Page 12 of Married With Malice

Unless some brilliant idea strikes me within the next half hour or Holy Family Catholic Church gets struck by a meteor, I’m getting married.

The original bride was the eldest Barone daughter, Callista, nicknamed Daisy. I’ve never had a problem with Daisy. I just had absolutely no desire to marry her. For a year I stalled any wedding talk with the excuse that I was busy learning the ropes at Richie’s side.

Then last month Daisy shocked the world. She went and married some guy who owns a hamburger truck.

No one was happier than me.

For sure everyone would now see this business of arranging marriages was medieval mania and forget about it.

What a misfire.

Just as I’d taken my brother’s place, Annalisa was shoved into her sister’s role like we’re interchangeable mafia parts.

Now running low on replacements, Richie and Albie were in a rush to send us to the altar before someone else eloped or quit.

When I was told about the new plans I nearly broke a rib trying to stifle my laughter. Surely Annalisa would run off to a Sicilian convent or join the Witness Protection Program before she’d agree to be my wife.

Apparently not.

Here I am, brooding in a priest’s stuffy office that smells heavily of menthol and tossing around the idea of getting drunk before the ceremony.

As for Annalisa, I have no clue what she’s thinking or why she agreed to go through with this.

Maybe her father threatened to cut off her allowance. Or maybe she sensed a unique opportunity to murder me in my sleep.

I guess I’ll find out pretty soon.

Uncle Richie’s face softens. “Luca, I sure wish your mother were here. It’s been a privilege to raise you and I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”

Right. Of course he’s proud. As long as I fall in line every time he snaps his fingers. Richie was mightily proud of Cale too. Until he wasn’t.

Keeping a straight face nearly chokes off my air supply. “I’m ready to do my part for the good of the family.”

This is the kind of eye-rolling sentimental horse shit that Richie likes to hear.

He leans a little closer and I catch of a whiff of his stale breath. “I hope this will be a good marriage for you. But even if things are shaky at home there’s plenty of entertainment elsewhere. Keep that in mind.”

He’s telling me that no matter what, I can go fuck whoever I want whenever I want. That’s what he’s always done. If Aunt Donna has any clue, then she keeps her angst to herself and boils another pot of ravioli to stay busy.

“Thanks for the tip,” I say to my uncle.

Richie nods and heaves his bulk out of the chair with a bronchial cough. “I’ll give you a minute alone. Feel free to raid Father Tessio’s liquor cabinet again if the nerves are getting to you. Considering how much I’ve paid into the church, they can spare a bottle or two.”

He wobbles the short distance to the door, turns with a final fond glance and closes the door behind him.

“Fuck,” I mutter and rake a hand through my hair. This is really happening. It’s time to embrace the horror.

Sliding my phone out of my pocket, I decide that I have time for a quick call. Cale answers on the first ring.

“Did you make a break for it?” he says. “Come here and hide out for a while. Nobody will look in the barn.”

With effort, I snort out a laugh. “Nope. Feel free to fill the barn with another resident.”

“You’re really doing this.”

“Might as well. I’m already wearing the tux.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and finally sighs. “How are you and the bride getting along?”

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