Page 80 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
“Why all the cloak and dagger?” Minka asks as we make our way up the stairs.
“To avoid paparazzi. We were assigned to that post, but there are several assigned routes for today in order to get all of the guests to the church in a timely manner.”
When the guard stationed at the top of the staircase opens the door for us, we’re greeted by the sight of John with Red Senior.
He glances past us quickly before doing a double take and approaching us, a resigned and reluctant expression on his face. “Nick. Minka,” he says, inclining his head slightly to each of us. “I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced you to Ashley.”
“Nice to properly meet you both,” Ashley says, hiding her uncertainty behind a shaky smile.
I notice that she has a ring on her ring finger.
“Congratulations!” someone says, approaching our small group and slapping John on the back. Ashley looks grateful for the interruption, and together the three of them leave us alone without another word.
I lead Minka down the aisle towards one of the rows in the middle. Usually, the groom’s friends and family sit on one side of the aisle while the wife’s family sit on the other, but the seating arrangement is open, since Lucy is a foster child with very few friends, except for some chick named Aimee. Speaking of Aimee, Lucy’s maid of honor, I make a mental note to stay clear of her. I’ve only heard bad things about her.
That she’s funny. Hilarious. A riot.
Gross.
“You’re grumpy again,” Minka remarks as we slide into one of the pews in the front.
“No, I’m not.”
She looks pointedly at the thinly set line of my mouth.
“Fine,” I admit, “maybe I’m a little grumpy. I don’t like weddings.”
“Why not?”
“Actually, I don’t like Romano weddings. Too many trigger happy people that have been taught all of their lives to hate someone with my last name.”
“And do they?”
“What?”
“Do they hate you because of your last name?”
“Y—” I cut myself off and really consider it. “Huh. They don’t.”
If I really think about it, they do avoid me and avert their eyes, but it’s not because I’m an Andretti. It’s because I’m the fixer. It’s the same reaction I’ve seen Asher garner, and I suspect that, like Asher, I’ll get these looks long after I retire from this position.
I’m startled by the realization, but now that I’m aware of it, it doesn’t take me long to figure out why it’s been years since I’ve been treated like a pariah thanks to my last name—Vincent Romano.
As the fixer, I’ve worked under his tutelage as the head of enforcement from the start, and he’s always been quick to punish people who have mistreated me. To set them straight with the words of a well-respected man. And in the rare chance that didn’t work, to force them into submission.
I look diagonally across the aisle at Vincent Romano, wanting to study him after this revelation. But I frown when I see him. Something’s off about him tonight. He looks a little ragged, a little less put together.
In normal circumstances, this would be concerning… but this isn’t a normal circumstance. This is Asher’s wedding, which makes it even more alarming, because we all know Vincent would give up his life to make this day perfect for the man he considers to be his son.
One glance at Asher standing before the Romano boss, who was ordained to complete the ceremony, and I can tell that Asher sees it, too, because he keeps glancing at Vincent when he should be clearing his mind and focusing on Lucy and this wedding.
I make eye contact with Asher, and he quirks a questioning eyebrow in Vincent’s direction. I shrug, hoping it conveys my confusion. Asher nods, his frown deepening, but it immediately clears when the wedding music begins to play and the flower girl, one of Vincent’s nieces, Bastian’s youngest sister, starts walking slowly down the aisle and tossing flower petals or some shit.
I ignore the procession of women and men walking down the aisle, glad that Asher didn’t bother asking me to be one of his groomsmen, because we both know that I’d hate it and do a shit job of planning everything except the bachelor party.
Next to Minka, one of the notoriously handsy caporegimes tries to subtly scoot closer to her. I cut him a glare so harsh it quickly takes care of that problem.
Minka looks startled by my reaction before amusement and a dash of determination quickly take over her features. “For someone who was so quick to run a couple of nights ago, you sure are possessive.” Her tone adopts a teasing lilt, but I suspect she’s serious when she says, “You know, it would be great if you could get over this crush you have on me.”
