Page 25 of Rubies and Revenge

He growls.

Jimmy speaks before Marcus can push out of his seat. “With their engagement, it renders the Accardi claim null. As well as yours, Ricci. She’s not been kidnapped, she’s eloped.”

“They’re not married yet!” Alonso’s face has progressed past tomato red into heart-attack purple, and I wish he would succumb to it already.

David Capone sits in the front pew, eyes flicking between us and Jimmy and Alonso, face wrinkled in disgust as if he’s seen a cockroach scuttle across the floor and disappear beneath the baseboards. He buttons and unbuttons his jacket, like he’s unsure if he should stand and end the meeting with Jimmy or if he should stay sitting and end my ungodly, improper engagement to another woman.

“Married or not, they’ve entered a contract. Those rings are as binding as blood.” Jimmy leans a hip against the back of David’s pew, mostly talking to him while answering Alonso. “A deal is unbreakable. It’s our most basic law.”

“We’re all liars, James.” Father’s voice is so quiet, I can hardly hear him. His most dangerous decibel level.

“Not on the Council,” Jimmy growls. “Not since the Russos.”

Alonso’s glare snaps to Jimmy at the mention of his long ago betrayal of the fallen fifth family. Their name is only whispered behind closed doors or when their surviving son’s entry into a gala is announced to the room. They are the bloody blight threaded into the fabric of our city’s history and splattered over Alonso Accardi’s name. The cautionary tale to us all when deals have no merit and Louredo no keepers.

Their name serves the purpose Jimmy intended: It spurs David to his feet with a clearing of his throat. A deal made by a member of the Cardinal Families must be upheld by all of them, even if it goes against every fiber of their sanctimonious, hypocritical beings.

“You’ve caused quite a ruckus, Andrea,” he says. As if I, a ranking member of a Cardinal Family, am not the entire reason he must hold up our “distasteful” agreement at all.

“I apologize, Mr. Capone.” Tamayo sounds properly contrite. I have to lock my gaze on David’s mustache to keep from rolling my eyes.

“Don’t let it happen again, hm?” He winks at her, like she’s a child caught sneaking candy—me—from the jar.

Alonso slams his hands on the back of a pew. “This is ludicrous! There’s no proof?—”

“Andrea has the marriage rite,” David announces. He avoids looking at me, buttoning his suit jacket and fussing with his cuffs. “The Council awaits an invitation to celebrate with you both.”

The unspoken threat thickens the air around Tamayo and me.Don’t make a fool of him, or else.

“We’ll set a date soon,” Tamayo says.

“Splendid.” David clears his throat and turns for the aisle. He offers Tamayo a handshake, still not looking at me. “Stay smart.”

“Keep safe,” she replies with the customary farewell.

And then he turns on his heel and strides away. Not one further word uttered to me. Not even a wave or a nod. Tamayo’s thumb swipes over my ribs, and I almost rip myself away from her touch, too incensed to be told to calm down, whether aloud or not.

Instead I lean in to whisper in her ear, fake smile stretched across my face. “I need to leave before I scream.”

“Be good.” She clutches my waist tight. If I weren’t fuming, my skin hot with the anger swirling inside me, I might shiver. “Straight to the car.”

“Five minutes, or I leave without you.” I kiss her cheek and thank Jimmy as he congratulates us—Tamayo, really—then slip out of her grip before she can draw me close to her side again. I’ve spent most Sundays in this church, watching a man preach from the pulpit with gold hung around his neck as if he was a god himself. I hate this fucking place.

I stride down the aisle without glancing to my father, or to the Accardis, though I know each one of them wishes they could stop me. I don’t offer them the chance. All I want is a few moments alone, without anyone watching me, without anyone undressing me with their eyes, without anyone searching for a chink in the armor of my glare. Just me and deep breaths until the urge to tear something, anything, apart finally seeps out of me.

The doors to the nave swing shut behind me, placing a physical barrier between me and the men who continuously try to rule my life. My shoulders loosen infinitesimally, and I stretch out my jaw, trying to ease the pulsing ache from theforce of my clenching. Blood pumps loud in my ears, and I wish I was already back at Tamayo’s, in a hot bath with a glass of wine.

The door creaks behind me.

I jerk straight again, the small relief I felt hardening into steel around my spine. When I swivel on my heel, my elbow is grabbed with a rough hand, and I’m swung around off-balance into a hard chest. Fingers grab my chin tight enough to leave a bruise if they don’t loosen.

Marcus Accardi forces me to meet his eye. “You’ve made a right mess of things.”

He’s a handsome man, objectively speaking. Strong jaw with full lips and bright, golden-brown eyes. His hair is thick and curly, his shoulders broad. But he’s a pig wrapped up in old power and rich silks. A pig with his hands on me.

I wrap my fist around his wrist and dig my fingers between the tendons there. He doesn’t flinch. I summon my most smug expression despite his harsh grip on my chin, his nails carving half-moon imprints over my skin. “Thanks, it’s my specialty.”

“It’s fucking stupid,” he snaps.

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