Right now, though, Angelo’s goal aligned with mine, so I would focus on the task at hand.
Lucia lit up anytime she discussed wedding plans with her sisters, so I arranged for her to meet with the woman my father had hired as a wedding planner. Angelo Cavetti did nothing halfway. He cared about people’s loyalty to him, but he cared almost as much about appearances. My father liked to intimidate in this manner. This was why our family must always have the best and most expensive of everything.
Where I and my brothers chose our nine-millimeter Glocks for their ease of use, my father’s weapon of choice was a Desert Eagle .50 because of its larger-caliber and noise level. The thing had a kickback that could knock down even Vittorio, when he’d still been alive. It was all about show, as were the twenty individual vehicles we owned ranging from a Rolls Royce to a handful of Lamborghinis that were rarely driven.
There were rooms in our mansion that were cleaned and meticulously decorated but never used. All this so we could compete with the other more established crime families. This was a fallacy in my view. I’d begun to see that competition might not be what we should be aiming for. At least not that way.
We’d gained number one title through generations of deceit, through the recent toppling of the Bonifacio empire, and through the taking out the leaders of other rival families. But I doubted that we could ever hold the true allegiance of those we reigned over. That meant when it was my turn as the patriarch, I’d have to either keep mowing down any competition or make inroads of peace like my late brother Gianni had advised. At this point, I wondered if peace was even possible.
I checked in on Lucia as she mixed and matched bouquets of various types of flowers with the wedding planner. Everywhere I looked I spotted swaths of white lace and silk, saucers of so many flavors of cake my quarters smelled like a bakery, and mounds of jewelry featuring pearls and diamonds. Lucia had always been a mafia princess and on our wedding day, she would look like the royalty she was.
She didn’t detect me from where she was, and though what I saw of her was mainly in profile, everything about her glowed. She’d always been mine, but in one short month, she would also take my name. Something about acknowledging that made me beam with pride. With ownership, too, but also with need. I felt a real yearning for this woman that went beyond how hot she made me sexually. I wanted her in every way, and I knew I always would.
Always.
Suddenly, Lucia being across the room wasn’t good enough for me, and I closed the distance.
“The groom is here,” the planner—an older lady by the name of Rosetta—said once she caught sight of me. “Welcome.”
“You have to go,” I told her without preamble, my eyes fixed on my fiancée as I tore my tie from around my neck.
“Romeo?”
My name left Lucia’s mouth as a question, but my answer was not verbal. Instead, I basically attacked her, taking the flowers she held and tossing them to the side as I began to take each piece of clothing off her piece by piece. With my teeth.
“Oh,” the wedding planner squeaked out. “I… uh… I can come back later.”
While I heard the lady bumping into my furniture as she backed away and out of the room, neither my bride-to-be or I bothered with a response.
St. Clement church located in Lincoln Park was probably the largest religious wedding venue available in the city, hence the reason my father chose it. With its Byzantine-style domes shaping its roof, colorful stained-glass windows, Tree of Life mosaic behind the high altar, and sheer solid presence, it screamed ever-lasting and eternal. Its wooden pews would easily seat the guest list of the mafia elite we’d invited and offer a memorable backdrop to the vows my farfalla and I would take in less than a month.
Lucia’s twin sisters would serve as her bridesmaids, while Marcello and Savio would stand up for me. My own sister Natalia would also be in attendance. While she and I had never been close, her presence at my wedding was a requirement. The truth was the Cavettis did not demonstrate the same sentimental ties as I witnessed between the Bonifacio family.
Natalia and Savio had come to us later in their lives since they’d been brought up by their grandmother rather than our father. Natalia had cried out for Gianni when we found him dead, but I knew it was due to her youth and innocence more than any special bond they might’ve shared. The only Cavetti who might’ve united the five of us had been deceased for the past eighteen years.
I wondered what my mother would’ve thought of my marriage to Lucia Bonifacio. I liked to think that despite the circumstances, the fact that I had discovered that I legitimately enjoyed the company of my fiancée would’ve made Dahlia Cavetti happy.
Happiness had been on my mind concerning my farfalla, as well. I had two surprises in store for her on our wedding day, and I couldn’t wait to witness her reaction to them.
After overseeing a warehouse inventory at one of our local marijuana facilities, I returned to the mansion to find Angelo blocking the path to my rooms. It’d been a long day, and I wanted to sink into Lucia and lose myself, but my father had other plans.
“Come with me,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, and after casting a longing glance at my door, I did. He led me to our headquarters and the large desk he used as his own.
“Your marriage tomorrow will situate you one step closer to leading this family, and I want you to remember that.”
Was that all? “I am aware, Father.”
“You are merging two famiglias of our organization into one. This is important. Historical, even.” I eyed him feeling leery. Angelo didn’t typically stand on ceremony, and arranged marriages weren’t unusual in our business. Since we’d already taken out the leadership of the Bonifacio clan, I considered tomorrow to be about Lucia and me, not some grand crime family destiny. “She and her sisters are beautiful examples of mafia brides.”
My lips twisted into a frown as I regarded him. What the fuck was he trying to get at? That the Bonifacio daughters would make docile wives or that they were physically alluring? Something cold and creepy edged up my spine, making the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. Then, one of my father’s minions burst in on us.
“Everything is as it should be for tomorrow, sir.”
“Excellent,” Angelo told him, sitting back in his chair and tenting his fingers.
The minion left as speedily as he’d arrived.
“May I ask to what he was referring?” I directed my inquiry at my father.
“Just that all the local clans will be present and ready to offer our family their best wishes and congratulations, of course.”
Of course.
I stood. “Well, if that’s all you require of me, I’ll just get back to—”
“It is my wish that you stay away from your quarters tonight,” he interrupted me, and I whirled on him.
“What do you mean?”
“Your mother was Catholic.”
Talk about a non sequitur. “Yes, I know that.” I had to work to keep my tone respectful.
“So, you should not be tempted to lay with the woman who will tomorrow become your lawfully wedded wife.”
Very deliberately, I cleared any expression from my face. While I doubted that my father believed that I had been keeping myself chaste throughout all of my twenty-four years, he was behaving in an extremely peculiar manner. Even for him. Still, surely he didn’t think I’d moved Lucia into my quarters only to keep her on my couch rather than in my bed.