Before I can press her further, she sticks her fingers in her mouth and lets out a whistle sharp enough to shatter glass.
The room falls silent and the music warps to a stop as every head in the room turns toward the diminutive Italian woman who, despite her size, commands the attention of two rival crime families with nothing more than pursed lips and a raised brow.
Nona Jo is gangster like that.
“Now that I’ve got you all where I want you,” she announces with her voice carrying through the suddenly quiet ballroom. “It’s time to tell you exactly what this is about.”
She pauses dramatically, and I swear I can hear the collective intake of breath from both the Canellis and the Lazzaris. Myhand instinctively moves toward my purse where Buttercup nestles among breath mints and receipts. If there’s going to be a shootout, I can guarantee you some of those bullets will be mine.
Nona Jo’s face breaks into a wide smile. “It’s a surprise wedding!”
The room erupts in confused murmurs, and all eyes turn to Lorenzo and Loretta, who suddenly become the center of attention.
Loretta, never one to miss a spotlight, screams with delight and launches herself onto Enzo, wrapping her legs around his waist like an octopus attacking a very old submarine.
Her little red dress rides up to reveal a G-string that leaves nothing to the imagination, and I’m pretty sure I hear several cameras click.
Meanwhile, poor Coop looks like he’s calculating how many years he’d get for justifiable homicide. His jaw is clenched so tight that I’m half afraid for his dental work. Uncle Jimmy and Luke Lazzari lock eyes across the room in a staring contest that could very well ignite the tacky paper decor.
But something in Nona Jo’s expression makes me think we’ve all jumped to the wrong conclusion. This isn’t just about Loretta and her geriatric fiancé.
This is about something much worse.
And suddenly, I realize why I’m really here tonight.
It all clicks together like the sound of a bullet in the chamber.
Someone in this room isn’t leaving alive, and I have a sinking feeling I’m supposed to be the one who punches their ticket to the afterlife.
CHAPTER 11
Asurprise wedding?
The room spins with shocked gasps and gleeful cackling as Loretta clings to Enzo like a koala with abandonment issues. How the heck did Loretta Stiletto get Nona Jo to hand out the invites? Nona Jo must have really owed someone in the Lazzari family a favor the size of one of my mother’s meatballs.
My brain is still processing Nona Jo’s bombshell when she commands the room’s attention once more with another shrill whistle.
“Loretta Semolina Lazzari!” Nona Jo barks, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Get your caboose back on the ground and your dress back where it belongs! There are children present!” She pauses, scanning the room. “Well, maybe not, but there might as well be with how some of you are known to behave.”
Loretta reluctantly unwraps her legs from around Enzo’s waist and slides down to the floor with all the grace of a cat being forced into a bathtub. Her lipstick is smeared across half her face and his, and they both have that sanity-is-optional look about them.
“Now”—Nona Jo continues, smoothing down her vintage dress— “everyone gather around. The night is young, and we have much to celebrate!”
A hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin as Uncle Jimmy materializes beside me like a particularly well-dressed ghost. That cloud of cologne that follows him around announced his presence a split second before his grip did.
“Good thing your mark is here tonight,” he whispers with his eyes fixed on Enzo. “I’ll double your bonus if you arrange for him to drop dead here in front of everyone. It’s what the scumbag deserves.”
My stomach lurches. Not because Uncle Jimmy is asking me to commit murder—that’s practically a Tuesday in the Canelli family—but because he’s asking me to do it here, now, in front of Cooper and both our families. Including Cooper’s sister, who, despite her questionable taste in men, probably doesn’t want to watch her fiancé keel over during what was supposed to be her engagement party.
Before I can formulate a response that won’t get me fitted for cement shoes, Nona Jo’s voice rises above the din again.
“Effie! Cooper! Come here, you two,” she calls, waving us over with the enthusiasm of someone who’s either had too much wine or is about to unleash chaos. With Nona Jo, I’m betting on both. After all, one often leads to the other.
Cooper and I exchange wide-eyed looks across the room. He’s wearing a charcoal suit that makes his shoulders look like they could bench-press a small car, his wavy dark hair just tousled enough to make my fingers itch to run through it.
Heck, I know I clean up pretty good, too, in my little black dress that hits all the right curves, but the expression on Cooper’s face suggests we’re both thinking the same thing:What fresh heck is this?
A light smattering of applause breaks out as we hesitantly make our way toward Nona Jo. Watson trots beside us and even he looks hesitant to do so. Something tells me he’d so let me take the fall in a hail of bullets.
