The Bodyguard's Weakness: An Accidental Marriage Mafia Romance (Scaliami Crime Syndicate)

by Jagger Cole

“Chapel of Love chapel, how can I help you today?” A young guy with a southern twang answers.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for Jimmy.”

  “Can I ask what this is about?”

  “Yeah, my marriage,” I grunt.

  There’s a long pause before the guy speaks. “I could take a message for you, for him.”

  I frown. “How about Teri?”

  “Sorry, she ain’t here either.”

  I groan.

  “Look, what’s this about?”

  “I got married there drunk a few days ago,” I growl. “My wife is about to be married to someone else. I want to know what I can do, legally since…”

  “Shit,” the guy sighs, heavily.

  I frown. “What?”

  “Let me guess, man. My mom and dad told you had to wait it out a week?”

  I frown. “Mom and dad?”

  “Yeah, Teri and Jimmy… I’m their son, Chris.”

  “Well, Chris, maybe you can help—”

  “I don’t think I can.” He sighs. “Listen man, I’m sorry. I’ll do what I can to get you back what you paid for the wedding.”

  “I don’t want the fucking money,” I hiss. “I want my wife—”

  “You don’t have a wife, man.”

  I frown. “What? “

  “You don’t have a wife,” he says again. “Not legally, anyways.”

  My brow knits. “Your parents… I shake my head “Look, I was pretty dunk. But I’m pretty sure…”

  “It wouldn’t matter if you were stone sober, man. My mom and dad aren’t ministers or justices of the peace, they aren’t even ordained online.”

  I blink in shock. “What?”

  “They can’t legally marry shit. I’ve tried to get them to stop. But they do it all the damn day long and take folks’ money.”

  I start to chuckle. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “And where are they now?”

  He pauses again. “You lookin’ to make this square or something?”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just asking.”

  “Bora bora.”

  I grunt. “Of course they are.”

  Chris sighs heavily. “Shit, man, I feel terrible.”

  “Don’t, it’s fine.”

  “Sorry about this.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hang up. I feel numb. Well, I guess it wasn’t real anyways. I stare at the ring on my finger. I try and yank it off. But fuck, it's stuck on there good. Just like she’s stuck in my heart.

  At some point, it gets dark outside. I know that means the wedding is happening any minute now. It’s a thought that makes my very skin crawl. My phone rings with Vincent’s number on the screen.

  “Congratulations.”

  “On?”

  He laughs. “The promotion, Dom. You’ve been moved up. Micheal and Sal have been really impressed by your work. Especially with this babysitting thing you got tasked with. So, this is your break. More responsibilities, but more kickbacks and more perks. I’m working on getting you some new wheels too, by the way.”

  “Yeah, great,” I mutter.

  Vincent chuckles. “Yeah, don’t get too worked up.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Vincent. Really.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m just the messenger. You did well with Don Salvestro. He talked to Micheal personally about bumping you up. Said you were a good man.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, you protected his granddaughter, even while she was exposed here in the city.” He laughs. “Shit, you even got her to the altar.”

  He chuckles. I don’t, and he notices the brooding on my end.

  “What’s going on, Dom?”

  “Nothing. I’m good.”

  “Yeah, right. What’s this about?”

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  He snickers. “What, pissed you didn’t get an invite to the wedding tonight?”

  “No,” I hiss. Fuck. That pretty much just gave me away.

  Vincent grunts. “Fuck, Dom. What are you, sweet on her? On Lucia?”

  “No!” I snap. “No. No, I’m not.”

  “So… that’s a no then.”

  I frown.

  “Except that no that sounds a whole lot like a yes,” Vincent grunts.

  “We got along, that’s all.”

  He exhales. “Jesus Christ, Dom. You know, if Don Salvestro were to get wind of this…”

  “Yeah, pretty sure he knows,” I grunt. I think back to my conversation with him earlier. Yeah, he knows.

  “If he knows and you’re still breathing, go buy a lottery ticket. Because you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  He sighs. “You know this is happening, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay with that?”

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I.”

  He grunts. “Look, just promise me you won’t pull any crazy shit. Don’t kick down the church doors or anything psycho like that.”

  I smile. “I’ll be fine, Vincent.”

  “Listen, I hate to ask right now…”

  “I’ll be fine. What is it?”

  “I need you to look at something for me. I’d do it, but…”

  “But that’s why you have underlings like me,” I grin.

  He chuckles. “Well, that and I’m about to step into this wedding—” he pauses. “Shit, sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I grumble.

  “It’s old school Roman Catholic. So they’re hard-lining no phones in the church at all.”

  “So what do you need?”

  His voice changes tone. “We got hit again last night.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss. “Another bookie?”

  “Yeah. But we lost three men, Dom.”

  I snarl and lunge to my feet. “Shit,” I hiss. “Who?”

  “Johnny Gironi, Derek Vine, Georgie Soto.”

  “Motherfucker!” I growl. I want to break something. I knew these guys. I’ve had beers with them.

  “We beefed up security after that hit the other day. They were watching the place for us. Whoever did it took them out execution style out back.”

  “Cops involved yet?”

  “No, we’re keeping this in-house.”

  I frown. “They took the servers again, didn’t they?”

  “Bingo.”

  “They’re after the money trail, not just the money itself.”

  “Smart man,” Vincent growls. “Whoever this is, they’re trying to hurt us bad. Not just hold us up.”

  “What do you need me to look at?”

  “There’s a video.”

  I frown. “They didn’t wear masks this time?”

  “No, they did. They knew where the cameras were, too. But after that last hit, I stuck a hidden camera out back by the alley door. Look, I doubt it caught shit, but…”

  “I’ll look,” I snarl.

  “Thanks, Dom.” He pauses. “Look, I’m sorry about Lucia.”

  “It is what it is,” I growl quietly.

  “I feel like a dick for touting that new car now.”

  I smile. “Enjoy the wedding.”

  “Let me know if you spot anything on the video. Oh, shit. Almost forgot.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The phone repair place called me about your phone.”

  I frown. “Shit, sorry. I gave them your number since…”

  “No, it’s fine. Your phone’s all fixed up. I gave them your address. They’re sending a guy over now with it.”

  “Thanks, Vincent.”

  “Talk to you soon, Dom.”

  We hang up. I check my email for the video Vincent wants me to look at. But nothing pops up yet. I get up and head into my kitchen. I scowl. I’ve always liked my apartment. But after staying at the one I was just at? With her? Yeah, this isn’t the same. Nothing will be the same now, without Lucia.

  My doorbell dings. I frown and head over to push the
intercom. “Yeah?”

  “Hey man, it’s Ufix? I’ve got your iPhone.”

  “Yeah, cool. Come on up.”

  A kid with an orange mohawk steps off my elevator a minute later. He hands me a package. I thank him and head back inside. I tear it open and turn on my newly fixed phone. The invoice inside mentions they didn’t have to reset anything to fix the physical damage. So all my shit is still on the phone. Perfect.

  For a second, I instantly want to go to the Connect app. But I stop myself. I know I didn’t technically do anything wrong. BabyBella99 and I were never officially anything you could label. We weren’t dating. We never said we were exclusive or whatever that means when you’re just sexting someone. But still. I feel guilty.

  But then I feel worse even thinking about her. Because something’s changed. Lucia changed me. And I know what I have to do. Official, or unofficial… whatever BabyBella99 and I were or had? I have to end it. It doesn’t matter that Lucia isn’t mine. This is what’s right.

  I click on the app. I frown. I’ve got two new messages, from her. The first is from days ago. I open it and start to read:

  Hey, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this. So, I’m just going to come out and say it. Like we were ever the type to hold back on here, right? ;).

  Anyways, if this is too forward, ignore it. Or just tell me. I won’t be offended. Okay, here it is: I’m coming to the states. Don’t worry, it’s not to find you. I’m not a stalker, I promise. It’s just a last-minute family thing, for my grandfather. But anyways, I’m flying in tomorrow to New York. After that, I’m going straight on to Las Vegas for a night, because why not. But then I’ll be back in New York for about a week.

  I know this is weird, and it might be pushing boundaries. I’m not even going to ask you where you are. We never asked before, and I won’t start now. But, if you’re anywhere near Vegas or NYC… would you want to meet? I mean really meet, face to face.

  Look, I know we’re just chat buddies. Or, whatever. And I’m not saying I want to get married and have kids or anything. It’s just that I like talking to you. I like that I’m really and truly me with you. And I think you like talking to me, too. If a cup of coffee or a drink is in the cards for us, I think we should at least try.

  Okay, that’s it. If this is too much, or if I’m freaking you out, you can totally just tell me. Hope to hear from you soon.

  Xoxo, BabyBella99

  I blink. I re-read the whole thing, four more times. My heart is racing. The dots are connecting, but I refuse to believe they are. Except it’s too much to ignore. The writing is right there on the wall in front of me.

  I glance at the second message:

  Hey, sorry to freak you out if I did. Vacay is going well. No pressure. Talk to you soon?

  Holy fuck. BabyBella99 is Lucia. Lucia is BabyBella99. I’ve been talking to Lucia.

  My heart races. My head fucking spins. I stand, my breath is panting. I sit again but then stand. It’s like I’ve been drugged. It’s like I see it all clearly now; like it alI makes sense. The same sass and wit. The way she pushes my buttons. And the black hair I’ve seen in her faceless photos is obviously a wig.

  It’s Lucia. It’s always been Lucia. And now she’s getting fucking married.

  I snarl and pace my floor. But suddenly, my temporary phone rings. It’s a text from Vincent: “Hey, let me know if the email came through. I’ve gotta turn my phone off.”

  I close my eyes. I take a breath. I sit down at my laptop again and refresh my inbox. There it is: an email from Vincent. It’s got a movie file attachment with a note reminding me that he’ll be out of touch for the next hour in the wedding.

  “Got it,” I text back.

  There’s so much to process right now. There’s so much to take in. But this is my job. I try to push the revelation about Lucia aside and click play on the video. It’s long, so I start to fast forward through it.

  But suddenly on the screen, a black SUV rolls up the back alley. Four guys in masks carrying guns charge out. They hit the backdoor and barge inside, off camera. The video has sound, too. I turn it up and hear a few shots thud from inside the bookie office. Right after, the masked guys come out and shove three guys to their knees.

  I growl. It’s Johnny, Derek Vine, and Georgie.

  One of the masked guys seems to be in charge. He pulls out a silver pistol and starts to aim it at the three guys.

  “You have any idea who you’re fucking stealing from?” Georgie snarls.

  “Goddamn right I do,” the masked leader chuckles.

  I frown. I rewind a few seconds and turn up the volume before I play it again.

  “Goddamn right I do.”

  My brow furrows. How the fuck do I know that voice?

  “You’re fucked, man,” Derek snaps on the video. “You can shoot us, but you’re fucked. Micheal? He’ll come after you, man.”

  The guy with the silver pistol laughs. Suddenly, he whips off his mask.

  Oh fuck.

  “I hope he does,” Tomas Mendino growls on the video in front of me. I flinch when he shoots the three of them. My rage boils. My lips curl into a snarl.

  This is who’s trying to hurt the Scaliami family. And he’s about to marry the heir to the fucking throne.

  I call Vincent in a fury. It goes straight to voicemail. I call again, but it’s the same thing. Then I remember that there’s no fucking phones allowed in the church. I lunge from my desk and grab my shit. I load my gun and tuck it into my coat, then I charge out the door.

  I’m not gonna let this happen. I tell myself it’s for the family, for work. But that’s not entirely true. I’m charging in there for my heart. I’m stopping this because Lucia is mine.

  18

  Lucia

  “This will all be okay, topolina.” My grandfather pats my hand. His arm is hooked through mine, and we’re waiting right outside the doors to start down the aisle. The dress is gorgeous. The church, flowers, decorations, candles, and music are incredible.

  I know this is what most girls dream of when they picture their wedding. No one imagines being blackout drunk in a “Chapel of Love” with a neon Elvis shooting craps on the sign above them. This right here is the fantasy wedding. But it’s all wrong.

  It’s the wrong man.

  I know, grandpapa,” I say quietly.

  “I’m sorry, Lucia,” he sighs.

  “I know.”

  “Truly, I am.”

  “Grandpapa, I know.”

  He smiles halfheartedly at me when I glance at him. “Dominic is a good man.”

  I close my eyes. “Grandpapa…”

  “I am not blind, Lucia,” he says gently. “But we do what we must, yes?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve asked more of you for this than I have a right to ask. And for that I will be forever sorry, mi amore.”

  I nod. I don’t speak or I might fall apart. The doors in front of us open. Candlelight and camera flashes wash over me. My grandfather takes my arm, and we start down the aisle. Up ahead, Tomas is just smirking at me. I hate the way he looks at me. When Dom looks at me, I feel desired. I feel alive. When Tomas does, I feel lusted over, in a creepy way. I feel like an object.

  We walk down the aisle. When we get to the altar, my grandfather shakes Tomas’ hand. But it’s perfunctory. He hugs me and holds me close. Then, I’m face to face with Tomas.

  He smirks at me. “Hey babe,” he grins.

  Hey babe. On our wedding day, at the altar. I groan. My only consolation right now is knowing I have the memories of the few days with Dom. I glance down at my hand. I’ve hidden the ring from my grandfather. Before the wedding, at the photoshoot Tomas insisted on, I told him it was my mother’s ring that I was wearing. He seemed to not care.

  I know I could shout out right now that I’m already married. It’s a room full of mobsters. But still. I am already married. Which means this can’t happen. But all that would do is get Dominic killed. It would definitely get him
killed, actually. And then I’d be marrying Tomas anyways.

  The priest begins to say the words. I brace myself. I tune everything out, until I hear the words I’ve been dreading.

  “And do you, Tomas Mendino, take this woman…”

  The doors to the church slam open with a huge sound. I whirl and gasp along with the rest of the guests. When I see it, my jaw drops. My heart surges.

  It’s Dominic.

  His face is hardened and enrages. He storms down the aisle, heedless of the people gasping and jumping to their feet. He’s got a gun in his hand, and he raises it at Tomas.

  My grandfather, Micheal, and Vincent jump up from their seats.

  “Dominic!” Michael roars. “Are you fucking insane?!”

  “Sir,” Dom hisses out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t look away from me, or from Tomas. “You need to watch this—”

  “Put the gun down!” Vincent hisses. “For fuck’s sake, Dom—”

  “Watch this!” Dominic starts. He tosses a phone to Micheal. His eyes flicker to mine, and he grins. But his jaw tenses when he looks back at Tomas. The gun never wavers.

  Micheal eyes Dominic. “What I am watching, Dominic.”

  “Just play it, sir.”

  Micheal hesitates. Some of his men start to approach Dom, but Micheal holds up a hand. “One second.”

  Other guards—my grandfather’s men—approach. But he too holds his hand up. “Un minuto,” he mutters. He glances at Dominic. His eyes harden.

  “Salvestro!” Giovani Medino stands abruptly. “What is the meaning of this! This is your man?! He is ruining this wedding—”

  “Un minuto,” my grandfather says quietly. He holds a finger up. He turns and nods at Micheal. “Play it, Micheal. Please.”

  They watch for a second. “I hope he does!” A voice snarls on the video. Three shots bang out. Micheal’s face turns a dark shade of red. Vincent’s jaw grinds, and he growls. My grandfather is never one for losing his temper in public. But even he looks like he’s about to snap.

  My grandfather looks up. He glances around the room. He swears quietly to himself in Italian. “Does anyone here under my employ have a gun?” he growls deeply.

  “Sir,” Dominic grunts.

  My grandfather smiles thinly at him. “Dominic, do for me a favor.”