“You’re not drinking,” Sergio snapped.
“Who died and made him my dad? Because I refuse to marry my father. It’s just weird.”
“She can’t drink!” Sergio clearly wasn’t listening to me or anyone else in the room. “She’s sick! It will make it—”
“What?” I interrupted. “Worse? Trust me. There is no worse where I’m concerned.”
Ax whistled from the corner. “Off topic.”
“Ax…” I held up my hands. “..Please, stop interfering. If we’re lucky, they’ll get into a catfight, take off their shirts, and then mud will get involved and rolling around in it and—”
Tex smirked while Sergio cursed under his breath.
“Oh, sorry. Did I say that daydream out loud?” I snickered into my coffee. “No, but seriously, do continue talking about my impending death with me standing right here, Sergio. It’s good uplifting pre-wedding talk.”
“Girl has a point.” Ax nodded in encouragement.
“Fine.” Sergio slammed his hands against the granite countertop. “Do whatever you want. I just wasn’t aware that the Make-A-Wish Foundation had all but thrown up on our yard this morning.”
Tex’s jaw actually cracked. I heard it. Like a bolt of thunder dropping into the kitchen and bouncing off the walls. “You’re an ass.”
“I second,” Ax added.
All eyes fell to me, all but Sergio’s that was; he was still engaged in his weird love affair with the countertop.
“Oh, I have to side with my husband.” I shrugged. “It’s Biblical.”
“Do Russians own Bibles?” Ax asked aloud.
“Hmm…” I tapped my chin. “I don’t know. Do Sicilians even know how to read?”
Ax winked then gave me one solitary clap. “Andi one, Axton zero.”
“Then you marry her!” Sergio yelled, slamming his fist against the granite again. “Why don’t you guys just kill me? Wouldn’t that be easier for everyone?”
“Ignore him.” I waved my hand in the air. “Last night he offered to kill me too. And look. Still standing. He’s all smoke and mirrors. Just give him a bottle with a nipple full of whiskey and put baby in the corner where he can pout.”
“Nobody puts baby in a corner.” Ax met my gaze.
“You… you and I are officially friends.”
“He doesn’t need any more friends.” Sergio’s face went purple as he clenched his teeth and leaned toward me. “Can we talk? Alone?”
“Are you armed?” I peered around his body. “Because when I learned about gun safety in school, they specifically warned me not to be alone with criminals.”
“She got you there.” Tex laughed. “Pull out your badge, Sergio.”
“Sore subject.” Ax coughed.
Sergio looked up to the ceiling and groaned. “Andi… now.”
“Later, boys.” I waved to the guys. “Just let the girls in when they get here. Then we can pop champagne and have a pillow fight. I always wanted a bachelorette party!”
Sergio jerked my arm, pulling me outside into the cold winter air. It was late January, not exactly my favorite time of year for Chicago. Then again, Russians apparently have ice in their veins, so whatever.
“Andi…” Sergio’s eyes were hard and black. “Don’t make me do this.”
“What? Stand outside in the cold.”
“Marry you.”
“It’s not forever, Sergio.”
“That’s the problem.”
“I’m sorry, what? You want to be with me forever.”
“No… I…” He ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair. “Damn it, I just… I want to marry someone once… someone I love. I don’t want to have something arranged. It’s just another thing the mafia has taken away from me. Can’t you see that?”
“Make me see it,” I said softly. “Make me understand.”
His eyes were hollow, his gaze distant. “I don’t… I can’t… I just—”
“GIRLS are here!” I heard a female voice yell. Male voices joined in, and then music started.
“Later.” Sergio pulled away, his footsteps already drawing back. “We’ll talk later, but we will talk. Before we say vows, we’re talking, Andi.”
“Where are you going?”
He shook his head and kept walking. “One minute, Andi. I just need one damn minute to myself. Go inside.”
CHAPTER THREE
Sergio
IT WAS AN OUT-OF-BODY experience… watching someone talk so callously about her own death and smile at the same time. Every single moment I was with her, I wanted to puke. Not because she wasn’t pretty.
She was beautiful.
Gorgeous, actually.
Which made it so wrong.
How could someone so full of life be dying? And how could she be so okay with it? The whiskey had worn off, leaving me with too many confusing questions and not enough answers to suffice.
Laughter bubbled out of the house. I could hear it all the way out in the field, meaning, the girls had really brought champagne and were most likely getting Andi drunk.
I didn’t want to be an ass.
Just like I had never planned on being a killer.
It’s not like I woke up one day and thought, I’m going to work for the FBI and the mafia as a double agent then threaten to kill everyone I love and hold dear, and then, just for kicks I’m going to marry a girl who’s dying… and hell, why not add salt to the wound and drown a litter of kittens?