Page 27 of Rubies and Revenge

I step closer, lowering my voice. “Why negotiate the deal at all, Father?”

He shakes his head, waving his hand.

“Please,” I plead, “just tell me.”

“Your mother will kill me,” he whispers.

“Wouldn’t be the first attempt,” I say.

“Zarina.”

“Father.” I use the same chastising tone he does. Despite the specter of Marcus’s face looming over me, his fingers digging into my skin, his breath hot on my ear, and the overwhelming urge to run out of here to scrub myself clean of all of it, I can’t help but lean closer to my father. The Gallos—my family—are in trouble. I want to help.

“Please,” I whisper again, “let me help.”

Father stares at the handkerchief, at the makeup smeared across it, before crumpling it in his fist and shoving it in his pocket. He raises his head, and I know without a word that he’s the same proud, stupid man he’s always been.

“Are you really marrying Andrea Tamayo?” he asks.

I sigh. “Does it matter?”

“No,” he snorts. Like this is the most unbelievable, unacceptable part of this entire sham of a meeting, rather than his failure as a father, a don, and a man. “I guess not.”

Father sniffs and rolls his shoulders back, walking to the door without another glance. “Stay smart.”

I watch him leave me, makeup ruined with smarting bruises forming on my chin, and wish for the first time in a long time that I wasn’t his daughter. “Keep safe.”

TAMAYO

My eyes follow Zarina down the aisle and out of the nave. Only when the door clicks shut behind her, when Jimmy’s hand squeezes mine in an unspoken demand for my attention, do I shift to fully face him.

He wears a boyish smile that makes his eyes gleam with something on the edge of violence. “I’m interested to see how this plays out.”

We glance over at Marcus, who’s ignoring his father and Riccardo Gallo’s conversation in favor of slipping out of his pew and glaring at me. I snort.

Jimmy turns back to me with a small chuckle. “I’d advise a short engagement.”

“Easier said than done.” I roll my tongue over my molars. Only the other night, one of his capos insulted me, attacked me, reneged on a deal. And now, for the first time ever, the Falcone don and I are having a tangible conversation. “Zarina and I have much to discuss. Almost as much as I have to discuss with you.”

“Is that so?” He arches a brow.

I scuff my boot against the crimson rug under my feet as if there’s still scum on the toe. “I met Antoni on Thursday.”

Jimmy bares his teeth at the name. “He may have mentioned it. Was hard to understand, what with his broken nose.”

“Oh, he’s injured?” I feign concern. “Send him my wishes for a quick recovery.”

“Hm.” Jimmy purses his lips and runs his gaze over me, stopping on the ruby engagement ring heavy on my finger. “If you want to tell him yourself, we’ll be at Casa Nostra Wednesday evening—stop by.”

I tamp down a triumphant grin and keep my face subdued. “Will do.”

“See you then.” Jimmy turns on his heel with a wave of his hand.

“Stay smart,” I call the traditional farewell.

“Keep safe,” he replies.

I stand before the altar, the thunk of the heavy wooden door echoing through the empty nave. There’s no tête-à-tête waiting for me; Riccardo and the Accardis disappeared without my notice. But Zarina waits for me. Mine to take home, to claim, to marry—at least according to the Council. The only ruling that really matters and the only opinion that doesn’t. Fucking ironic.

---