Page 24 of Brutal Devil
One of Saint’s most annoying traits is that he always fucks everything up. Movies, books, actors, bands—you name it, he mixes it up. None of us know if it’s intentional or not, but we all always feel compelled to correct him.
“Lady and the Tramp,” I grumble, embarrassed that I know the name of an animated kids film. “Why the hell are we talking about this anyway?”
“Because it’s your last night as a bachelor, and we should be at a club celebrating, but we’re sitting in your shitty bar in the dark, drinking Johnnie Walker.” Saint holds up his glass in salute. “To my brother, the patron saint of self-sacrifice.”
“It’s not that big of a sacrifice.” I regret it the moment I say it, so to make up for my drunken stupidity, I clink my glass into his.
Scotch sloshes onto my hand.
“Stop fucking wasting the good stuff,” he growls before taking a sip. “And don’t think I didn’t hear that.”
“I need to marry,” I add. “Whether it’s now or later, we have to carry on the Andriani line. Dad would want that. Doesn’t matter how or why.”
“I know you do. And you’re don. It has to be you.”
I shrug. “At least she has all her teeth.”
“And a truly impressive set of tits,” Saint adds, whistling. “I don’t think she was wearing a bra.”
“She’s mine now,” I warn him, a possessive rush going through me that’s unfamiliar and uncontrollable. “No more looking at or speaking about her tits. Or I’ll maim you.”
“Easy. Down, boy.” Saint holds up his hands in the low light, palms outward, like he’s in a robbery. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just pointing out the truth behind thenot that big of a sacrificecomment. She’s hot AF.”
“Damn it, Saint.” I slam down my scotch. “She’s going to be your sister-in-law. Show some respect. And besides, who says AF out loud? Fucking nerd.”
“Who says nerd anymore?” my brother counters, unfazed by my criticism.
“A dig at my age? Kind of shitty, but I get it.”
“Low-hanging fruit and shit.” Saint toasts me again.
I’m thirty-two. The oldest. God knows I feel a fuck of a lot older than that most days. Saint and the others will never let me forget my advanced age. Speaking of which…
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, curious. “Passed out?”
“Nah. They’re playing poker in the control room with Roc.”
I splutter on the sip I’ve just taken of my scotch. “Jesus. Rocco is supposed to be watching the monitors. And her door.”
She’s smart and she’s resourceful. I don’t trust her. On top of that, she’s basically the Mafia crown jewels, and without her, we’re fucked. Which means she needs to be watched. I can’t afford a runaway bride on my hands. None of us can.
“Don’t worry.” Saint claps me on the back with more force than necessary. “The boys have it covered. We won’t let you down.”
“You damn well better have it covered. If anything happens to her…”
I can’t finish the sentence. I’ve only known her for the span of a day, but there’s something about Luna Revello that has fused with me. She’s become a part of me. Maybe it’s that she’s going to be my wife and I’m responsible for her protection now. Maybe it’s the way she holds her ground with me, surrendering almost nothing. Maybe it’s the way her lips felt against mine, the coppery tang of her blood on my tongue. Or the fact that I want her—and far more than I was prepared for. Maybe all of the above.
My brain is currently fogged by the scotch, and I can’t dissect my own motives or feelings.
“Nothing will happen to her,” Saint reassures me, voice low. “We’ll all be there tomorrow in the church. No one’s going to get by us.”
He’s giving voice to the other fear that’s been haunting me ever since we devised this plan to outsmart Amedeo Revello at his own game. Tomorrow is either going to be a bloodbath or it’ll go off without a hitch.
Either way, it’s still going to be the most important day of my life.
“To tomorrow,” I say, holding my glass up for a toast. “And to the Andriani family. Long live us all.”
Saint clinks his glass to mine. “Amen, brother.”
