Benny snorts into his glass.
I rub my forehead, and Natalia’s face burns as her eyes meet mine in panic.
“Natalia doesn’t need to worry about the Lombardis,” I reply.
“Really?” Gigi stares at me, blinking. “You and Vincent worked out your issues?”
I shake my head. “No, but they know not to cross me.”
“They’d marry even if every Lombardi in the world were dead,” Benny comments with a shit-eating grin.
Natalia covers her face and sinks down in her chair.
I shoot my son a stern look and rub at the sudden tension in my neck. I’m not concerned about the results of a grudge from my daughter over my being with her best friend. I’m more worried about Natalia’s feelings regarding it. I don’t want her friendship with my daughter to suffer because of our new relationship.
The dining room turns quiet for a moment as we all wait for where this conversation will lead.
It has to happen—it will happen—but is this the right place?
Gigi signals between Natalia and me, and her face turns horrified. “Wait … is this a real, real thing?”
It seems my daughter didn’t think this all the way through when she suggested we get married.
Benny chuckles. “I was hoping I’d be here for this shit.”
“Natalia and I are still getting married,” I tell her.
Natalia blows out a breath. “I think this is the time where I tell you that your father and I aren’t”—she pauses, choosing the best words—“faking a relationship.”
Gigi’s eyes widen, and she takes her glass of wine and chugs it. “You’re going to be my stepmom …”
“You’ve known this since you came up with the idea of us marrying,” I tell her.
“At least you won’t have to say you hate your stepmother,” Benny comments.
“Shut up, Benny,” I snap.
The table is quiet for a moment before Gigi looks at me, straight-faced, and says, “You’d better not break her heart, Dad.”
I thrum my fingers along my cheek. “That’s not something you’ll have to worry about.”
Natalia clears her throat. “Can we go back to the Italy conversation?”
“Shoot.” Gigi snaps her fingers. “I was going to tell you to come with me next time because hot guys and all, but apparently, that’s off-limits now.”
“Going to Italy? That’s fine,” I answer my daughter, but my eyes are on Natalia. “Finding hot guys? I’d prefer not to commit murder there. I hear their prisons aren’t easy to bribe yourself out of.”
“Hiya, Dad,” Gigi greets when she strolls into my office after barely knocking on the door.
It seems the women in my life are the ones who believe there are no rules when it comes to my office.
I shove my paperwork to the side and relax in my chair. “Hi, honey.”
She rolls her shoulders back as she plops down in a chair. “So … you and Natalia?”
It’s not surprising she wants to continue this conversation. She thankfully let it go during dinner, but I figured she’d have more questions … or want to talk more shit to me. Men fear getting attitudes with me, but my daughter acts like it’s second nature. Many Mafia men would’ve corrected that long ago.
My father smacked Helena around plenty of times.
So did other men in my family.
Not me with Gigi.
I had one uncle who attempted to raise a hand to my daughter. Rocky held him down while I shot a bullet through each one of his hands.
“Are getting married, yes,” I reply, running a hand over my jaw. “Don’t give her a hard time on that.”
She holds up a finger. “A.) She’s my best friend. I’d never.” Another finger goes up. “B.) It’s better than having a stepmother I can’t stand … or one who tells me to eat more vegetables.”
I cock my head to the side. “No one has ever told you that.”
She’s never even had a stepmother.
“Nor do I want it to start.” She smirks.
“Get out of here.” I shake my head and wave toward the door.
“That was me saying, I approve.” She crosses her legs and blows out a breath. “I also appreciate that it gives me a free pass.”
“Excuse me?”
“A free pass to date whoever I want because all I’ll need to say is, Well, you married my best friend.”
“Sometimes, I hate that you’re such a Marchetti.” I grab a pen and twirl it around my fingers. “Anything else I need to hear you talk shit about?”
Her tone turns serious. “Don’t go to war with the Lombardis.”
“If they try to fuck with me, I will.” My words come out slower. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to?”
She pretends to examine her fingernails. “Of course not.”
“Gigi, secrets don’t stay secrets for long.”
“Good night, Daddy.” She hops up from her chair. “I’ll give you your fiancée back when I’m done hanging out with her.”
CHAPTER 39
NATALIA
My wedding day depicts the chaos that I’m marrying into.
Rain pelts the colors of the stained glass windows in the church’s bridal suite.
“Is this a bad omen?” I ask, pinching my pink lips together. “Don’t they say rain on your wedding day represents the number of tears a woman will shed during their marriage?”
This is what I get for Googling bad omens at weddings.
My father always told me that Google was bad for me.
“No, no, Natalia,” Helena says, swatting her hand in front of me, as if smacking the damaging thoughts from my brain. “Rain on your wedding day is good luck.”
“She’s right.” Celine steps behind me and slides the sparkly comb of my veil through my curls. “Rain on your wedding day means the knot you’re tying becomes wet and harder to break, making your marriage stronger.”
“How about we don’t believe in omens?” Gigi stands behind me and squeezes my shoulder. “Now, if someone gets shot today, that’ll be a bad sign.”
Helena swats Gigi the same as she did me. “Giana Marchetti! Do not jinx us like that!”
Gigi shrugs. “It’s not like it’d be the first wedding shoot-out I’ve attended.”
I grimace. “Oh, yes, because I literally need a shotgun wedding.”
Violence at our wedding is a concern Cristian and I spoke about yesterday. He told me about his aunt dying from a gunshot at her wedding reception. My hands shook as I asked him why he’d tell me that the night before our wedding. He answered that even though Vinny was dead, there will always be threats, and I need to remain on alert, even on our wedding day.
“Most men wouldn’t dare shoot a man or woman in the house of God. They’ll at least wait until the reception.”
Everyone falls silent, and everyone whips around at the unfamiliar voice. Panic smacks into me harder than the rain against the window as I watch a woman move toward us. The room is small, so it doesn’t take long until she’s behind me.