Page 37 of Sins of Bliss
“Hi,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Hi, Cecilia. I apologize for disturbing you. I am here to see Vincenza, is she in?”
Sadly, she shakes her head. “She’s not. She’s getting ready at August’s.”
“Getting ready?”
“For the rehearsal.”
“Oh.” How could I have not realized there would be a rehearsal tonight?
A sinking feeling begins in my sternum and quickly falls to my stomach. This is truly happening.
Tomorrow is the wedding.
For some reason, knowing there is a rehearsal makes it much more real.
Looking down at the floor, I consider asking Cecilia for August's address, or the location of the church. What good would it do, though? If I have any hope of swaying Vincenza before it’s too late, I must do it when she’s not overwhelmed with tonight’s event.
“Thank you for your time,” I tell Cecilia, with the most pathetic excuse for a smile I can muster.
Turning back toward the elevator, I press the call button.
“Sly,” she says, and I look back at her over my shoulder. “She loves you. You have no idea the lengths she’s going to because of her love for you. Maybe you can still sway her at The Manhattan Grand.”
My brows furrow in confusion, and she shakes her head like she wants to say more, but doesn’t.
Instead, she closes the door, putting a very clear barrier between her and my impending questions.
The brief conversation has done nothing to ease the concern that builds within me.The lengths she’s going to because of her love for me?What does she mean by that? Her mention of The Manhattan Grand is also oddly worded, and leaves me wondering if Cecilia has just given me Vincenza’s location.
Seeking clarification, I stalk back toward the door, raising my fist to knock again, but instead stay frozen in my stance, trying to piece the puzzle together.
Everything I’ve been told in the last few days swirls through my mind, but the only clear sentiment—the one flashing through my mind like a neon sign—is screaming, ‘you have to stop this wedding’.
Dropping my fist, I turn and head back to the elevator and push the call button again. The doors open immediately and I step inside. As they begin to close, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to make a call to the one person I know will be able to help me by whatever means necessary.
It rings continuously, and just as I think it will turn to voicemail, a gruff, slightly muffled voice greets me. “Miss me already, pookie?”
“Perhaps. Do you have anything keeping you in Ridgewood, amico? I know we spoke about you coming to visit, but I would appreciate the trip happening sooner than later.”
“How soon?” His voice is clearer now. He must have taken his helmet off.
“How quickly can you get on a flight?”
The elevator doors open and I walk out, nodding at the doorman as I pass by. New York’s background noise envelopes me as I walk to my Ducati.
“You footing the bill, Lucchetti?” Gravel crunching floats up to intermix with the sound of his laughter.
“Yes, Nixon, I am footing the bill.”
If there is one man I know can help cause a distraction and assist me with stopping the wedding, it’s Nixon.
“Fantastic. I can be on a flight out tonight—give me two hours to pack my shit and get to the airport. Make the flight out of SFO.”
Nixon was the man who “found” me when I first arrived in Ridgewood. He recognized something in me and knew I would find a home within the motorcycle club he was involved in. Though skeptical, I accompanied him to meet the president and was welcomed in.
Well, perhaps notwelcomed, but the club’s president, Cain, didn’t turn me away.
