Page 48 of Savage Enemy

Benedetta gasped. “She’s Valentina Moscatelli?”

I turned to see her face. Her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted as she stared at the photo.

“You really didn’t know?” I asked.

“No, I promise. I thought she looked a little familiar, but I wouldn’t have placed her in a million years. Valentina and I met only a few times. Her father never let her do much, not even hang out with the other daughters.

“And we all thought she died. I mean, there were rumors that it hadn’t been an accident. She was hardly the first mafia bride to suffer a tragic and fatal accident before her wedding.”

Her words struck me numb. “What?”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“I swear, Stefano, I didn’t realize it was her.”

“I’m asking about the ‘tragic and fatal accident’ thing… what do you mean by that?”

Benedetta blinked up at me.

“Oh. Well, mafia brides die before their weddings all the time. Sometimes it’s suicide, sometimes homicide. Maybe the groom doesn’t like what he sees. If she’s dead, he isn’t honor bound to marry her. Mistresses have been known to take a life as well. I know you know this.”

And I did, but it never really hit me until she’d said it.

“Not so much in New York,” she added, “but Chicago’s still rough when it comes to marrying off daughters. Not being satisfied with a business deal is another reason for getting rid of a bride. Considering the circumstances for Valentina’s wedding, I assumed that had happened to her. We all did.”

Her gaze softened as she studied me.

“It’s not uncommon, Stefano.”

“How common is it?” I demanded.

“Common enough that the possibility of Val having me killed if I didn’t back down from our engagement had definitely crossed my mind. If I’d realized she was a Moscatelli, I would have given it more serious consideration.”

I crossed the room again, hanging on her every word.

“What do you know about her?”

“Probably not much more than you at this point. I know she’s the only daughter of Saul Moscatelli. Her engagement was kept hush-hush. There were rumors of her marrying outside of the Italian families, which pissed off a lot of people.”

“What else?”

“I know her older brother, Marco, is currently in the market for a bride. Last I heard, it still hasn’t been settled. If my father didn’t hate Saul Moscatelli so much, there’s a chance he would have given me to Marco.”

“Why does he hate Moscatelli?”

She shrugged. “He doesn’t trust him. He says Saul lacks vision and any form of moral compass.”

She held on to the photo as she glided across the floor to perch on the edge of the sofa, as if sitting too hard might damage the upholstery.

If she’d had any idea what Val and I had done on that sofa, she might not have treated it so delicately. Christ. I needed to focus on the issue at hand instead of a memory of lying naked with Val’s pretty little body pressed against mine.

I scoffed. “That’s amusing—your father judging others for their lack of morals.”

“I know,” Benedetta said. “My father doesn’t always live up to the code. He has his own way, making clear what he is and isn’t willing to do, lines he will and won’t cross.

“But my father says Saul Moscatelli has no such lines. It was rumored he knew his daughter would likely be dead within a year if he agreed to the Russian wedding, but he sold her to them anyway. He drank to her engagement like the wedding was going to be the event of the century.”

I nodded, my chest aching for Val.

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