The nurses make me stay in the hospital for three whole days.
This is almost intolerable—to the point that, despite my gratitude for their excellent care, and all the cups of ice water they bring me, I might have gotten in a serious fight with them. Except that Raylan is right beside me, laughing and joking, smoothing over my grumpiness at having my blood pressure taken for the eight hundredth time.
He’s my rock. The only person who can soothe the pain I feel knowing that Uncle Oran tried to kill me. It’s a betrayal that cuts deep. Not only because I truly respected my uncle, but because I misjudged his character so badly. It puts a crack in my perception of my own good judgment.
But I was right about one person at least: the man sitting next to me. Raylan flew to Chicago to make sure I was safe. He saved me, when nobody else was there to do it. He hasn’t left my side since, except to brush his teeth or use the shower in my hospital room.
We’re so happy to be together again that it’s all we talk about.
We don’t discuss the looming question of how we’ll stay together long-term. I know that Raylan’s family wants him back home. But my family needs me here, more than ever. With Uncle Oran gone, they need me to take over the law firm. Not just as a partner but as managing partner. It can’t go to anyone else—only a family member can be trusted with our most vulnerable secrets.
There’s a more urgent reason that I need to get out of the hospital: I don’t want to miss Dante and Simone’s wedding.
It’s going to be small and intimate—fewer than twenty people in attendance. Including me and Raylan.
Dr. Weber insists on running a hundred tests on me before I’m allowed to leave. At the end of it all, he concludes that I might have some mild liver-damage, but I’m otherwise unscathed by Uncle Oran’s attempted poisoning.
“Watch your alcohol intake over the next few months, and hopefully any damage will heal,” Dr. Weber says.
“I assume that doesn’t include wine,” I tell him.
“It definitely includes wine.”
“What about scotch?”
He shakes his head at me, unamused.
“I’ll make sure she behaves herself,” Raylan says.
“You’re going to bodyguard me against liquor now?” I say, giving him an incredulous look.
“If that’s what I gotta do.”
I fling my hair back over my shoulder. “I’d like to see you try,” I say, coolly.
Raylan grabs my arm and pulls me close, so my body is pressed right up against his broad chest. His stubble scratches my cheek as he leans over to whisper in my ear. “Don’t you think you’re safe, just ‘cause we’re in Chicago, darlin.’ I can find a riding crop, if I need to.”
The wave of lust that hits me almost knocks my knees out from under me. If he wasn’t holding me up with that iron grip on my arm, I’d definitely stumble.
Still, I look up into those bright blue eyes with my haughtiest expression.
“I’m not going to make it so easy for you next time,” I say.
“Easy or rough . . . I’ll take what I want,” he growls.
I have to turn away from him before he sees my cheeks flaming as red as my hair.
Raylan and I part ways briefly, so we have time to get clothes before the ceremony. I can tell he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight, even for an instant.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “There’s nobody left to try to kill me.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, eyebrow cocked. “You had a pretty hefty list of enemies here, if you remember.”
“I’m not worried,” I say. “I’m getting pretty handy in a fight.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Raylan says, giving me one last quick kiss.
Nessa’s waiting for me out front of the hospital, in her army-green Jeep. She witnesses the kiss, and the prolonged conversation before Raylan and I part ways.
I can feel her excitement as I slide into the passenger seat.
“Was that just top-quality customer service?” she says. “Or does the bodyguard have serious feels?”
“Please don’t call it ‘feels,’ ” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Riona Griffin, you better tell me EVERYTHING right now!” Nessa cries.
“Alright,” I say. “But you have to promise not to freak out. It’s been a pretty . . . intense couple of weeks.”
“I will not freak out,” Nessa says, but she’s already bouncing in her seat, barely able to pay attention to the road as she pulls away from the curb.
“Don’t crash the car, either,” I say.
“I would never!” Nessa sniffs. “I’ve only gotten two tickets so far this year. My driving has vastly improved.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
I tell Nessa the Cliffs Notes version of what I’ve been doing since my apartment caught fire. I can tell she’s dying to interrupt a hundred times, but she keeps a lid on it so she can hear the rest of the story. When I finally get to the end, she squeals, “I can’t believe it! Is my big sister maybe, possibly, actually . . . in love?”
I frown. “Did you miss the part where our future goals have us living five hundred miles apart?”
“No,” Nessa says, serenely. “I just don’t think that matters.”
“How does it not matter?”
“Because love finds a way!” she says. “Look at me and Miko. He HATED our family. And you all hated him.”
“Well, he did abduct you, and try to extort us . . . ”
Nessa rolls her eyes.
“And he framed Dante for murder . . . ”
“Exactly!” she says, cheerfully. “And look how well it all turned out! If Miko and I can get through that, I’m sure you and Raylan can figure out a way to make things work.”
Usually Nessa’s relentless optimism would annoy me. I guess it’s a sign of how desperate I am that today I find it comforting. I do want to find a way to be with Raylan. Without either of us losing the other things in our lives that matter to us.
Nessa and I go shopping on the Mag Mile, popping in and out of fancy boutique shops until we’ve found the perfect dresses for the wedding.
It’s easy to find something for Nessa, because everything looks perfect on her slim dancer’s figure, against her creamy skin and her chestnut hair. She ends up buying a lavender gown with a slit up the thigh, and long, puffed sleeves. It reminds me of something a 1940s film star might wear. Nessa always chooses things that look vintage in some way, and they always suit her, because she has that delicate, timeless beauty that would fit any era.
It’s harder for me because a lot of colors clash with red. Plus, I’ve always avoided showing too much skin, because I want to be taken seriously. But today, still flushed from my last conversation with Raylan, I choose a backless dress in a rich, dark teal. The cool silk flows around my body, caressing my skin.
“Oh my god!” Nessa says, when she sees it. “I’ve never seen you look so . . . dangerous.”
“Is it too much for a wedding?” I ask her.
“No! You have to buy it. It’s the best you’ve ever looked.”
I buy the dress, not worried that I’m going to outshine Simone. She’s literally the most gorgeous woman in the world, with the modeling paychecks to prove it. There’s no way she could ever be upstaged at her own wedding.
By the time Nessa and I have our hair and makeup done at the Asha Salon, we have to head straight to the venue. Luckily I bought my gift for Dante and Simone weeks ago, and even luckier I stored it at my parents’ house. Nessa brought it with her in the Jeep.
“What did you get them?” she asks me.
“It’s a sound-wave print of the first song they ever danced to,” I tell her. “It’s printed in gold-leaf, and I had it framed.”
“Oh!” Nessa says. “I wish it wasn’t wrapped so I could see it.”
“What did you get them?” I ask her.
“Salted bread and a bottle of Chateau Mouton-Rosthchild. Also, gold ingots for Henry and the baby. Mikolaj picked—they’re traditional Polish wedding gifts,” Nessa explains. “I thought Simone would enjoy that, since she’s been everywhere.”
“I’m sure she will,” I agree. I’ve never met anyone more cultured than Simone—she’s a diplomat’s daughter, and she lived all over the world, even before she started modeling.
Nessa and I drive over to Le Jardin, the massive greenhouse where Simone and Dante will be wed. I’m guessing they picked this place because they wanted greenery and flowers all around them, even though they’re getting married mid-November. No one suggested that they should simply wait for summer—after being separated for nine years, I doubt Dante would wait a single day longer to make Simone his wife. Besides that, Simone is pregnant with their second child. She probably wants to tie the knot while it’s still easy to fit in a standard wedding dress.
Even though it’s getting colder by the minute, Raylan is waiting outside for me. He grins as we pull up, excited to show me what he looks like in an actual tux.
He should be pleased with himself—he looks damn good. Even better than I expected. The smoke-gray jacket is perfectly fitted, and his beard and hair look blacker than ever by contrast. His blue eyes have taken on a steel-colored cast under the gray autumn sky.
He takes my arm, looking me up and down with obvious appreciation.
“Goddamn, woman,” he says. “Just when I think you couldn’t impress me any more than you already have, you come out of that car and blow my fucking mind.”
“You clean up pretty nice yourself,” I say. “Where’s your boots?”
Raylan grins. “In the car. Don’t tempt me, or I’ll go and grab ‘em.”
The interior of the greenhouse is lush and humid, though not uncomfortably so. Flowers and vines run across the trellis overhead, entwined with fairy lights. A bearded cellist plays a cover of All of Me.
An iron archway marks the place where Dante and Simone will be wed. The arch is woven with greenery and cream-colored flowers: orchids, peonies, and roses.
Raylan and I take a seat on the groom’s side of the aisle. We’re sitting behind Enzo Gallo, the patriarch of the Gallo family, and Aida and Callum. I can see little Miles Griffin peeking over Callum’s shoulder. He’s been pacified with a soother stuffed in his mouth, but his gray eyes still look furious and his dark hair sticks up in all directions.
Aida turns around to whisper, “Hi!” She squeezes my knee as we sit down. I can see her looking Raylan over with great curiosity.
Two rows back, Nero’s sitting with his arm around the shoulders of a pretty girl with dark, curly hair. That must be Camille. I check her hands—sure enough, I spot the faint remnants of oil at the edges of her fingernails. Just the same as Nero’s hands—proof of their mutual love of combustion engines. They’re talking intently, their heads close together, as if they’re the only two humans in the world.
Nessa has dropped our gifts off at the reception table, and now she’s sliding into her seat next to Mikolaj, directly behind me. Miko had been silent and scowling up until that moment, his pale face and white-blond hair in stark contrast to his all-black suit. When Nessa sits beside him, his expression changes entirely. His sharp features soften into a smile, and a light comes into his ice-blue eyes, until he hardly looks like the same person. Now he seems almost approachable, and not like he might murder all of us. He lifts one heavily-tattooed hand, to tuck a lock of hair back behind Nessa’s ear. In his accented voice, he says, “You look stunning, moja mała baletnica.”
Across the aisle, I see a tall, trim black man in a navy tuxedo. He’s sitting with a slim blonde woman, with Henry sandwiched between them. Clearly that’s Yafeu Solomon, Simone’s diplomat father, and his wife Eloise. Henry is Simone and Dante’s nine-year-old son. He looks much taller than nine, with a head of soft, dark curls, and a gentle expression on his face. He’s quietly solving a Rubik’s cube while he waits for the ceremony to begin. Behind Henry is a pretty young woman who I believe is Henry’s tutor and nanny. She’s obviously been invited because she’s close to Simone, not because Henry needs to be supervised.
My parents come in next, taking a seat behind the Solomons because there’s no more room on Dante’s side. My mother squeezes my shoulder on her way to her seat. She came to visit me in the hospital every day, even though I told her it wasn’t necessary. She brought me clothes, toiletries, books and magazines, Brazil nuts, dried fruit, and chocolate. She brought treats for Raylan, too, until there was barely room for anyone to sit down anymore.
I think my parents feel guilty about Uncle Oran, though none of that was their fault. The funny thing is, whatever grudge I might have held against them when I felt like Callum was their heir, and Nessa was their favorite . . . it all drifted away in those moments when I lay dying on the carpet. In those last few seconds before I drifted away, I didn’t feel anger or resentment. I thought to myself, “I’ve been loved.” My only regret was that I hadn’t shown that same love strongly enough in return.
The last person to arrive is the youngest Gallo brother, Sebastian. He’s here alone, without any plus-one. He’s the tallest of the Gallo boys, taller even than Dante. He walks with a lanky kind of grace, having finally shaken off the persistent limp that plagued him after my brother smashed his knee. His face is somber, though, with dark shadows under his eyes.
I don’t know Sebastian well. I know he used to be a basketball star, with dreams of playing professionally. It was my family that ended those dreams. The Griffins and the Gallos called a truce, and Sebastian’s never shown any resentment toward us since. But I can’t imagine that it doesn’t burn somewhere deep inside of him.
He had no interest in the mafia life. He’s been slowly drawn into it by the violence and conflict of the last few years. I know he shot one of Mikolaj’s men—probably the first person he’d ever killed. I wonder if it eats at him. Or if it felt like an inevitable step. A fate that was always destined to find him, one way or another.
All I know is that he doesn’t look happy today. He sits behind my parents, apart from his own family members.
The cellist pauses, and a different song begins to play, light and hopeful:
I look down the aisle where Simone and Dante are standing, hand-in-hand. Simone is tall, slim, as bronze as a goddess against her stark white gown. I’m sure any designer in the country would gladly give her their most ostentatious or outrageous gown. Instead, Simone’s dress is simple in the extreme—unadorned, off-the-shoulder, clinging to the figure lauded as the most perfect in the world. Her flat stomach shows no hint of the baby she’s carrying, though I’m sure its existence is one of the factors making Dante look happier than I’ve ever seen him.
Dante can’t take his eyes off Simone. He’s so massive and brutish that usually he looks terrifying in any type of clothes, even a tuxedo. But today Simone’s loveliness radiates with such power that even Dante looks genteel. He looks like the only man in the world who could deserve such a beauty.
They walk down the aisle together, then face each other under the arch. Henry comes to stand between them, looking shy but happy. He’s got the rings in his pocket, and he takes them out even before Enzo Gallo can stand to perform the ceremony.
“Welcome, friends and family,” he says. “I don’t think any union has been more fervently anticipated. And I know no couple has loved each other with greater intensity. Dante, would you like to say your vows?”
Dante takes both Simone’s hands in his own. His massive fingers swallow up her slim hands so they can’t be seen at all from the outside.
“Simone,” he says. “I have loved you from the moment I saw your face. I know that will sound shallow, since I’m talking to the most gorgeous woman in the world. But I promise you, in your face I saw your bravery, your intelligence, and your kindness. As soon as you spoke to me, it was like a door opened into your mind. I saw this whole other universe of creativity and cleverness. A way of looking at things that I’d never imagined. And I wanted to walk through that door. I wanted to live in your world. You made such an impact on me that I never forgot you. Through all the time we were apart, I thought of you constantly. I dreamed of you. I longed for you. To have you back in my arms brings me a joy that I can’t express. The reality of you is a hundred times better than my imagining.”
He pauses for a moment, and he looks down at his son. He lays his heavy hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Simone, for coming back to me. Thank you for bringing our son. Thank you for raising him. Henry, you’re a good man already. I’m so proud of you.”
I’ve never heard Dante talk like this, with raw openness and honesty. He always keeps his feelings stuffed down tight. Or at least, he did before Simone came back into his life.
It’s having an effect on me I never would have expected.
I’m starting to feel emotional.
I have never cried in public, not once in my life. I certainly haven’t cried at a wedding. But all of a sudden my eyes feel hot and my face is stiff.
“I will love you every moment of my life,” Dante says. “I will cherish and protect you. Anything you want, I’ll get it for you. I’ll be your best friend and your ally. I’ll make your life better, always, and never worse.”
Simone is freely crying, her tears silver on her flushed cheeks. She is so beautiful that it’s hard to even look at her. She’s glowing with happiness, illuminated by it.
“Dante, you are everything to me,” she says. “My heart and my soul. My happiness and my safe haven. Life without you was lonely and bitter. The only thing that brought me joy was Henry, our son. He’s a piece of you and me, the best thing we ever did. I love him for himself, and I love him for how he reminds me of you.
“I promise to choose you for the rest of our lives. To choose you over fear or selfishness. Over ambition or other cares. I promise to never let you down again. To always be there for you. I promise to give you every bit of joy this life has to offer. You are the most incredible man I’ve ever known, and I promise to be the wife you deserve.
“I’m so lucky today. I’m the luckiest person in the world.”
She, too, puts her hand on Henry’s shoulder, still looking up into Dante’s face.
I want to look at Raylan, but I can’t. I know I’m about to cry and I don’t want him to see it.
The tears are partly for Dante and Simone—I’m so, so happy for them.
But they’re also tears of anguish, because I’m realizing that I love Raylan. I truly, truly love him. And that terrifies me.
Simone’s words are like an arrow in my heart.
I promise to choose you over fear or selfishness. Over ambition and other cares.
Is that what love is? Is it putting the other person above your own fears and desires?
I thought that might be the case. And that’s why I thought I’d never fall in love.
But now I have, by accident.
And I want that love. I want Raylan.
I think I might want him more than all the things I wanted before. More than my fears, and yes, even more than my ambitions.
Does that make me weak and pathetic?
Do I have to give up myself to have love?
I feel wetness on my cheeks, and all of a sudden Raylan puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him, so my face is hidden against his chest. He’s doing that for me—because he knows I’d hate to have anyone see me cry. Even my own closest friends and family.
He knows me so well. He knows exactly what I need.
I remember what he said in Silver Run. I was so angry with him at the time. Now I wonder if he was right all along:
You’re happier here. This is where you belong: here, with me.
I’m afraid. But I want to choose Raylan over that fear.
