by Bethany-Kris
She didn’t think so.
How could she think that?
“She’s my friend,” Haven murmured.
Wally coughed, and glanced away. “Yeah, well, your friend got mixed up in some pretty bad people. So, unless you care to get yourself mixed up with them, too, I suggest you scurry along and don’t look back. That’s my advice. Be smart, and take it. You don’t have the kind of power or influence these people do. You are a regular woman in a very dangerous world. These people live a life that would give you nightmares. You don’t have even a fraction of what you need to get you through their front door.”
Well, fuck.
“Right now, you are not even on their radar,” the man added quieter. “If you begin looking at them, you will become a blip. The second they know you are there is the very second you become their problem. And do you want to know how they deal with problems like you?”
“How?”
“The easy way would be to kill you. The hard way would be to keep you. Now, you can keep that folder I gave you, but I suggest you burn it and pretend like you never saw it to begin with.” Wally stood from the table, and gathered his things. Sliding his shades back down to cover his eyes, he turned to Haven once more with a simple, “Have a good day, Miss Murphy. Don’t contact me again about this—I won’t answer. In fact, I blocked your number after I called you this morning. I hope you understand.”
That was that.
Haven was left sitting at the table alone, and staring blankly at the stupid information in front of her. She had wasted a lot of money for information Andino had given her simply because he wanted to, and she wasn’t any better for it.
If anything, she was just more concerned than before.
She sat at that table for entirely too long before Haven decided enough was enough. She was quick to gather her things, and then leave the small eatery with the folder still tucked under her arm. Despite what Wally suggested, she had absolutely no fucking intention of burning the information.
She wasn’t giving up on Val.
Not yet.
Since the eatery was only a few blocks away from Haven’s house, and she hadn’t been able to jog that morning, she had simply walked. She was halfway home before a prickling sensation covered the back of her neck. The kind of feeling that made all the fine hairs on her body stand up on end.
She peered over her shoulder, but nothing stood out. So, she kept walking. A few cars passed her by, but it was only when a familiar black sedan drove past her for the third time within two blocks that Haven finally noticed it.
The fourth time, the car drove slower.
She didn’t recognize the shadow of the man sitting behind the wheel, but it left her with an uneasy and angry ball growing in her gut. Cars like those were all too common, she found, when it came to the mafia.
How many of the men who worked for Andino had she seen driving cars exactly like that one?
Jesus Christ.
She’d told him, hadn’t she?
Wasn’t she fucking clear enough?
Haven was a few steps from her house when the car drove by going at least twenty under the goddamn speed limit yet again. Done with that nonsense, she pulled her phone from the bag slung over her shoulder, and dialed a familiar number. Despite the fact she had actually deleted his contact from her phone altogether, her stupid mind knew the number by heart.
Of course.
This was the one and only call she would make to him. And it was only to tell him to fuck way the hell off.
He’d done enough to her.
“Haven?”
Andino’s voice filtered in her ear with a soothing, sexy quality. Fuck her body for feeling some kind of way about it, too. Haven pushed those thoughts aside as she turned to watch the black car coming her way.
“You’re having me followed now?” Haven demanded. “Is that your next thing? Instead of you coming and going, you’re sending someone else to do it for you, or …? Because I don’t appreciate it, and you can call them off at any fucking time.”
“What?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I am—”
“Haven,” Andino murmured, “you made yourself perfectly clear, and even though you weren’t willing to let me talk or explain some things … I heard you. As best as I could. I swear to God, if someone is following you, it’s not me.”
Haven stiffened in place, and her gaze lifted to watch as the car came closer. “It’s not you.”
“No.”
“Then, who the fuck is it?”
Andino cleared his throat. “It’s probably the Calabrese just making sure things are as they want it to be.”
“You mean … we’re not together.”
“Exactly that. They know better than to hurt you, but I am sure they are just making themselves known. My advice would be this … if they’re watching you, Haven, then watch back. Make them know that you’re aware they are there. Don’t be afraid—don’t let them think for a second that they’re bothering you. Watch them as much as they watch you.”
“Watch them.”
That felt odd.
“As long as they’re watching you, yeah,” he said. “And Haven?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m still sorry. And I still love you.”
Fuck him.
She didn’t need to hear that.
He couldn’t possibly mean it.
Haven hung up the call.
FIFTEEN
Three weeks to go.
The countdown was on.
A weight pressed down on Andino’s shoulders as he stared at the place card that had been set in front of him alongside four different slices of cake. He was not a sweets person, really. He could do without cake, and sugar.
Not today, apparently.
Today, he had to cake test.
For his fucking wedding.
“The traditional flavors all have a nice twist, as you will all find once you begin the tasting. There’s also our signature flavor,” the baker said, leaning over the table to point at a chocolate cake that Andino was sure tasted exactly like it fucking looked. “This one here. Now, the final one … The lemon cake has a zest—”
“Lemon is disgusting for a wedding cake,” Siena said.
At the other end of the table, Kev made a noise under his throat, and tossed his oldest sister a glare. “You could at least let the woman finish speaking, Siena.”
“I could, but nobody wants lemon flavor in their wedding cake, Kev.”
“She has a point,” Andino murmured, drawing the attention to himself. He would much rather pretend like he wasn’t there at all, but here he fucking was. He might as well make the most of it. “But then again, no one thought to ask the only woman who should really get a say about it, yeah?”
All eyes turned on a quiet Ginevra sitting beside Andino. She, like him, had barely been paying attention throughout this whole charade as well. She didn’t want to be there any more than he fucking did, clearly.
Not that he blamed her.
“I don’t care,” Ginevra said.
There she be.
Ginevra did well on her good days to pretend when it came to this marriage nonsense. She put on a smile, and acted like she gave a fuck. She didn’t step out of line, or do something that might piss off her brothers’ already thin patience. She was the respectful, dutiful wife-to-be, Andino supposed.
And then there were days like this.
Days when she didn’t care to even try. She still managed to be somewhat kind to Andino and Siena, but he figured that was because they were the only ones who made an effort to look out for what she wanted or needed. Kev and Darren surely didn’t give a single fuck about Ginevra, or what she was feeling.
They’d made that clear enough.
Kev passed Ginevra the same kind of look he had given to Siena just a couple of moments earlier. The man wasn’t very good at verbal communication unless it was to tell one of his sisters or his brother an order th
at he wanted them to follow. Otherwise, he just glared and went on like a foolish prick.
Then again, that’s exactly what Kev was.
A fucking prick.
Well, that was too bad for Kev because this wasn’t about him. And even if the wedding would never happen—Andino was still working on that angle how he could—he didn’t think this needed to be so goddamn traumatic for Ginevra, either.
Andino gestured at his fiancée—fuck, he hated even thinking that—and shrugged. “She doesn’t care. Continue on, I guess.”
“Yes, well, okay,” the baker muttered.
Andino might have laughed at the woman’s befuddlement on any other day, but really, he just found it fucking sad. Even she could tell that this whole tasting bit was pointless. She wasn’t making a wedding cake for a couple that even wanted to get married, and it was palpable.
It made for an awkward tasting.
To say the least …
The baker waved her hands at the pieces of cake in front of everyone at the table. “Well, I will just leave you all to it. I don’t think you need me here.”
Or rather, they didn’t want her there. It was probably obvious, like everything else, frankly.
Kev grunted, and heaved his heavy body out of the chair he had been sitting in. Passing the rest of them a look, he muttered, “I think we could all take a few minutes, actually. I’ll be back—you two, fucking mind.”
He said that with a beefy finger pointed at Ginevra, and then Siena. To Andino, however, the man only gave a nod. He fucking knew better than to open his mouth and spew some kind of shit to Andino. That wouldn’t fly over well for any of them.
Had he mentioned that this tasting—like every other part of planning this goddamn sham of a wedding—had been awkward?
Because it was.
This was exactly why, even though his mother continued to ask time and time again to be allowed to help, Andino refused her. He knew Kim wanted to be involved in some way, even if she knew he wasn’t happy with this whole thing simply because it was her son, and what they all believed to be his only marriage.
He would be married.
And once.
Not to Ginevra, though.
Nonetheless, his mother didn’t need to be a part of this unholy mess. Kim was too good for that shit. He didn’t want her to put effort into something that he only intended on ruining. He wasn’t that horrible of a man to do that to his own mother.
“You up for a visit to see John soon?” Andino asked Siena the second he figured her brother was out of earshot.
It was only them, and Ginevra left in the tasting room.
“Next week?” Siena asked back.
Andino shrugged. “Maybe, or the one after. Depends on how much running I have to do for this fucking nonsense.”
Siena gave him a look. “Be nice.”
“Where was the lie, though?”
“Yeah, well …” Siena glanced at her half-sister, and then back at him. “Just because it is doesn’t mean you have to point it out. That seems cruel.”
Andino dipped his head in Ginevra’s direction. “She knows what this is, girl. God knows, she probably feels the same way. Right, Ginny?”
Ginevra glanced between Siena and Andino with a furrowed brow. Yeah, he bet that was some kind of crazy shit for her to now realize he communicated with Siena beyond this wedding nonsense. They were actually friends.
And allies.
Ginevra would learn that soon enough.
“It does seem pointless,” Ginevra finally said, still looking entirely too confused. “They’re going to pick whatever in the hell they want, anyway. What does it matter?”
Siena sighed. “Yeah, I know. Where’s Snaps? Didn’t you bring him?”
Andino made a face. “Outside with my man.”
“Why?”
“For one, because they likely would have had a fit if I tried to bring him inside. And for another reason—”
“Because he doesn’t like me,” Ginevra muttered.
Andino made a noise under his breath. “Yeah, and that.”
Siena’s brow dipped. “Really? Snaps seems to like … well, mostly everyone. Women more than men.”
Wasn’t that the fucking truth?
His dog was just in a mood lately. A lot like Andino, really. He knew exactly why that was, too. Snaps was quite aware that Haven was not around, and hadn’t been for a while. About as long as the time his dog had been in this goddamn mood of his.
He was snappy—appropriate, for his name … or fucking ironic—but especially toward Ginevra. Which was just strange considering she never tried to do anything but pet him.
“He’s got some issues,” Andino said as though he were talking about a child and not an animal. “I’m handling it.”
“It’s because I’m not her, isn’t it?” Ginevra asked. “That … Haven woman.”
Silence drifted down the table with a heavy hand. Andino wished he could lie and say that wasn’t it, but he was getting really tired of lying all the time. It was a lot of work, and Ginevra basically said it anyway.
What difference did it make if he confirmed it?
“Yeah,” he murmured, “that’s a lot of the problem.”
She only nodded.
Ginevra was not stupid.
Quiet, yes.
Sly, sure.
Not stupid.
Andino planned on using that to his advantage. Glancing at Siena, he said, “We’ll talk more on the John thing when I get something worked out.”
“Sure,” Siena replied.
“Should we try the cake?” Ginevra asked.
“Why bother?” Andino shrugged one shoulder, and stood from the table. “None of us are going to actually eat it.”
Ginevra glanced up at him with a knot between her brows. “What does that mean?”
He simply gave her a smile. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just keep doing what you’re told, Ginny.”
Five days to go.
Andino’s life had been reduced to counting down the days to a wedding that shouldn’t have been agreed to in the first place. He felt like a ticking time bomb that had almost reached its time to blow, but it wasn’t coming fast enough.
He was ready to put an end to all of this.
For good.
But for now?
Andino held his arms out straight, and allowed the tailor to take yet another set of measurements. Not that the man needed it—Andino’s size hadn’t changed since his early twenties. Nonetheless, the man was particular, and demanded Andino be sized each and every time he came in to have a suit tailored.
But … at least if he was here doing this, then he didn’t need to be somewhere else handling the goddamn Calabrese brothers. That seemed like a fair trade to him. After all, he was going to have to deal with Kev and Darren more than he would ever want to soon enough.
“All right, Andino,” his old, familiar tailor said. “I think I have everything. Dante, you’re up next. And stop fucking scowling, Dante, you know I hate doing your measurements when you scowl.”
“Maybe because you keep finding inches where there are none,” Dante bitched under his breath as he pushed up from the couch.
The tailor still heard his uncle anyway. “That’s what happens as we grow older. Things shift, and move. You still look fine enough for a man your age; as your wife hasn’t left your difficult ass yet, we can all safely assume she feels the same way. Stop whining, and get up here.”
Chuckles passed around the room between the Marcello men. For a second, Andino felt comforted by the familiarity of it all. Had this been any other day … for any other event … he might not have felt the nostalgia be chased away by the heaviness of his impending fucking doom.
Dramatic?
Maybe.
Still felt true, though.
Andino took a seat between his uncle, and his grandfather as Dante stepped up beside the tailor to be measured on the small platform. His boss eyed him from the position with a
softer eye than usual.
Normally, Dante surveyed Andino like he was trying to get inside his head, or size him up for what might be coming next. It often made him feel like a bug under a damn microscope, but he was becoming numb to it. This was just Dante’s way. Andino didn’t have to like it.
“What?” he eventually asked.
Dante smiled. “Nothing, just thinking, nipote.”
“Care to share with the rest of the class?”
Antony laughed beside him, and Lucian only smirked.
“You can talk if you can listen at the same time,” the tailor warned Dante, “now widen those legs for me.”
Dante widened his stance for the tailor, and shook his head at Andino. “I’m not sure if I want you to lose that attitude before you take over for me, or keep it and see where it takes you, Andi.”
Andino rested his ankle over his knee, and leaned back on the couch. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter once I’m the one calling the shots, does it?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“That’s the hardest part,” his grandfather said beside him. “Watching the one who comes after you do all the things you wish they wouldn’t. And making sure your voice doesn’t even attempt to overtake theirs in the grander scheme. I suppose that’s why bosses who have taken over after a death find themselves more comfortable than those who have the former boss constantly watching over their shoulder.”
“I don’t intend to watch over his—”
“You will and not even mean to,” Antony interjected before Dante could say more. “I did the same thing for you—why would this be different? It’s what you do or do not do, for that matter, which will make the difference in how the rest of them see Andino once he takes that position in front of them with you still remaining in the background.”
Andino could feel his uncle watching him, but he kept staring at his grandfather. Antony made a good point, and he wondered if anyone else had thought to tell Dante what he had just been told. Andino didn’t think so.
