The rest of the week flies by.
A rep from the Vera Wang atelier in Manhattan comes to the house with wedding gowns for Lili to try on. Since we don’t have enough time to have a custom dress made, we have to buy something off the rack and have it fitted. Luckily, Mamma is an excellent seamstress and can do the adjustments.
Lili runs to the restroom twice to throw up and breaks down into tears three times while trying on dresses. But we get through it and decide on a gorgeous A-line chiffon-and-lace gown. The skirt is flowing with a short train, and the bodice is detailed with sequins and seed pearls. She looks like an angel in it.
A teary, miserable angel.
When I ask her how she’s holding up, she says darkly, “You don’t want to know.”
The last time I felt this helpless, a premeditated murder was right around the corner.
On Friday, the day before the wedding, we fly to Boston on Gianni’s jet. I’ve packed everything Lili will need to start her new life. Except for antidepressants.
She has a wild, desperate look in her eyes that I don’t like.
With a dozen armed guards in tow, we check into the Four Seasons under an assumed name, taking the presidential suite for the four of us. The rest of the rooms on the floor are empty, because Gianni made sure to book them all.
Paranoia is driving him crazy.
He still doesn’t have any idea who the men were who invaded the house. Despite all his power and his contacts in the underworld, he hasn’t been able to unearth a clue.
The lack of information is unnerving. There’s always someone willing to talk for a price—or be persuaded to, under threat—but not this time. No one seems to know anything.
Most chilling of all is that the forensic technicians working on the bodies at the morgue came up with nothing identifiable about any of the men.
The pads of all their fingers had been burned off with acid. Dental records showed no matches. Their faces weren’t in any law enforcement database.
They were ghosts.
I tried not to admit to myself that I would’ve felt better if Quinn had stayed at the house the rest of the week, but my subconscious knew better. The house felt emptier without his expansive presence in it. The Mob sent armed reinforcements to take his place and provide supplemental protection to Gianni and Leo’s men, but it didn’t make me rest easier.
A hundred Irishmen couldn’t give me the same peace of mind.
He might be grouchy, bossy, and altogether aggravating, but Quinn’s the one to have around when things get bad.
I hate that I think that. But for Lili’s sake, I’m glad. If someone tries to kidnap her again, they’ll have to deal with his crazy-but-fiercely-protective ass.
And I know they’ll regret it.
In the car on the way to the rehearsal at the church the night before the wedding, Gianni sweats like a pig.
“Why are you so nervous?” says Mamma, frowning at him. “Your daughter’s the one getting married.”
Sitting next to me in the back seat of the limo, Lili rests her head on the back of the seat and closes her eyes. I squeeze her clammy hand, but she doesn’t squeeze back.
Mopping his forehead with a silk pocket square, Gianni says, “But I’m the one who’ll be up shit’s creek if anything goes wrong.”
“What could go wrong?”
I say, “Don’t tempt fate by making a list, Gianni.”
Mamma cackles. “As if fate has anything to do with anything. It’s all God. He’s the one with the mean streak.”
To Lili as much as Gianni, I say soothingly, “Nothing will go wrong. Boston belongs to the Mob, and everyone knows you don’t cross Declan O’Donnell.”
Mamma says, “She’s not marrying Declan O’Donnell.”
I send her a pointed look. “She’s marrying his right-hand man, which is almost as good.”
“Almost isn’t the same thing.”
“Mamma, stop! You’re scaring her!”
She looks at Lili, sitting passively beside me with her eyes closed and face pale. “That child isn’t scared. She’s in mourning.”
Gianni frowns. “Mourning over what?”
“Don’t listen to her,” I interrupt, giving her a hard stare. “She’s already had half a bottle of wine.”
She smiles back at me. “The night’s still young.”
I might have to lock her in a coat closet.
When we arrive at the lovely old brick church, Quinn is already there. Dressed in his usual black Armani suit, with his hair combed and his eyes burning, he’s breathtaking.
Lili takes one look at him smoldering inside the vestibule doors and lets out a whimper.
“Mr. Quinn,” says Gianni, rushing over with his hand and his panic outstretched in front of him. “So good to see you again. Are we late?”
“No. I’ve been here for hours.” He shakes hands with Gianni, nods at Lili and Mamma, then looks over at me.
The sheer force of his gaze knocks me back onto my heels.
“Reyna,” he says gruffly.
“Quinn.”
His gaze scorches me up and down. He licks his lips, straightens his tie, and shifts his weight from foot to foot. Then he looks away, jaw muscles flexing.
“Everyone’s already inside.”
I can tell Gianni’s horrified that we’re the last to arrive, but he tries not to show it.
“Wonderful! Shall we go in?”
Quinn gestures toward the doors. Gianni takes Lili’s hand and drags her through them. Mamma follows, chuckling to herself and shaking her head. I’m following her, wondering if she’s starting to lose her marbles, when Quinn reaches out and grabs my arm.
Startled, I look at him.
His voice low, he says, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Really? Did you borrow someone else’s brain?”
“Very funny, viper.”
We gaze at each other for a moment as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around my upper arm. When I inhale, I smell him. Skin, heat, and masculine musk. Just his essence, undiluted by cologne.
My mouth starts to water. I think that faint moaning I hear is my ovaries.
He says, “It wasn’t fair, what I said about you not seeing Lili after the wedding. She’s welcome to go see you in New York anytime she wants.”
I’m so surprised, I almost laugh. “Are you sure? I thought you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
His reply is stiff. “That’s why I said she could go see you, not that you could come see her.”
Why is he holding my arm? Why is my heart pounding? Why are we standing so close?
I say, “It’s good you came around, because I wasn’t going to obey that ridiculous order anyway.”
His lashes lower. He drawls, “What a shock.”
“I didn’t think you’d be surprised. May I please have my arm back now?”
His gaze takes a leisurely trip over me again, skimming every curve. “Why do you always wear black?”
“Says the man who always wears black.”
“I’m a mobster. It’s the uniform.”
“It’s the uniform for widows, too.”
“You’ve been a widow for three years. Black’s only traditional for the first year.”
Surprised he remembered that detail, I say, “I’ll wear black as long as I’m a widow. Which will be forever, so I’ll always wear black. Is this the best time to be having a conversation about my wardrobe? You’re supposed to be marching around an altar right now, practicing for tomorrow.”
Ignoring me, probably because I’m making too much sense, he says, “You won’t be a widow anymore if you remarry.”
My laugh is soft, but full of bitterness. “I’ll never remarry.”
“Never say never. What if you met the right lad?”
“I’m disappointed you decided to smoke something hallucinogenic before your own wedding rehearsal, Quinn, but never is the correct choice of word. It means not ever, at no time, absolutely not. The threat of my own death couldn’t compel me to walk down the aisle again.”
Staring deep into my eyes, he says in a throaty voice, “I said never again once, too. Turns out I was wrong.”
My heart starts to beat faster. I become aware of all the skin on my body at once, because it’s overheating. I feel like I’m being roasted from the inside out.
I try to sound normal, but my voice comes out faint. “What was your never about?”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
He’s about to say something when we’re interrupted by a woman’s voice.
“There you are! I thought we’d lost you.”
I look over to see a stunning brunette in a tight white dress standing a few feet away, smiling at us, her hands propped on her hips. She’s tall and curvy, with a glint in her green eyes that’s equally self-confident and mischievous.
Quinn drops his hand from my arm and steps back. “Hullo, Sloane.”
“Hiya, Spider! Introduce me to your friend.”
“Reyna, this is Sloane, Declan’s wife. Sloane, Reyna.”
Sloane and I shake hands while she smiles and looks me over with unabashed interest.
“So this is the infamous Black Widow. Babe, have I been dying to meet you. I have so many questions.”
Horrified, I glance at Quinn. “Black Widow? What happened to Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence?”
He sighs. “I didn’t dub you that, viper. It’s what everyone else calls you.”
Sloane says, “I like Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence way better! How badass! If you don’t want to use that one, I’ll take it. I can already see the tattoo, a sexy red demon with horns, a long tail, and a black diamond crown, sitting on a throne of skulls in the middle of a lake of fire. Right?”
She’s still grinning at me, shaking my hand. I’m starting to feel like I’m being filmed for one of those reality shows where they punk unsuspecting fools for laughs.
“Sure. We’ll get matching ones. I’ll put mine right above the spot where my heart’s supposed to be. You know, if I had one.”
When I smile at her, she throws back her head and laughs. “Ooh, I like you. I’d say let’s be besties, but I already have one of those. You can be next in line, though.”
I deadpan, “My life will be complete.”
She links her arm through mine and leads me into the church, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Quinn. As soon as we’re out of earshot, she murmurs, “A word of advice? Stay away from Boston for a while after the wedding. Like, forever.”
I’m not sure I want to know what she means, but I ask anyway. “Why?”
“Because, babe, any man who looks at a woman the way Spider looks at you is already thinking about how he’s going to ruin his life.”
