Page 35 of Ruthless Sinner
“Thanks.” Marco watched me through dark eyes as I set him to rights, like he wasn’t sure whether to be in awe of me or to ravish me.
I shivered. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with Marco, either. The hot sex was one thing. But I’d seen a much more vulnerable and wounded side to him after his fight with his brother. Now… I didn’t know what to do about that.
Well. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to protect him. But I couldn’t do that. It was my job to do the opposite.
My heart and my head weren’t in agreement and that disturbed me.
“Let’s get this over with,” Marco said, giving me his arm.
We weren’t taking the motorcycle, partially to keep from ruining our clothes with creases and partially because Vincent had said if Marco showed up with it, Marco would be short a vital organ. Instead, we took a town car.
“I thought the bride was the one who made a big fuss over everything,” I murmured as we got in.
“Honestly, Marla seems chill compared to Vincent, trust me,” Marco muttered back. “And that’s saying something.”
I had never met Marla, the intended wife, before and I braced myself for some Type A control freak.
I also braced myself for… well, just about anything.
We got to the church and I was immediately separated from Marco as a wedding planner with dyed-blonde hair and a terrifyingly calm smile directed him to the back of the church where his brothers and other groomsmen gathered. She then turned her attention to me. “You must be the girlfriend.”
“Yes ma’am.” I felt suddenly like a meek schoolkid facing the principal.
The woman checked her clipboard. “You’ll be at the front, left-hand side.”
All the way at the front? That couldn’t be right. I wasn’t family, even if I was Marco’s plus one. But I didn’t dare argue with the woman—I think I’d rather tell Marco I worked undercover—and I did as I was told.
The front two pews on the left-hand side of the aisle were sparsely populated. I cast my mind back to my briefings. The man who’d started the Russo family had come from Florence, the second son tasked with building the empire in the new world. He’d had two sons, one who’d died and been erased from family history, and the one who now ran the family, Antonio. He had three sons, all accounted for at the altar.
That would explain why there was room for me at the front. Any extended family the Russos had would be back in Italy and while some might’ve made the trip (and had, judging by the few people in those rows) it wasn’t enough to fill the place.
Marla Preston’s side looked pretty empty, too. There were just her parents and then a couple people who looked like cousins or perhaps aunts.
The rows behind them, though, were steadily filling up on either side of the aisle. It was pretty easy to guess that everyone had been assigned seats in family groups and that families had been strategically placed so that nobody who hated each other had to sit close by. Not that I really thought anyone would start something in a church. If any bad blood was going to bubble up it would probably be at the reception.
I took a seat in the second-to-front row, worried that if I sat in the very front it would seem presumptuous. Marco stood with Vincent, a couple of men from other families, and another man who had to be Dante. He looked like someone had taken Vincent and softened the sharp edges, smoothed them out a little.
The eyes, though, were just as sharp as those of his brothers. Dante Russo was supposed to be the law-abiding citizen, the straight-shooter, but he didn’t look like he was any less ambitious or calculating than the rest of his family. I’d have to be just as wary around him as I was around anyone else here.
A man sitting in the row in front of me turned around, and I nearly jumped out of my skin as I staredDonRusso full in the face.
He looked very much like his sons, but there was no warmth to him. I felt like the man had been carved out of a glacier.
“When Vincent told me that Marco was bringing someone, I knew it would be one of those ridiculous bimbos he loves to flaunt,” the man said. His voice was quiet but sharp. “At least you’ve dressed yourself respectably.”
My instinct was to lash out. I hadn’t gotten through the FBI Academy because I’d been soft or let people walk all over me. Normally I’d give this old asshole a piece of my mind.
But I had to play it carefully here. I had to be smart.
Antonio Russo thought little of his son’s maturity, but cared about him far more than he wanted to let on, a fact that Marco knew and tried to be understanding about. Maybe I could use that.
“Marco wanted me to be sure to dress nicely,” I replied, my voice soft but not shy. “He wants this day to go well for Vincent. He’s been worried about it.”
The head of the Russo family stared me down. I stared right back at him. I wasn’t going to be disrespectful, but I would not be cowed.
“What’s your name?” Antonio Russo asked. “And I mean your real one.”
I couldn’t be sure if this man actually knew things about me already because of Vincent, or if he was just making assumptions. “My name is Kennedy. You must be Mr. Russo. It’s good to finally put a face to the name.”
