Page 19 of Of Murder and Matrimony

Coletta’s eyes widened when I scoffed at her brother. She stepped forward, inserting herself into the argument. “If we don’t leave now, there won’t be enough time to find a dress and prepare for tonight.”

She had a point, even though I’d rather have tried to wear Dante down. He nodded at his sister.

“Go ahead. I’ll see you both tonight.” Dante pinned me with those dark eyes. “And Olesya?”

“Yes?” I said with false innocence.

“Pick something befitting a mafia wife.”

“Of course.” I practically bowed before him in exaggerated acquiescence.

He smirked, catching on quickly. “Coletta will approve whatever you choose.”

My smile fell, and I glared at him. He was giving me a chaperone, then. I nodded and flounced from the room, Coletta on my heels. She didn’t deserve my ire, but she was about to have a sullen companion for the rest of the afternoon.

I’d never had such an awful time shopping as this afternoon. The Neretti guards ushered us from a black SUV into the back entrance of a fancy boutique—the kind I would have loved when I’d last been in Chicago. Today it made me feel claustrophobic, all the garments seeming to press in on me, stealing oxygen from my lungs.

Instead of taking my time to look around, I’d asked the owner to choose for me. I tried on all the dresses she brought, but I wasn’t particularly attached to any of them. I chose an elegant plum wrap dress because it would be comfortable and stylish. Coletta approved, and I quickly made the purchase.

Our limited interaction convinced me that the girl I’d known was gone. I didn’t know the quiet woman who sat silently beside me on the drive home. After dressing, Coletta dutifully came to my room to help me with my hair and makeup, but she didn’t joke or banter. It was like she floated through the world, almost unaware, existing in her body while her mind remained on a different plane.

She could style a mean chignon, though. I examined my reflection in the full-length mirror inside the closet. It had been so long since I’d dressed up for anything fancy. There wasn’t anywhere that nice to go in Oak Ridge.

“Dante will approve,” Coletta said in a muted voice. “You look lovely.”

I glanced over my shoulder where she stood in something that likely cost twice what I wore. The black sheath was understated, but the lines complemented her form. “You, too.”

“Thank you,” she answered immediately. It was like she followed a script for life. Strange.

“I guess there’s no point in wasting more time.” I sighed and shifted from one foot to the other. The black stilettos would lessen the height difference between Dante and me, but I might break my neck walking down the stairs.

Coletta nodded and opened the door. Stefano still stood there, like I might try to attempt an escape. Even if I got past the hulk, I wouldn’t make it far. The grounds were crawling with security, both electronic and human form.

We made our way down to the first floor, where family, friends, and some business connections mingled, sipping on drinks and eating tiny bites of food from the trays servers held. The conversation came to a standstill when Coletta and I entered the room. I stood tall, refusing to let them see how awkward and unwelcome I felt.

“Ah, there she is!” The voice resonated through the onlookers, and Ettore Neretti stepped forward, limping with the use of a cane, clad in a black pinstripe suit. He looked so familiar that I wondered if he had ever updated his wardrobe. Maybe he had a little more grey at the temples than the last time I saw him, but he was still every inch the powerful head of Chicago’s ruling crime family.

He was the older version of Dante, but there was nothing appealing about the Don. His palms settled on my shoulders, and the scent of cigars and whiskey overwhelmed my nose and made my eyes water as he leaned in to kiss my cheeks with cold lips. I shivered, and Ettore’s dark brown eyes gleamed.

“It’s good to have you home,” he said smoothly, taking my hand and standing at my side. He turned to the room as Dante pushed through the crowd, placing a glass of champagne in my hand.

“Smile,” Dante whispered in my ear. His lips pressed against my cheek, warmer than his father’s. The brief kiss sent electricity shooting across the surface of my skin. I schooled my features into an acceptable expression.

Ettore lifted his glass. “Our prodigal daughter has returned! Please, lift your glasses with me as we toast the happy couple. To health, prosperity, and a life of peace!”

I raised my glass along with the others, taking a slow sip of the bubbly alcohol and wishing I could chug the whole glass and let out a belch that would shock everybody present. I wouldn’t, though. No, I was acting the part of a proper mafia wife.

People returned to their conversations like I didn’t even exist, though some stared at me while speaking to those around them in hushed tones. I got a distinct impression that I wasn’t a highly favored guest.

“I think they hate me,” I whispered to Dante.

“Your connections make them distrust you,” he answered. “Some may find it… difficult… to look past what your family has done to ours.”

It offended me, though I couldn’t say I wouldn’t feel the same if the situation was reversed. “I had nothing to do with that, though.”

“You’ll find that the sins of blood often wash throughout the family tree.” Dante pulled me deeper through the throng of people until we reached a sitting area. I recognized his brothers and sister, but not the others with them.

“Dante.”

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