ARIA
Walking into a Mafia wedding was a lot like willingly diving into a pit of wolves—with diamond-encrusted fangs and enough tailored suits to dress an army.
The reception was ending as we arrived, the last notes of a string quartet humming in the background while laughter echoed from the marble terrace that wrapped around the estate like a crown.
But this wasn't the main event. No, Kael had said the real attraction—the reason everyone sharpened their knives and wore their best masks—was the after-dinner gathering. Intimate, he'd called it. I could think of a thousand other words.
"Everyone who matters will be there," he'd told me in the car, stroking my knuckles. "The Marchettis. The Giordanos. Even the Bratva sent someone."
"And we're just casually crashing their reunion?" I'd asked.
He'd smiled like sin. "We're not crashing, firefly. We're expected."
Expected.
