Page 82 of Niccolo

A hundred feet from the wedding area, tables had been set up for the reception. Staff members rushed around, putting last-minute touches on beautiful displays of crystal glasses, gleaming silverware, and fine china.

Everything was beautiful and opulent. The wealth on display was mind-boggling while still remaining tasteful – exactly the opposite of Fausto’s McMansion.

I noted dozens of armed men in black suits and ties. Some stood at intervals around the house, while others kept up a steady patrol along the perimeter of the grounds. Given their pistols and assault rifles, I appreciated Fausto not wanting Wagner anywhere near here while we were present.

I noticed something else, too: the crowd was rather sparse. Small groups of guests huddled together, talking quietly as they sipped flutes of sparkling wine.

“I thought mafia weddings were big affairs,” I whispered to Fausto.

“They are, normally – except when the family is in bad odor with the rest of theCosa Nostra,”Fausto said before shifting into mock sympathy. “Then, sadly, no one attends.”

The first brother we met was Roberto. He looked exactly like his pictures: ramrod-straight posture, an immaculate three-piece suit, and slicked-back hair.

“Uncle Fausto,” he said as they shook hands.

“Beautiful day for a wedding,” Fausto said jovially.

“Isn’t it?” Roberto agreed. “Too bad about the circumstances.”

“It’ll sort itself out,” Fausto replied. “I can’t tell you how many times there was bad blood between your father and other families. It’s all just a misunderstanding.”

“Tell that to Niccolo,” Roberto said dourly. “Aurelio, you cut your hair.”

“I did,” Aurelio said coldly.

“Almost didn’t recognize you.”

That was the point,I thought.

“Yeah, well,” Aurelio muttered, “it was time for a change.”

Roberto turned to me and smiled politely. “And you are…?”

“Aurora Dispenza,” I said, shaking his offered hand.

Fausto looked over at Aurelio in annoyance.

Aurelio sighed in exasperation, like he hated being bothered. “She’s my date.”

Fausto shot him a few eye-daggers for his attitude.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Signorina,” Roberto said, then flagged down a nearby waitress. “I have to go check on some things, but please, help yourself to a glass of prosecco – it comes straight from our vineyards. Uncle; Cousin.”

Roberto gave a tiny bow at the neck, then walked off as we took glasses of wine from the waitress’s tray.

After the woman moved on, Fausto muttered angrily under his breath, “I think you meanmyvineyards. Or, at least, theywillbe.”

I didn’t bother to comment on that.

But the wine was absolutely delightful.

34

The wedding was boring, as all weddings are.

I ignored the pomp and instead inspected the players – especially the women, who hadn’t been covered in Fausto’s files.

The bride, Bianca, was quite pretty. She had a glow about her – and her custom-made gown was gorgeous. I was no fashion expert, but evenIcould see beauty when it was right in front of me. Timeless elements of style blended with a daring sensuality. Whoever the designer was, they were amazing.

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