“Who gives this woman?” the priest asked.

“I do,” Luca said with a menacing grin. “I give her.” As he bent over to kiss my cheek, he whispered in my ear. “I give, I take, I steal, I destroy — never forget who truly pulls the strings, my dear. I will be watching.” He pulled back and sighed as if he hadn’t just threatened my life, and took a seat in the front row. I couldn’t shaking as I put my hand in Chase’s grasp.

His eyes darted down to our hands. Quickly, he pulled me closer to his side and whispered so his lips were touching my ear. “I’ve got this. I’ve got you, Mil.”

It was the first time in months I’d actually felt safe.

Chase

She was shaking like a damn leaf. Had it really been necessary for Luca to scare her half to death on her wedding day? Didn’t she, of all people, deserve a break? I tried to focus on keeping myself calm as we recited our vows. What seemed like seconds passed, and then the announcement was made.

“I present to you Mr. And Mrs. Chase Abandonato.” They had to use my legal name, rather than Winter. Damn, if it didn’t feel weird hearing it out loud.

The audience, mostly filled with family who weren’t currently serving prison time — and those who visited from Sicily — clapped and stood.

I raised Mil’s hand into the air and forced a smile, just as my gaze fell on Trace. And just like that, I was done. No longer was I the one comforting Mil. I needed comfort. Damn, I needed something, because I was ready to put a gun to my head. Breathing suddenly became overrated as I watched Trace’s teary smile.

Her. I’d always wanted it to be her.

Life wasn’t merely unfair; it was unjust, uncontrollably bleak, and dark — because the only thing I’d ever wanted had been her, and I’d lost her, lost everything dear to me and gained another full responsibility. How shitty of a husband could I be? I mean, less than two minutes after saying I’d love and protect Mil with my life, and I wanted to end it — all because Trace had smiled at me.

“Let’s go.” Mil tugged my hand, pulling my gaze away from Trace’s and back to all the smiling faces around me. No one knew the reason Mil and I were getting married. Nixon had fabricated such a ridiculously good story that even I would have believed it, had I not been living my own personal hell these past few months.

According to every person present at the wedding, Mil and I had reconnected at Phoenix’s funeral, and the rest was history. Love at first sight and all that.

We walked arm-in-arm down the aisle, wordlessly gripping one another as if each of us was waiting for the other to be the first to crack. To hell with that. I wasn’t going to show weakness — I couldn’t. I’d messed up too much in the past few months. It was time to do my job regardless of my personal feelings in the matter. I had been slacking — I’d allowed a girl to get so deep under my skin that I’d forgotten what I was. A born killer, a made man, son of a very dead mafia boss — and husband to one of the De Lange leaders.

As far as Mil was concerned, I was it. I just needed to prove to her that I could take it — that I could push past my sorry-ass heartbreak and be the man she needed me to be, because after seeing the look of sheer terror on her face as she walked down the aisle, I had come to one conclusion. She was hiding something big. The pit of my stomach dipped — whatever that something was — it could very well get us all killed.

“Ten bucks says the only person not packing is Mil’s grandma by marriage,” Mo said once we’d all finished eating our dinner, which had basically been a painful process of chewing, swallowing, drinking unhealthy amounts of wine, and trying to stare at my plate to keep from looking at Trace, while my wife sat next to me. Hell had officially risen to earth, and I was smack-dab in the middle of it, trying my damnedest to remember how to swallow without choking — without dying a little bit inside each time I saw him touch her face. And trying not to feel like an ass when Mil caught me staring — again. I’d resolved about an hour ago to actually be the man she needed me to be, and I was already failing. Horribly. The second time I looked, Mo kicked at me under the table but accidently hit Tex instead, causing everyone to look up, which was probably why Mo had said what she had.

We all turned heads to look at the hundred-year-old woman. She was currently on her fourth glass of wine and looked to be about two seconds away from falling into her chicken cacciatore.

“Nope.” Nixon shook his head. “It’s always the ones you don’t suspect. My money’s on Grandma.”

“I’ll take that bet.” Tex rose. “Seems like someone needs to fall on their own knife and all that. This has to be the most depressing wedding I’ve ever gone to, and that includes the fake one Mo made for her kittens when she was four.”

“They lived happily ever after.” Mo tilted her head into the air and narrowed her eyes.

Tex leaned down and tapped her on the nose. “Yes, if happily means they lived for five damn minutes before marching directly into oncoming traffic.”

“I think the wedding reception just hit its low point,” Mil muttered. “Save us, Tex. I beg you. Find the gun, and I’ll give you a prize.”

“Prize?” Tex’s eyes lit up. “As in—”

“As in her new husband won’t punch you in the face. You’re welcome. Hooray for prizes!” I did a fake punch into the air. “Now go create some excitement before Nixon starts picking people off with his semi-automatic.”

Nixon rolled his eyes. “Right, like I’d even bring—”

“It’s in the SUV,” Trace answered, sounding bored. “Saw it when I took out my dress.”

“Damn.” He looked away.

Just then a very drunk-looking cousin, Vinnie, got up and took the microphone from the band. “Look here! I have a toast to the bride and groom!” Shrill feedback from the microphone pierced the air, and Vinnie staggered, seemed to struggle, but finally found his footing. The microphone stand wobbled and then fell onto the stage with a loud clang. In a rush to grab it, Vinnie tripped over the cord and landed flat on his ass with a loud “Oomph.”

“For the love of God, save us all,” I grumbled, pushing Tex toward Grandma. Hopefully that would provide us some entertainment even if it was just watching them talk. Right, that’s how bad things had gotten.

We all sat at the table, the very depressing bridal party table, and watched as Tex slowly made his way toward the elderly woman.

“This won’t end well,” Trace said under her breath. “The man has the subtleness of a bomb.”

“Exactly.” Mo grinned from ear to ear. “I did say we needed entertainment, didn’t I?”

“Mo…” Nixon warned.

“He cheated on me, Nixon. Let me have my fun,” she said smoothly.

“He what?” Nixon roared, jumping to his feet. Curious stares pinned in our direction as Mo grabbed his hand and pulled him back to his seat.

I let out a low whistle. Dysfunctional didn’t even begin to cover it.

“I’ve got this. You aren’t the only one who knows how to use his powers for evil, brother. Revenge is a bitch. Isn’t that what they say, Trace?”

She looked guiltily down at her hands. Yeah, double meanings I could really do without. Hopefully, Mo wasn’t going to get Tex shot at our wedding, not that I’d be against it. This was the first I’d heard of him cheating. Granted, Mo hadn’t really been all that for sharing recently. She’d been as secretive as ever. Something told me it was for a reason, but I’d been too wrapped up in my own drama to even ask. How bad did I suck as a half-brother? Bad, real bad. On a scale of one to ten in the suckiness department, I’d be around an eleven.

Tex finally reached his unlucky target and sat down in the chair next to Grandma, his smile wide. I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his hands were all over the place, and then he set one hand on the old lady and winked.