Wedding Shenanigans

Bria’s pov

The church air was close and sweet enough to turn my stomach when the woman to my left started in on the bride.

"She's beautiful," she announced, pleased with herself.

I kept my eyes on the altar. The woman beside her scoffed.

"She's a shameless gold digger without a penny to her name. Look at how tacky those shoes are."

"I heard Arturo didn't contribute a dime toward her wedding dress," the first one murmured, already walking her own compliment back. "It was the final test of her loyalty."

The second woman snorted. "That would explain a dress that doesn't fit."

"Shh. Be quiet. Enzo is glaring at us."

His name snapped my head toward the place both of them were working so hard not to see. The two of them shut up so fast it should have been funny. I didn't feel like laughing. My shoulders had gone tight, and I dropped them before anybody could read that as an answer. They were worried about the wrong set of eyes.

Yeah, he was glaring. Just not at those old gossips. Enzo Castiglione had his molten grey eyes on me, stuck to the side of my head, while one of his men leaned in and whispered something that could not wait for the end of the ceremony. Whatever it was, his face gave me nothing. Mine almost slipped.

I held the frown down to almost nothing. Any bigger and he could decide I'd disrespected him in public and put a bullet straight through my skull.

What does he want now?

If I were standing where he stood, I would have forgotten I existed. I would not have planted myself in a church and made it obvious to every person in the room that something had already happened between us.

I was used to being looked at. Admiration on a good day, horror on a normal one. Obvious didn't bother me. I knew how to let it happen and keep walking. His stare was different. Keeping it off my nerves was taking everything I had, and I still wasn't winning.

The ceremony finished without a fight. No blood either, which was more than I'd expected out of this family. I stepped onto the Castiglione lawn with a glass of orange juice and did my best impression of a guest who was glad to be there. My stomach disagreed. Home was the only place I wanted.

Brenda had already warned me. I was not allowed to leave before I was presented to the family. Alcohol was still off the table, so the juice was me behaving, and it was a poor trade for the drink I actually needed.

I stayed at the edge of the lawn, glass sweating in my hand, and let the reception move around me. None of the smiles looked like they meant it.

Talk ran through the guests as easily as the trays. So did the stares. A laugh went up by the drinks. Somebody's eyes caught on my dress and kept going. I got worse by the second, picking apart every choice that had ended with me on this grass. The orange juice sat sweet on my tongue and didn't touch the sick feeling under it.

The single reason I hadn't been sick yet was Enzo's absence. He wasn't looming anywhere I could see. Given the man and the work, my bet was he was out of sight, busy butchering some poor man where the guests wouldn't have to see it.

Knowing what family I'd been dropped into made me scowl. Wealth like this didn't read as money to me. It read as blood and gunshots. Strip the paint off the party and their enemies would spill out from under it. Once today was over, I hoped I wouldn't be required to stand this close to the Castigliones again.

I shut my eyes on the hard beat in my chest and took another sip.

All I wanted was for the hours to run out. I could already see my dingy apartment, the cheap sheets, me in nothing but my own underwear and a large T-shirt, the rest of the holiday gone to another binge of The Devil Wears Prada. A million rewatches hadn't killed it. It still sounded better than any of this.

"Briaaa!" Brenda's voice cut the wish clean off. "Come here, baby, come and say hi to the family."

I swallowed, set a fake smile on my face, and started across the grass. Brenda waved me in like any of this was normal.

Arturo was impossible to miss, tall and imposing, one arm locked around Brenda's slim waist. Thick brows. A beard and mustache heavy enough to leave him looking permanently pissed off, eyes dark from nothing but years. He intimidated me just by standing there.

I was still crossing the grass when my hands started to shake. His stare was blank. That didn't matter. A gun went off behind my eyes, and red ran across my shoes. I didn't know where the flash had come from, and I didn't get a chance to get out from under it.

"This is my daughter, Bria," Brenda said.

I closed one hand into a fist so I wouldn't fidget like a schoolgirl waiting to be chewed out by the worst teacher she had. "It's nice to meet you."

"This is your daughter?" The question came in a thick accent. "She looks nothing like you, stellina."

Brenda's laugh was dry. She patted Arturo on the chest. "That's because Bria was adopted when Aldo was desperate for a girl child."

"Aldo. That is your ex-husband."

"Yes. We lost him to a car accident, remember?"

He nodded and kissed her forehead. "Of course, I remember, tesoro."

Then he put the welcome on me, and it came out like a warning. "You are welcome to the family, Bria. I trust you won't be giving us any problems. You are part of this family now, and we Castigliones must uphold an image."

I wondered what Brenda had already fed him and kept the smile tight. "I won't, sir—"

"Call me Arturo." He didn't let me finish. "We are family. There is no need for formality with me."

I nodded and turned to Lara. Arturo's daughter had her phone in her face, gone somewhere else. He and Brenda had already moved on to entertain the other girls.

"Hi," I said, and gave her the friendliest smile I could build. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Bria."

She looked up. The way she took me in, I might as well have been stale, bloody meat. Her eyes went cold, and the smile she produced was sickly sweet. "The pleasure is all mine, Bria. Your dress is... interesting."

I glanced down. Gold sequins, two sizes too small, cute enough, and it had been on sale. My favorite boots were under it. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, one shoulder up, "if you mean to look like a slut." She was already back on the phone, walking off.

My left eye twitched. The old me wanted after her. Wanted the last word and the satisfaction of landing it. The newer me knew a fight on this lawn would cost more than her mouth was worth. I'd already fucked up by spending last night in bed with my new stepbrother. The only plan I had left was to get through today.

That plan lasted right up until shouts tore across the courtyard.

I looked before I could tell myself not to. Enzo, of all people, had some poor man at gunpoint.

The noise died on the spot. The garden went quiet enough that every guest could hear him.

"Repeat what you said about her."

"D-Don, I don't— Please. I can't—"

"Don't waste my time, Ramon."

One second. Two. Ramon was still wasting them.

BANG.

The shot jerked through my arm. Orange juice sloshed over my hand and ran sticky down my wrist. Blood and brain matter hit the ground, and more than one scream went up off the lawn.

There was the proof, public and impossible to pretty up. My new stepbrother was a trigger-happy madman. I had been fooling myself to think otherwise, and fooling myself again if I thought I was getting through today without a real drink.

I sighed, drained what was left of the orange juice, and went looking for alcohol.