I only have another couple of hours of faking, so I can stomach the charade for a little longer.
She clutches my arm, preening and pouting for the waiting cameramen as we walk into the hotel.
It takes enormous effort to act lovingly toward my supposed fiancée and to laugh and joke with her father as we enjoy a sumptuous meal in the ballroom of one of the finest hotels in New York, but I do it because I can’t tip him off. He’s watching me like a hawk, and an offhand look or glint of anger would give the game away.
Around me are two hundred guests I hope won’t get caught in the crosshairs. A few of my men have been tasked with discreetly ushering guests outside, in small groups, just before this kicks off, but we can’t evacuate the entire room without sounding alarm bells.
I have chosen my guests carefully and vetted all of them on DeLuca’s side. Everyone here either has ties to The Outfit, is loyal to the New York dons, or they are clients of my establishments. The hotel owner is one of my best clients, and I send a ton of business his way. He will be compensated for any and all damage, and I’ll ensure no adverse press appears in the media about the hotel. That should be enough to assuage him and keep his silence.
No one will speak out about the events here today.
Unless they don’t value breathing.
Armed soldiers and bodyguards from The Outfit and the New York famiglias surround the room and mingle with the guests. Invisible tension ripples through the air, and the room silently groans in anticipation.
DeLuca stands as the hotel manager materializes, handing him a microphone. I keep my fake smile smeared across my mouth as I listen to him drone on about how proud he is of Saskia.
Serena sits glumly beside Gifoli, at our table, glaring at me any chance she gets. I don’t know what DeLuca has told her and Georgia, but they aren’t buying it anymore. She’s been blowing up my phone all week, but I have avoided talking to her because I couldn’t risk incurring DeLuca’s wrath. Georgia is putting on a good front, but there was no masking her fear when the dinner started without her youngest daughter. If Serena and Georgia didn’t know what was going on before, I think it’s blatantly obvious now.
“I’d like you all to stand and raise a toast,” DeLuca concludes as Saskia snuggles into my side, tilting her face up expectantly. “To the happy couple.”
“To the happy couple” is chorused around the room as champagne glasses are raised.
I pry Saskia off me and stand, reaching for the mic. “I would like to say a few words.”
DeLuca sends me a warning look. This wasn’t part of the plans for the evening, and he doesn’t like that I’m going off course. “Relax,” I tell him, snatching the mic from his hands. “I just want to tell our assembled guests how deeply I’m in love with your daughter.” I flash him a dark look, pushing him roughly into his seat. “Have a drink. You look like you need it.”
Saskia frowns while Gifoli straightens in his seat, glancing around. My eyes briefly meet Barretta’s across the table, and shared understanding flows between us.
“Thank you all for coming.” My voice projects confidently and loudly around the room. “My fiancée and I are grateful to know so many wonderful people who are willing to share in our joy. You see, I have known my beloved since she was young, and she has always been the love of my life. She is the only one who has ever captured my heart, and it has always belonged to her.”
Oohs and aahs ring out around the room as I notice my men sneaking guests out a side door. Briefly, my eyes land on Chantel LaCroix. I suspected she might come with her politician daddy. Her scowl is large enough to cast a dark shadow over proceedings if I gave a shit about her, which I don’t.
I continue. “Recently, I discovered she gave me the greatest gift of all—my son.”
DeLuca grins, the stress easing from his face. He still thinks I’m talking about Saskia. After all, he wants me to pretend she is Rowan’s mother—as if I would ever agree to that.
The main entrance doors to the room open, and my heart thumps wildly behind my chest as Brando’s broad shoulders sweep Sierra into the room. I didn’t realize how tightly I was wearing my fear—how stressed my muscles were, or how heavy my thoughts were—until this very moment when I lay eyes on the love of my life, and my knees almost buckle with sheer relief.
My jaw slackens as my gaze rakes over her for the first time in six days. She is a vision in an exquisite layered red silk dress that clings to her gorgeous curves. Since her birthday, I have loved seeing her in red. The color compliments her skin tone and her golden blonde hair perfectly. Unlike Saskia’s low neckline and gaping cleavage—leaving nothing to the imagination—Sierra’s dress only offers a glimpse of creamy skin, hinting at the beautiful breasts underneath. Her hair is newly washed and styled, perfectly glossy and shiny, falling in soft sensual waves down her back. As usual, she isn’t wearing much makeup, but she never needs it because she steals my breath every time I look at her.
“Mazzone,” DeLuca hisses under his breath, pinning me with a stern look, urging me to continue my speech or end it. He hasn’t noticed who my gaze has strayed to, but Saskia has. She swivels on her chair, and it almost happens in slow motion. Alessandro and Ciro emerge to flank Sierra on both sides as Brando protects her from the rear. Sierra holds her head up high as she walks with poise toward me, looking far more beautiful than any other woman in the room.
Saskia almost falls off her chair, and her eyes widen in shock when she sees her younger sister striding toward us. “What the fuck is going on?” she barks, turning around and piercing me with venomous eyes. “Daddy. He can’t do this to me!” she wails, standing as I move toward Sierra.
“Ah, there she is. My real fiancée. The only woman I have ever loved and will ever love,” I say into the mic, pushing past Saskia and stretching my arm out for Sierra.
She runs the last few feet, and though I want to run to her, I won’t leave her exposed. I need to keep DeLuca, Gifoli, and Saskia in my line of vision because I don’t trust any of them not to start shooting.
Hushed murmurs and shocked glances float around the room as Sierra throws herself at me. My arm bands around her slender frame, holding her close, and every muscle in my body relaxes temporarily at the feel of her delicate curves flush against me.
“Ben.” She places one hand on my hip, cradling her other hand against her chest. It’s wrapped in a bandage and clearly hurting her.
I glare at Brando because he never told me she was injured. He has the decency to look sheepish, and I rein in my anger because without him Sierra wouldn’t be standing here.
I’m glad I chose to plant a man in the rank and file, just after I found Rowan and reconnected with Sierra. I wanted to have someone on the inside of The Outfit while my family was in Chicago. It’s a pity Brando wasn’t aware of Ian’s betrayal in time to stop the kidnapping, but that was a closely guarded secret for a reason. He only realized what had happened when Ian threw Sierra into the van that day, and by then, it was too late.
At least he has wiped that scourge from the Earth, along with the rest of the assholes who were involved in my fiancée’s kidnapping. I know Leo and Frank wanted to be the ones to deal with their cousin, but this could only happen today, a few hours before the ceremony, and I couldn’t spare either of them at the last minute.