Captive Rival: Armani (Captive #2; Bellanti Brothers #8), page 18
“My daughter is getting christened later today and you two are trying to kill each other,” Dante lectures. “Marco’s going to look fucking wonderful in the photos with that fat lip!”
All I can do is spread my hands as Marco gingerly touches his split lip. Dante remains standing before us, shaking his head like we’re two ill-behaved children who have disappointed him. Which I guess we kind of are.
“Armani, who did you want to send in?” Dante asks, getting us back on track.
“Clayton. He’ll know who to talk to. He has connections everywhere and he’s our best resource for getting information from multiple families. He may have even reestablished contact with his Bratva guy already, or maybe linked up with someone else.”
I don’t mention my suspicions about Clayton having worked for the Bratva in the past. It’s just a hunch, but I can’t have my brothers questioning his loyalty to us right now. Logically, though, it’s the only thing that explains how he was able to get that last Russian contact at all. It’s not something I’d hold against him, either. The Irishman worked for mob families for years, not pledging to anybody, just following the money. At least, not until he met Frankie’s sister Charlie. Now that he works with us, his past experiences are a boon. He’s well-connected. People like him. Better than that—they trust him.
Marco nods at me grudgingly. “Clayton’s got a light touch, and he’s good with people. Plus, he’s the one who brought the tattooed man to our door.” His eyes drop to his lap then, and his voice gets quiet as he adds, “And he sussed out Donno.”
Dante winces. “I don’t like it. He’s good for the job, but I’m the one who’s going to have to answer to my wife if her sister’s husband gets killed.”
Here we go again with the wives. I can’t fathom how my brothers allow their women to have so much control and influence over them.
“That’s between you and your wife. Clayton’s a big boy. He’ll decide if he wants in or not.”
Dante sighs. “Fine. For now, you two do not speak again until I’ve talked to Clayton.”
He turns to go, but before he reaches the door, I call after him, “By the way, it’s three.”
“Three what?” he asks, checking his watch with a frown and then looking over his shoulder.
“Lili Grace number three,” I say. “For our Tempranillo-Graciano. It’s the winner. No contest.”
Lifting a brow, he glances at Marco. “What do you say?”
“Tre,” he agrees. “It’s the most memorable. They’re all a good balance of sweet and spicy, that mix of cinnamon and plum and sage and cocoa powder, right, but the last one reminds me of…”
He picks up the bottle and sniffs it, then sets it back down.
“Raspberry licorice,” he says. “And it’s medium-bodied, so it’s versatile with food pairings, but also good enough to drink by itself. Think about it. Sweetness, structure, balance. And yeah, it’ll get ya drunk. People will go crazy for it. Trust me.”
For a moment, Dante and I just stare at our little brother with our mouths hanging open.
“What?” Marco says. “I’m a Bellanti. You think I don’t know wine? It’s in the blood.”
“Lili Grace number three it is,” Dante says, recovering. “And you better watch out, kid, or you just might find yourself with a job in the marketing department.”
He picks up the winning bottle and walks out. Marco and I watch him go. Once the door slams at the end of the hall, I glance over at Marco.
“I think fatherhood is making him soft,” I murmur.
“Agreed.”
Marco meets my gaze, his mouth quirked up at the edges. It’s as close to a smile as I’m going to get from him.
I’ll take it.
23
ARMANI
The church is secured with bodyguards at every possible entry point, a guard patrol circling the building, and a photo ID checkpoint at the entrance to the parking lot.
It’s a sanctuary. It should feel safe. But I can’t stop imagining armed Brunos bursting inside during the christening and doing something unforgivable on my niece’s special day.
The threat of violence looms like a dark cloud overhead, even as golden sunlight pours through the church’s stained-glass windows. Clayton is posted at the front of the church, off to one side, so he can keep his eyes on the entry doors at the back, but it isn’t enough to assuage my anxiety. I suddenly have a lot more empathy for Marco’s recent edginess.
Candi has been unusually quiet since she returned from her brunch this afternoon. Probably just nerves about coming to this event. I can’t blame her. While I received plenty of warm greetings, hugs, and handshakes when we arrived here, no one in my family acknowledged Candi beyond a few polite nods. Well, except for Frankie’s mother, Miriam Abbott, who knows nothing about Candi’s former role as a Bruno spy. Mrs. Abbott is always kind to everybody, so I was glad to see her chatting up Candi.
The worst thing about my family’s behavior toward my wife is that I know I can’t force them to forgive her. Not only that, but I understand why they feel the way they do. Candi might be working for me now, but she’ll have to prove herself in order to regain their trust. There’s nothing for it but time.
We’re in a second-row pew, facing the front of the church where the priest chats quietly with my brother and his wife. Baby Liliana is dozing in Dante’s arms, her small form draped in an heirloom lace christening gown that traveled across the ocean with my ancestors from Italy over a century ago. My brothers and I each wore it in our own time, just as our father had before us. The delicate bonnet hides most of Lili’s cherubic face, but a downy tuft of dark hair peeks out of the front.
The priest greets us all and begins the ceremony. Frankie sniffles a little, then looks up at Dante. They lock eyes over their baby, sharing an intimate smile, and my chest swells with a strange emotion. There’s no denying how connected they are, the three of them. A family unit all on their own. An island.
How easily they could take their baby and leave Napa to start fresh somewhere else, far away from the threats and violence here. But if Dante did flee with his family, would Bruno send his men after them? Even if Dante stepped down as the Bellanti clan’s leader? My gut says yes. Sergio Bruno would never stop until he snuffed out every last flame. He wouldn’t want to risk Dante returning to Napa.
The good feeling inside me turns sour.
I can’t even fantasize about a future where the Brunos decide it’s in their best interest to leave us alone. That future, that peace, it only exists if we destroy our enemies completely. We have no other choice. It kills me to admit it, but it’s true.
As the priest goes on with his Bible readings and prayers, Liliana suddenly yawns hugely, her little face scrunching, her fist popping up as she stretches in Dante’s arms. A ripple of coos and soft laughter goes through the guests. Across the aisle, I see Mrs. Abbott sitting with Frankie’s sisters, Charlie and Livvie, all of them snapping photos of Lili’s sleepy antics. But I notice that Livvie isn’t smiling.
Though she’s attentive, her face is pale and drawn, her lips pressed into a line. She hasn’t been the same happy-go-lucky, horse-loving teenager I used to know ever since we rescued her from her Bruno kidnappers. She came back a changed woman. Scarred emotionally and mentally by her ordeal.
Candi shifts slightly beside me, leaning forward to watch as Frankie takes Liliana from Dante and he removes the baby’s bonnet. Then Frankie holds Lili over the baptismal font, and the priest prepares to baptize her. Candi’s hands turn to fists in her lap. She’s tense, every muscle in her body taut. It can’t just be my family that has her on edge. There’s something else on her mind.
Has Bruno contacted her since we got back from our vacation? Is he demanding fresh intel? Did he give her a job to do? If so, she hasn’t breathed a word about it to me. I do want to trust her, but I’m not entirely confident that she’d tell me right away if Bruno was up to something. Still, there are ways I can remind her which side of this war she’s on—ours—and I’m not above using them.
Sliding my hand to her thigh, I reach for her fist and squeeze it gently until she relaxes her hand and laces her fingers through mine. She looks over at me and I give her the slightest nod while watching the priest. After a second, she slides over in the pew until we’re thigh to thigh, then rests her head against my shoulder. My pulse picks up just enough that I notice.
The thin silk of her skirt does nothing to hold in the heat of her body. It seeps comfortably against my leg but gives me a new awareness of her proximity. My skin tingles in response, desire spiking in my blood. It takes all my willpower to focus on what’s happening in front of me instead of on the woman at my side. A few minutes pass before I glance at her again, and when I do, I see her wearing an expression of pure longing as she watches the baby in Frankie’s arms.
Does she want children one day? The topic has never come up between us. Not that it ever will, since I’m sure we’ll be divorcing as soon as this business with the Brunos is concluded…
“Let us pray.”
The priest’s voice draws me back to the christening and I dip my head just in time as he begins a closing prayer. Soon enough, the ceremony is complete. Dante tells everyone that refreshments are being served in the gated courtyard outside, including catered food and some Bellanti Vineyards selections handpicked by Frankie. Candi meets my eyes and my stomach drops. The only snack I want is my wife.
We all rise and I join my family near the altar for some photos. Candi hangs back, uncertain, shaking her head as I motion for her to join me. I don’t force the matter. Neither does anyone else.
Suddenly Dante turns and deposits baby Lili in my arms. I wasn’t fully expecting it, and I hold my breath and look down at her in awe as she stirs.
“She’s waking up,” I whisper to Dante in warning. “You should take her back.”
Her face turns red, mouth puckered and ready to release a cry that seems lodged somewhere. She can’t quite get it out, but she’s sure as hell trying.
Dante smiles. “The only reason she slept through the christening is because she was up all night, so I’ve already pulled my fair share of baby duty in the last twenty-four hours. She’s all yours, brother.”
“Ah, no.”
“You’re the one holding her,” he points out.
I’m man enough to admit that the thought of Liliana going ballistic gives me a beat or two of panic. What the hell does a man do with a screaming infant?
“Then take her back,” I insist, inching toward Dante.
Grinning, he slips his hands in his pockets and takes a leisurely step backward. “I think she wants her uncle Armani.”
“No, she wants her da—”
Just then, a wail sharp enough to make my ears bleed spills out of the baby’s toothless little mouth. And then another, and another. Dante quickly takes the baby, laughing as he soothes her with a series of rocking motions, baby talk, and butt-pats. I guess he’s gotten pretty good at the daddy stuff.
Frankie quickly takes over, scooping Lili out of Dante’s arms, and moves toward the side exit doors with her mother and sister Charlie. Livvie checks something on her phone, sighs, and then follows after them. Marco’s eyes track her, his lips pulled into a frown.
After giving his wife a kiss and suggesting that she join the others in the courtyard, he turns to me and says, “When are you going to tell her what happened to her boyfriend?”
He’s referring to Livvie, of course. He’s been overly protective of Frankie’s youngest sister ever since he met her. To be fair, Dante and I have, too. Maybe some part of us is looking to fill the hole that our sister left in our lives when she died.
That said, Marco’s bond with Livvie is something special. They’re both the youngest of three siblings, the sibling most likely to get banished from the room during “grown-up talk,” the sibling who constantly struggles to be taken seriously by their elders. So when Livvie got kidnapped by the Brunos, Marco took it personally. He made it his duty to save her. And he did. We all did, but Marco…his actions were beyond heroic. I’d never seen him go out on a limb like that before, risking everything for someone else. The whole experience matured him in a big way, seemingly overnight.
“When the time is right,” I answer. Although I’m not sure the time will ever be right to tell my sister-in-law that I was forced to kill her boyfriend.
Marco motions me into a side chapel that glows softly with the light of dozens of flickering prayer votives lined up in rows on an iron stand. He digs in his pocket, pulls out a few crumpled dollars, and drops them in the collection box, then grabs a fresh white candle and motions for me to do the same.
“You know I’m not religious,” I tell him.
“You should still be respectful,” he says. “Do it for Lili, at least.”
“Fine.”
I donate a crisp fifty to the box, pick up a candle, and light it alongside my brother. Once we’ve fitted our burning candles into holders, he nudges me.
“Now pray.”
I grimace. “I’d rather not. I doubt the supreme creator would care to listen to me anyway.”
“Come on. It can’t hurt,” he says. “And what if it helps?”
With a huff, I close my eyes. I have every intention of saying a prayer for my niece, asking the powers that be to guide and protect her, to help her have a life that’s good and joyful and peaceful. Instead, my thoughts veer to Candi. And how she, too, deserves a life that’s good and joyful and peaceful. I’m still trying to figure out exactly how to word my prayer when Marco gives me another nudge.
“You need to tell Livvie,” he whispers. “It’s cruel to keep it a secret from her. You don’t have to admit it was you, but at least tell her you found out her boyfriend died. Otherwise she’ll just keep waiting for him to come back. I mean, haven’t you noticed how miserable she is? She’s suffering.”
“It’s not my problem if her broken heart is keeping her up at night because she thinks she got ghosted,” I snap.
“Armani—”
“Don’t ‘Armani’ me. She should have known better than to get involved with her bodyguard.”
“She didn’t know he was working for the Brunos,” Marco hisses. “Besides, she’s young. She’s innocent. Dude was her first boyfriend. You can’t blame her for being a little naïve—”
“I’m not blaming her, but I can tell you one thing: she’s better off learning how shitty men can be now, so she can learn to build some walls,” I say. “Trust me, she’ll get over it. Eventually. And it’s not like she’ll never have to go through a breakup again. This experience will toughen her up.”
“Right,” Marco says sourly. “So basically, you did her a favor by killing the guy.”
I scoff. “Can you imagine if we’d let him live? He would have turned her against us eventually and we’d have another disloyal woman to contend with. You will say nothing to her. Understand?”
“Whatever. I just hate seeing her like this.” Marco shakes his head. “I need a drink.”
With that, he storms off to join the rest of the guests who are slowly filtering out of the church and into the courtyard. The doors are propped open, so I can hear the low chatter of everyone enjoying the reception, the punctuations of laughter, the random, happy shrieks of the baby. I head toward the noise, but then I see Candi still standing off to the side of the altar. Her hands clasped in front of her, and her eyes wander the interior of the church. It’s obvious that she’s pretending not to notice that the entire Bellanti family has left without so much as a backward glance at her.
Everyone but me.
She turns her head as I approach. When I snag her hand in mine, she visibly relaxes.
“There you are,” I say as I walk her toward the door. “Did you enjoy the ceremony?”
“Yes. I’ve never seen one before. It was really beautiful.”
“It was,” I agree, acting like this event is the only thing on my mind—and like I don’t know that Candi is doing the same exact thing.
In reality, we’re both carrying the burden of our own secrets and tensions, not to mention the constant stress of this looming mafia war. It’s fucking exhausting. And the only thing that would make me feel even marginally better isn’t logistically possible at the moment. Unless I snuck away from this reception to pull my wife into a closet.
Or a confessional.
Like the one across the church, to the right of the sanctuary.
Pausing outside the exit doors, I listen for sounds coming from anywhere inside the church. The priest has left to join the family, and all the guests are gone as well. We’re alone. Well now.
Spinning Candi around, away from the doors, I lead her past the pews and toward the ornately carved, dark wood confessional booth.
“Where are we—”
“Shh.”
I open the door and push her inside. Then I follow, closing the door behind us.
She turns to face me in the close, dim space, but I don’t give her a chance to speak.
Taking her face in my hands, I press my lips to hers and shove her back against the wall. Her chest stalls with a hitched breath, and then she’s devouring me in kind. Hot need races through me with a demanding pulse. I want to consume her inch by inch.
“Do you have something to confess, Candi? Something that’s weighing on your mind?” I whisper in between kisses.
“I—I don’t know.”
Moving my lips over her throat, down her neck, I nibble the soft skin there while grabbing handfuls of her skirt and bunching it up around her waist. She’s wearing a thong, barely a scrap of fabric between me and what I want most. Working my zipper, I hitch her leg around my hip, pull her panties to the side, and slide straight up into her. God, she feels good. Slick and tight, like a hot, hungry mouth.
I start pumping, shallow and fast, my toes curling inside my polished leather shoes.
A harsh little gasp escapes her. “We’re in a church!”
Fucking right we are. But despite her scolding, she’s meeting me thrust for thrust, her eyes rolling back in her head with pure lust. She’s going to clean away my sins right now. She’s going to take them all. I move faster, plunging deeper, ramming her into the wall. Her arm tightens around my neck, her free hand reaching down to cup my balls. It’s a struggle to keep myself from groaning.
