Page 14 of Killer Love

We shake hands and Gio grins, revealing a full mouth of crooked, off-white teeth. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says.

“Gio!” my mother calls from the front hall. “Where exactly can I find your mother? I have been dying to catch up with her.”

“I believe she’s in the guest wing tending to your rooms, Madam Lutrova,” he answers, doing his best to hide his utter contempt for her. I smirk again. “I’ll be happy to see you all there myself.”

“Excellent!”

We follow Gio into the front hall, and my senses spike as I take in the surroundings. The inside is just as guarded as the outside with an armed suit stationed at each open doorway. I wonder if this is normal Zappia family gathering behavior, or if my family should take it personally.

“Gio, how is your father’s business in Chicago?” my father asks. “Still thriving, I assume?”

“More than thriving,” Gio answers, guiding us through the long, ornate corridors with wood carvings and giant paintings covering nearly every inch of the walls. Why the Zappias must go over-the-top with every aspect of their lives is beyond me. “The casino is more successful than ever. Enzo just opened his first business downtown. A deli, I believe.”

“And Marty? What of him?”

“Oh, little Marty does what he does best.” Gio chuckles. “Which is not much at all.”

“Just give him time,” my father says. “He will find his place in the family.”

“Last I heard, he had his eye on working security.” Gio glances back at me. “Maybe you can offer him a few tips, Luka? He’s a bit squeamish.”

“He’ll grow out of that,” I mutter.

“I hope so, too,” he says. “Until then, he bankrupts losers at my father’s poker tables — which, I admit, is not unhelpful but he could be doing more for the family.”

I’d love to know what the fuck Giovani Zappia does all day to help the family, but I hold back my scoff.

We round a corner and I pause, my eyes instantly pulled all the way down the opposite corridor. I recognize Rosalie’s petite face and that permanent smile she always seems to have etched onto her mouth, but I don’t keep my attention on her for longer than a second.

I lock onto the girl in black.

The gown covers every inch of her skin, along with a translucent veil that obscures her face. My mother told me of the barbaric wedding rituals passed down through the Zappia line, but I honestly thought she made most of it up. Now that I see it, I wonder how much of it really is true.

Rosalie pauses and yanks on Sofia’s arm, offering me a short, gentle curtsy as she scurries them along. I watch them leave, admiring the bride’s graceful movements, even if she is weighed down by the black garb.

Sofia whips her head back, casting one final glance at me, before she disappears around the corner.

Chapter 5

Sofia

I step into the chapel and all movement stops.

Voices fall silent. Heads turn in our direction. Zappias. Lutrovas. Even the servants pause to adjust to my presence. None of them have seen me or heard me speak in two weeks, after all. I guess it’s not every day you see the black bridal gown of Zappia tradition either.

“Sofia!”

There’s one good thing that comes from having to wear this veil. Gio can’t see my face, so I don’t have to hide the fact that I cringe every time he says my name.

He grins and rushes down the aisle toward me and Rosalie. “My bride!”

His fingers entwine with my gloved hands and it takes everything I have to stop myself from flinching away. I let him tug me toward the front of the chapel, toward the gawking and smiling faces, and I lock eyes with every single one of them.

Antony sits with Nikolai Lutrova off to the side, their murmuring voices no doubt passing mafia trade secrets back and forth.

Beatrix and Nina Lutrova sit in the front pew together, smiling at me with kindness.

The Lutrova brothers hover with the Zappia boys at the front in a line, shifting around as the priest attempts to instruct them on where to stand.

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