“There’s not a single clear view of the sky,” Angie said. “Even at the penthouse, the view is so noisy.”
Hearing frustration and disappointment in his voice, feeling similar emotions for slightly different reasons, Giada tugged his arm and turned him to face her. “I never would have imagined you were such a nature boy,” she teased as she unbuttoned his suitcoat and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I didn’t think I was a nature boy. I mean, I surfed and shit as a kid, and I like going out on a boat, or playing a round of golf, but I never really thought of that as nature.”
Giada laughed, and he joined her.
“I know. But in the Cove, that’s just life. It’s a little town. It’s quiet. People have yards. Almost everywhere is walking distance to the beach. We’re all living under a bright blue sky, and the biggest crowd is the boardwalk and beach on a holiday weekend. Against that, Boston is like a loud, dirty cage.”
“I can’t go too far out, bello. I need to be close to business. We both do.”
“I know.” He sighed and studied the tall back wall of this brownstone she’d hoped might be the right blend of them both. “Okay. It is a great house. I love that media room, and there’s plenty of room for the piano. The pool table will never make it up that twisty staircase, but I can get rid of it. And there’s not a lick of pink anywhere. So okay. Let’s make an offer.”
“No,” Giada said, surprising them both.
“Please? But you love it. Your poker face almost broke in the kitchen.”
She thought she could love this house more than her apartment. But she did not want to start their new life with Angie already giving up more than she was. He’d given up more than enough. “I do. But I love you more, and I want the house we buy to be perfect for us both.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if that house exists. We’re pretty far apart on this, G.”
“No. I don’t accept that. The right house is out there. We’ll find it.”
A sly, almost sad smile lifted his cheek. “You get what you want?”
She grabbed his lapels and pulled him closer. “I got you, didn’t I?”
~oOo~
Giada’s stylist, Tori, and Christienne Haas, the designer of her bespoke wedding gown and a good friend of Tori’s, stood back in identical positions of appraisal and tutted at her.
“I don’t know how you had time to lose three inches, Giada,” Tori complained. “We took your first measurements a month ago.”
Giada considered herself in the triple mirror. She’d been so thrilled when Christienne had brought this design to her, a work of art, exactly to her specifications, on such short notice. And she’d recommended an absolutely breathtaking—and breathtakingly expensive—heavy silk festooned with tiny Swarovski crystals. It was Giada’s dream wedding gown—not the puffy princess confection she’d imagined as a little girl, but the perfect gown for the woman that girl had become.
One thing about waiting so long to marry—she knew what she liked, and who she was, and she had the means to make her wedding exactly suit her. All Angie cared about, truly, was the marriage, so she had free rein to indulge herself in its celebration.
He’d also made a request that the music be live and ‘not that tantric techno crap,’ but Giada had herself a man who could really dance, so the band was going to play music he would dance to. Classic standards. Which were hipster these days, anyway, and not difficult to book, even on short notice.
In fact, the music and dancing had helped her pick her theme for the reception.
But now her strapless bodice gaped dangerously, and the waist and hip of her mermaid-style gown sagged. She hadn’t been dieting, or even working out more than usual, but she had skipped a few meals. There was a lot going on.
“I’ve been busy,” she said and clenched her jaw before she apologized. “What can you do?”
Christienne sighed dramatically and answered in a thick French accent, “The problem is so many crystals. Each one by hand, you see, and the pattern so delicate. To take so much in, we will remove and reattach each crystal at the seams. This will take time. And the boning of the bodice will need resetting, aussi. All with the pattern keeping its place. Very difficult. This wedding is?”
“Saturday,” Tori answered. Five days.
“Mon Dieu.”
Again, Giada almost apologized. Instead, she gave Christienne a keen look. “Can you do it? Cost is not an object.”
The old woman flounced her arms, making her gaudy old rings flash and her wildly patterned silk caftan flutter. Then she shook a bony finger at Giada. “Lose not one more ounce, not a millimetre, or all will be lost. Oui?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Then I will make you beautiful in your sparkling dress.”
Giada smiled. “Thank you, Christienne.”
Tori stepped onto the platform and began to help Giada out of the not-quite-finished gown. “Okay. Let’s check the reception dress. That one’s more forgiving, but I bet it’ll need a little tuck.”
Angie and Giada were marrying in a traditional Mass, of course, at her home church, St. Leonard’s, on the steps of which her uncle had been gunned down. That memory and its pain flared fresh every time the church came up in thought or word, and she hadn’t been to Mass since Enzo’s funeral. But it was her church, and Boston was her home, so there was nowhere else she could imagine being married.
They’d very briefly discussed marrying in Quiet Cove, at Angie’s church, but Quiet Cove was Nick’s town. The don of the Sacco Family couldn’t marry there. So they would make a new memory on the steps of St. Leonard’s, and Giada would think of her uncle and know he was with her, and would have walked her down the aisle.
Alden Castle would host the reception. She’d flexed some muscle to get the State Room, which had been booked long in advance. The couple she’d displaced had gained some equanimity about the change to their plans when Giada had paid for their replacement venue.
After the reception, she and Angie would leave for a brief honeymoon, which she was keeping as a surprise for her groom. Her wedding gift. As far as he knew, they were going back to the penthouse—no new home yet—and would take a trip at some later date.
Planning this wedding. Bringing the Sacco Family back to full strength and establishing herself as don. Expanding the Sacco reach on the Council. Preparing for whatever blowback there might be for defying the traditions of La Cosa Nostra. Running Sacco Development. Trying to find a new home.
Maybe she’d forgotten a meal or two, but she definitely had a lot going on.
Tori helped her into her reception dress. This one was couture, not custom. Red silk with a high sheen, sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and back. It, too, hugged her body to her hips, but from there began to flare. It would suit the reception theme perfectly. She felt like Hedy Lamarr.
“I was right, this is easier,” Tori said, tugging on the bodice of this dress. “I can do these. Just a simple alteration—a couple tucks at these darts, and I’ll bring the straps in a little at the seam.” She smoothed her hands over Giada’s hips. “It looks like it fits okay at the hips, still. What do you think?”
Tori had asked Christienne, but Giada turned on the platform and examined herself in the mirrors. The skirt of the gown swung sleekly around her legs. “I like it.”
“Oui, that will do,” the designer muttered, squinting at Giada’s chest. She scooped up the wedding gown, cradling it like a baby, and wandered off to her studio.
Tori clapped her hands. “Phew! Okay. Now we need to talk about the honeymoon outfit and accessories for everything. Let me get you a robe, because we have some choices to make. Francesco sent over several gorgeous pieces.”
Francesco Mondari, her favorite estate jeweler. Her wedding gown deserved something special. She hadn’t so lost her head with all these wedding expenses that she was ready to drop serious six figures on a diamond statement necklace, but Francesco was happy to let her borrow some for an
evening.
“Rubies?” Giada asked as she slipped on the robe.
Tori grinned. “Of course! And I think I already know which you’re going to pick. This is so much fun! I knew if you ever got married, your wedding would be like a dream.”
Giada smiled. That was the plan, yes. A little girl’s dream, and a grown woman’s, too.
~oOo~
“Oh, Giada,” Tori gasped. Her awed exclamation was accompanied by the staccato snick of a professional camera taking automatic photos, but Giada barely heard any sound at all. She stared in the mirror and let a moment of fantasy have her.
Tori had just snugged a slim diamond tiara in Giada’s dark hair, which was coiled up elaborately to show her neck, and her bare shoulders, and the magnificent diamond and ruby necklace lying over her collarbones and the matching drop earrings dripping from her lobes. She lifted her hand—her engagement ring flashed light at the mirror—and tugged at a tendril wisping along the side of her face.
“Don’t fuss,” Tori muttered, slapping her hand lightly. All the while the photographer clicked away.
“Will the bridesmaids be joining you soon?” the young woman behind the expensive camera rig asked. “I usually get quite a few shots of the friends enjoying themselves as they get ready.”
Giada had no close female friends. The wives of the capos, those she’d invited to her now-defunct ‘book club,’ had never been true friends. She’d had too little in common with them, and, frankly, not enough esteem for them. They were the kind of women who could stay married to the kind of men Tommy had kept close. The few wives old enough to be married to men her father had kept close, she had even less in common with them.
Bruno’s wife, Deandra, was perhaps the closest thing she had to a friend, and the one among that group she truly liked, but they were very different, and Giada didn’t want to blur any lines. She was don. Her closer relationship was, and should be, with Bruno, not his wife.
Having never really had a good friend, Giada didn’t much miss the experience. She’d recognized the gap, but not felt it as a lack. But it did make arrangements for a traditional wedding a bit more complicated.
Angie had asked Nick to be his best man. In celebration of and solidarity with the healing of that bond of friendship he so valued, and because the optics were also good and useful, Giada had asked Nick’s wife, Bev, to be her matron of honor.
“That won’t be necessary. I have one attendant, and she’ll be here closer to the ceremony.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’m going to take some mood photos then, unless—”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Dawn.”
“Of course. I’ll be close. Shoot me a text when you’re ready. After mood shots, I’ll track down the groom.” Dawn left, and Giada stood—and took a relieved breath. Sitting in this gown was not so easy. One reason she’d decided on the wardrobe change before the reception.
She stopped before the full-length mirror and twirled a bit. “Christienne is an artist. It’s perfect.”
Tori gave her a once over. “She really is. You look like a queen preparing for her royal wedding—and I guess you kinda are.”
Giada remembered her early idea to forge a connection with the Paganos through a romantic relationship, real or perceived. That had been a dangerous and ultimately unworkable plan, but somehow the result had been achieved—though marrying for love was a much better reason than marrying for power.
A knock on the door prevented her from responding. Tori went to the door and cracked it. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to the bride.” Bruno’s voice. He wouldn’t be here now unless something was wrong.
“Come in, Bruno,” she called. “Tori, give us a few minutes, please.”
“Sure. I’ll start taking stuff to my van for Alden.” She grabbed a few of her assorted cases and left the room. Bruno closed the door.
“What’s wrong?”
Bruno gaped at her. “Wow, Giada. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. What’s wrong?”
“Got a situation with Johnny B.” There were two Johnnies and a Gianni in their ranks, none of whom preferred to be called John. So they were Johnny White Shoes, Johnny B, and Gianni the Nose. All made men, but none of them particularly noteworthy.
“Today?”
“Mi dispiace, donna.”
She sighed—and the stays of her bodice bit into her ribs. “If you’re here with this, it must be significant.”
“Domestic disturbance this morning that rolled out of the house, into the street. It got wild and loud, bloody. Tess is pretty roughed up. Neighbors called. Long story short, it ended with Johnny shooting a cop.”
Giada closed her eyes. “Fuck. How bad off is the cop?”
“He was wearing a vest. Probably nothing more than a nasty bruise and a broken rib or two, but that doesn’t mean all the boys in blue aren’t on fire for Johnny’s ass. If not for the vest, the bullet would’ve got him right in the heart.”
“Do we know the cop?”
“No. But Johnny lives in Burlington, and we’ve got several guys on our payroll at his precinct. I already got a call from inside the house. We can make it go away eventually, but it is gonna cost, Giada. And they will want their pound and a half out of him first.”
Giada considered the problem for a minute before she said more. When she was ready to talk it out, she said, “Stop me when I get something wrong. Johnny B was beating on his wife this morning. When she tried to run out of the house, away from him, he chased her. He beat her in the street. Apparently, he also had a gun. One or more neighbors called 911, and the scene went on long enough for cops to arrive and Johnny to shoot one.”
Bruno had never stopped her. “That’s about it.”
“How badly is Tess hurt?”
“I don’t know. What I’ve got so far is coming from one of our guys in the precinct, and he’s pretty wound up about his friend who took a bullet to the chest. But they took her away in an ambulance, and there was a lot of blood.”
“And their kids?”
“I don’t know. Neighbor, maybe. Or—I think Tess’s mom lives close.”
“Track that down, make sure they’re okay.” Bruno nodded as Giada played out an idea. “If we offer the cops say, a hundred and sixty or so pounds of Johnny’s flesh, how does that play out?”
“What do you mean, turn our backs, leave him to rot? Or do you mean more?”
“More. I don’t want him in jail to work deals. I don’t trust a wife-beater, and I won’t waste resources monitoring him so he doesn’t rat. So he’s dead either way. But will the cops consider it a good-faith gesture if we let them do him? And will they do it? Can we use it as leverage later?”
Bruno stared hard at her. “It won’t go over well with the others if we serve a made man to the cops to take their revenge. It doesn’t go over well with me. Having some blue on our payroll does not make them friends, donna. Cops are our adversaries.”
“I would never have made a man like Johnny Botta.”
“But he is made.”
She needed more input. Pulling her phone from her bag, she texted Angie.
I need you up here.
You sure? I’m supposed to see you down here
in a couple minutes.
And not supposed to see you before. Bad luck.
Work. Bruno’s here.
On my way.
When Angie knocked, Bruno answered.
For a moment, Giada forgot entirely that they were discussing the demise of one of their men. Her brain, her eyes, her whole body was full of the sight of her man.
Oh, look at him. He wore his classic tuxedo, cut like he’d been born in it. The same one he’d worn the night of another wedding, which seemed so long ago now. A creamy white calla lily was pinned to his lapel.
He stood just inside the door and gaped at her. “Holy Mother, Giada. Look at you. Sei così bella.”
Despite the circumstances, she grinned. This was her wedding day. She’d hope
d to see this look in his eyes from the opposite end of a long aisle, but the look was all that truly mattered.
Ignoring Bruno, he crossed the room and lifted his hands, but didn’t touch her. “I’m afraid to put my hands on you. You’re so perfect.”
“You can put your hands anywhere you want after the wedding. Right now, a problem.”
He blinked. “Right. Bruno?”
Bruno explained again, and Giada told him her thinking. Angie, now her consigliere rather than her groom, considered for a second.
“I agree with Bruno, G. What this scum did puts us at risk, and he hurt a woman, so he needs to die hard. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to hand him over. Paying cops off is one thing, but even if you have friendly relations with some, they are never friends. They are always on the other side, no matter how many times they look the other way and hold out their hand for an envelope or a favor. It’s dangerous to serve up one of our own like that to them. Even one like this guy. The risk of unrest in the ranks is too big.”
He leaned toward her a little, adding a personal tint to his advice. “Besides, shooting the cop is bad, but if he hurt his own wife, that’s family. If we handle it, and make it about hurting a woman, the men will see what happens now when they let their fists fly where they shouldn’t.”
“Agreed,” Bruno said. “You want to change the culture of our family, Giada. I think we should make that the lesson of him.”
With her advisors in accord, Giada conceded the point. “Okay. Get him out of the precinct. And then I want him done.”
Angie looked at Bruno again. “There’s a few hours between the wedding and the reception. Get him out, set him up, and I’ll do him.”
“Today?” Bruno asked in surprise. “Due respect, Ange, but that’s nuts. This is your wedding. You don’t want to start a marriage like that. Don’t mix blood in with the blessings of the day.”
“Too late,” Giada said.
“No, Giada,” Bruno insisted. “I’ll handle this. I’m your second in command. It’s fitting that I handle it.”
The Name of Honor Page 29
