogance and undeserved royalty as he walked around the house, eyeing us Suits as if we were beneath his standards.
As the tour continued, my father would point out the security cameras and triggers for alarms throughout the property, explaining all the measures he had taken to provide the best protection possible.
The jeweler pointed up to the third floor of the Giordano house. “She is to be high. On top. Where she belongs.”
I was thankful to be wearing dark sunglasses so my rolling eyes couldn’t be seen.
In the backyard, my father gestured to Mateo, who was at the back door like a nosey weasel, watching and practically slobbering over the money his fiancé would inherit someday.
Being summoned, Mateo straightened his shoulders and walked to them with his head high and smug.
Speaking to him, my father also pointed up. “Mateo, would you be willing to relocate your sleeping quarters for Miss Toscano?”
The weasel replied, “For her? Anything!”
The father boasted, “That’s my boy!”
Giordano kids were playing ball and running around screaming as if they knew no better, but I could still hear Pietro advise, “The wedding coordinator is here,” over my earpiece.
My father spoke into his wrist, “Escort her to the library.”
Cristian and Pietro were handling the front of the property while Sal and I watched over the rear of the lavish home being overrun by the hoity of the toity-est. I had no idea Mateo could get worse, but there he was. And there I was, with a gun, trained to spare my life for his, if needed.
I was thankful Isabella chose not to participate. These people couldn’t measure up to her, even though they considered themselves above her, due to her unwanted past.
From across the yard, Sal approached me. I assumed he was going to warn me that I wasn’t hiding my irritation very well, but his expression was of much concern.
My chest tightened before I quietly asked, “What is it?”
“There is something I haven’t told you.”
My body jolted. He told me everything. “Your mamma?”
He gazed at the ground. “No, she is well.”
“Sal, you are scaring me. What is it?”
Over our earpieces, we heard, “The bride is here.”
Sal tried to explain, “There is nothing you can do, Angelo.”
My ear vibrated with my father’s voice, “Escort the bride to the library.”
“About what?” I asked my best friend.
“She doesn’t want you to save her.”
I grabbed my stomach. Isabella. Is that why the other three brothers weren’t outside? Had Isabella not come down because of them? Were they antagonizing her as they did after the balcony incident?
Sal called out my name as I took off running into the home through the rear door, racing to get to the stairs and find Isabella. I would’ve done anything to protect her, but it wasn’t her that was in trouble. It was the young woman being escorted into the foyer.
Noemi.
Cristian lifted a brow as I skidded to a stop, Sal running into my back.
Noemi was in a spring dress that reached below her knees, and she wore makeup and jewelry and had her hair expertly piled on top of her head. The natural girl I had fallen in love with had been replaced with another rich elite.
No.
I took a step back.
Sal moved with me.
We both just kept backing up, together, yet I felt completely alone. My mind raced back to the last night I saw her. How, once I had finally woken on the river’s edge, Sal’s expression was so stoic it spooked me. Why didn’t I ask more questions? Why didn’t I insist on answers? Those were the questions that would haunt me because Sal knew. He knew and didn’t tell me.
I was instantly angry at someone I thought could never make me mad.
And I was irate with the girl who was staring at me, pity in her unforgettable green eyes.
When our shift was over, we wandered into the vineyard for Pietro and Cristian’s nicotine addiction that needed attention. Sal and I had yet to speak to each other. It was for the best. Any shared words would have led us to an argument in front of the Giordano family. The Giordano family which now included Noemi. For hours, I had to stand there and watch over the woman I loved while another doted over her in the back yard, trying to impress anyone who gave a fuck. Which seemed to be no one but me.
Stewing with rage and hurt, I kicked dirt as Cristian and Pietro lit up their cigarettes.
Pietro suspiciously eyed me. “Our brooder is extra brooder-y this early evening.”
When I refused to reply, Cristian asked, “What was with your reaction in the foyer?”
My eyes raced to Sal’s. “It was about lying friends.”
Pietro and Cristian’s eyes almost popped from their sockets. I had never spoken about Sal this way before.
Sal’s jaw locked. “I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t prepare me, either.”
His shoulders caved. “Angelo, you would have tried to save her from a future that can’t be denied.”
“I thought this fiancé lived in New York!”
Sal exhaled. “Only her father. Noemi, as you know, has been here all along, free to—” He suddenly remembered we weren’t alone and stared at the two older Suits with hanging jaws.