Page 27 of Deadly Don's Fake Wife

I turn to remind them of the rules. “We stay within eyesight of each other at all times. Leo, you never leave Bobby. And Stanly, you keep both Bobby and my brother in your sights at all times.”

“I hope he doesn’t go cross-eyed,” his wife Miranda says with a little giggle.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lorenzo Vietti,” a man calls out as he introduces my brother and his wife to the crowd that’s already gathered.

“This is it,” I whisper to Lisa, whose hand shakes in mine.

I hand the card with my name on it to the man, and he introduces us as all eyes look on. “Mr. and Mrs. Francisco Vietti.”

Lisa’s cheeks are beet red as she leans in as close to me as she can get. “Oh my,” she whispers, overwhelmed.

We walk down the stairs right behind my brother and sister-in-law, staying close to them.

Drinks are offered once we get to the floor, but I don’t take one. Lisa also declines.

“You should have a drink,” I coax. “I can’t drink, but you can.”

Smiling at me, she shakes her head. “I don’t want the alcohol to cloud my memories of this. I want to remember it all. Every little detail.”

It’s probably for the best anyway. I don’t want her getting tipsy and saying something she shouldn’t. Like how we’re not really married.

Looking around, I see men I recognize and feel my skin prickle. I have never been around so many enemies at one time. It’s mind-numbing.

My brother is met by one boss after another, both exchanging greetings, and some going as far as kissing his cheeks in an old-world kind of greeting, which I don’t care for at all.

I don’t like anyone getting too close to him. Anything can happen with them so damn close.

“Frank, you’re squeezing my hand,” Lisa whispers to me.

I ease my grip, not even realizing what I was doing. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Her eyes search mine, and I know she can see that I’m not really okay at all.

“What do you think?”

“It’s a lot on you. I know.” Biting her lower lip, she looks around. “So many people.”

“So many enemies,” I murmur under my breath.

With a nod, she says, “Thank God for the truce.”

I know that a truce is nothing more than some words on paper or spoken out loud. There is no weight to something as flighty as a promise.

But here we are, among some of the worst people on the planet, hoping they keep their promises so we can keep ours.

Leo moves up behind me. “Seven o’clock, is that Righty Bulgur I see over there?”

Glancing in that direction, I see who he’s talking about. “Yep, that’s him. The Barbarian of Birmingham.”

Lisa asks, “Birmingham, Alabama?”

“The Dixie Mafia. Some call it the Dixie Mob. Their main base is in Biloxi, Mississippi, but there are divisions in other southern states too. The Barbarian is the don of the Birmingham chapter of that organization.” I shift my weight, wondering how the hell that redneck got an invitation to something this formal.

“Can you believe he’s wearing a suit?” Stanly asks.

“I didn’t know they made them that big,” Leo says with a chuckle.

The Barbarian is so big it’s said he had to have his four-wheel drive truck made special for his massive size.

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