Two other women do the same, and they walk straight to us.
Out of instinct, I scoot closer to Emilio’s side.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Emilio?” Gigi asks when they reach us. She rests her hand on her hip, staring him down.
“You were at our wedding,” Emilio says flatly. “No need.”
I glare at his rudeness.
What kind of husband doesn’t introduce his wife?
It’s the least he could do.
None of them even wince at Emilio’s cold indifference.
“Yes,” Gigi says, drawing out the word. “But we expected a different bride that day. As we all now know, she isn’t Dasha.”
She smiles at me. I return the smile, deciding I like her.
“She can speak.” Emilio’s face tightens. His nostrils flare as he fixes his glare on me. “She had no problem introducing herself to Oliver only minutes ago.”
Gigi playfully elbows the petite woman to her right. “Is that jealousy from him?”
Her friend repeatedly nods. “Never thought I’d see the day when Emilio hademotions.”
Emilio clenches his jaw and shakes his head as he walks away without a word. His shoulders are tense as he heads straight to the group of men.
While the Bratva and Mafia may be different crime syndicates, this has the same outdated seating chart as the parties I grew up attending. Men on one side and women on the other.
Gigi rolls her eyes. “I swear, sometimes, I wish these men would pop some pharmaceuticals to relax. Eat a fucking gummy. Enjoy a Xanax. Or hell, go get hypnotized.”
The petite woman nods. Her thick black hair is pulled into a tight French braid. “I suggest therapy to Damien on a regular basis. Does he listen?Nooo. He tells me he’s going to the freaking gun range.”
“Men love to talk a mean game about how women areso emotional, but they’ll literally join the Mafia and murder instead of going to therapy,” says the dark-haired woman standing on Gigi’s opposite side. She holds out her hand toward me. “I’m Neomi.”
I shake her hand. “Liliya.”
Gigi slaps her hand to her chest. “I’m Gigi.” She motions toward the girl with the braid. “And this is Pippa.”
I politely wave at them, suddenly feeling shy.
If anyone ever looked the part of Mafia princess, it’s Gigi, dressed in high-waisted black trousers, a crisp white button-up with a Chanel brooch, and stiletto heels. Her long curls fall over her shoulders, and her tan skin glows with hardly a touch of makeup.
Pippa’s style is more playful in a flowing emerald-green dress and glittery pink ballet flats. With her hair pulled away from her face, her dimples and pink cheeks are put on display.
Neomi looks the most laid-back and comfortable, dressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans. Her sleek, straight hair hits her shoulders.
Suddenly, I feel soplainin only my cotton maxi dress.
I love dressing up for events. Emilio will get a lecture about giving me plenty of notice before parties going forward.
“Come on, Liliya.” Pippa taps my arm. “Let’s get you a drink, and you can meet everyone.”
Hopefully,everyoneexcludes the murderers in the corner.
We join four other women at the table. They all smile and wave at me.
“Is it someone’s birthday?” I ask while taking the open chair beside Gigi.
