Chapter 6: A Weekend In Aurora

Wilhemina-

If there was one thing mafia families knew how to do, it was celebrate extravagantly.

The Cappelli estate in Aurora looked less like a private residence and more like a five-star resort carved into the coastline.

Our car rolled through enormous wrought-iron gates just after eleven Friday morning, passing rows of palms before the property finally came into view.

White stone. Three sprawling levels. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. Terraces wrapped around nearly every side of the mansion, and beyond them, the sapphire water stretched endlessly beneath the afternoon sun.

“Beautiful,” I murmured.

Emilio glanced up from his phone.

“It is.”

The car stopped. And just like that...showtime. Emilio stepped out first. By the time I exited, his hand was already extended toward me.

I stared at it for half a second. Then smiled. My beautiful, practiced, lying smile. I slipped my fingers into his.

“There they are!”

Antonio Cappelli approached us with his wife, Gabriella, beside him.

“Emilio!”

The men embraced.

“Antonio.”

“And Wilhemina.” Antonio smiled broadly before kissing both my cheeks. “As beautiful as ever.”

“You're too kind.”

Gabriella immediately hugged me.

“I'm so happy you came!”

“We wouldn't have missed it.”

Another lie delivered effortlessly. Emilio's hand settled against my waist. Perfect husband. Perfect wife. Perfect fucking frauds. Marco Giovanni, one of the Cappelli family's most trusted Capos, was marrying Antonio's eldest daughter, Stephanie.

Which meant this wasn't simply a wedding...it was an event.

Three days of dinners, parties, ceremonies, networking, whispered negotiations and enough organized crime in one beachfront estate to probably make every federal agency in Denmoore salivate.

By noon, nearly every major family from the Central Region had arrived.

The Buchennis. Gordellis. Fachellis. Morettis.

Several smaller families whose alliances shifted depending on who currently possessed the most money, territory or guns.

I smiled. Hugged. Accepted compliments. Complimented dresses I didn't particularly like. Congratulated Stephanie at least four different times. And listened to enough gossip to remind me why I preferred boardrooms.

“Mina!”

Sara Buchenni practically floated toward me wearing a floral sundress. I hugged her.

“You look beautiful.”

“So do you! God, it's been forever.”

“Three months.”

“In our world, that's forever.”

I laughed. For the next few hours, the estate became a strange mixture of elegant celebration and carefully disguised politics.

The men congregated around bars, cigar lounges and terraces. The wives gathered beneath umbrellas near the ocean, pretending they weren't listening to every word their husbands said.

Children ran across the lawn. Music played. Champagne flowed. And Emilio? Emilio performed beautifully. His hand remained on my back whenever we walked. He brought me a drink without asking. He pulled my chair out during lunch. At one point, he even kissed my temple while Antonio Cappelli was speaking to us.

Anyone watching would have assumed he adored me. Perhaps that was the worst part. He knew exactly how to behave like a loving husband. He simply chose not to unless someone was watching.

By late afternoon, several of us had gathered beneath the covered terrace overlooking the ocean. I sat beside Sara while Emilio stood near the outdoor bar with Antonio and several other men.

The conversation had been meaningless until I heard a name.

“Valchini.”

My attention shifted. One of the made men nearly choked on his whiskey.

“Wait.” He stared at Antonio. “You're saying Valchini is coming back to the Central Region?”

The conversations around us gradually quieted.

“That's what I'm hearing.”

“Why?”

Another man frowned.

“Yeah, I heard the Valchini family practically took over the entire Western Region. What the hell does he want over here?”

Antonio shrugged.

“Well...” He swirled the whiskey inside his glass. “This is technically where he's from. Maybe he simply wants to come home.”

Nobody said anything. Then another voice spoke.

“Or maybe he wants revenge.”

The silence that followed was different. Heavier. I looked around. Smiles disappeared. Eyes shifted. Even the women suddenly became interested in their drinks. Antonio took a slow sip.

“Revenge for what?” someone finally asked.

Antonio lowered his glass.

“Him and his grandfather never discovered who murdered his parents.”

A pause.

“Or who tried murdering him all those years ago.”

Interesting. I glanced toward Emilio. His fingers had tightened around his whiskey glass. Not slightly. Enough for his knuckles to pale.

“Well,” another man suddenly laughed, “it certainly wasn't anyone in this room!”

Laughter erupted. Too loudly. Too quickly. I smiled along with everyone else but something about the entire exchange felt wrong. No one found that joke funny.

They were nervous. All of them.

Including my husband. Who the hell was Valchini? The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it.

I'd grown up surrounded by names that could make judges reconsider sentences and police chiefs suddenly forget how investigations worked. Yet something about Valchini created a reaction I wasn't used to seeing.

Fear. 

Not respect. Not caution. But actual fear. Emilio finally noticed me looking at him. His expression instantly smoothed. I smiled. He looked away. Very interesting.

 By seven that evening, the rehearsal dinner was underway.

The Cappellis had transformed the estate's grand dining hall into something out of a fairytale. Hundreds of candles flickered beneath hanging arrangements of white roses and greenery. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead while enormous windows displayed the sunset melting into the ocean beyond them.

Beautiful. Romantic.

Almost enough to make someone forget half the guests probably had people buried beneath undisclosed construction sites.

I took my seat beside Emilio...naturally. Sara sat on my other side.

“So,” she whispered, leaning closer, “how many times do you think Stephanie's going to cry tonight?”

I glanced toward the bride-to-be, who already appeared emotional.

“Before dinner?”

“Obviously.”

“Twice.”

“I'm saying four.”

“You're cruel.”

“I'm realistic.”

I laughed. A real one this time. Then a chair scraped loudly somewhere behind us.

“Oh my gosh!”

A woman's excited voice carried across the room.

“I didn't know you were coming to this event!”

Several conversations stopped. I turned along with everyone else. And every ounce of warmth left my body. No! Absolutely fucking not!

Yazmin Fachelli stood inside the dining hall.

For several seconds, I genuinely wondered if I'd somehow imagined her. But no. There she was. My husband's mistress. At the three-day wedding weekend I was attending with my husband. In the same fucking house.

My eyes slowly moved toward Emilio. His face had changed completely. The color had drained from it. For once, Emilio Saldini looked like a man who had absolutely no idea what the fuck to do.

This fucking asshole.

My gaze returned to Yazmin. She smiled brightly.

“Of course I came! Steph and I go way back. I wouldn't have missed this for the world.”

Bullshit. 

Perhaps they did know each other. Perhaps she'd genuinely been invited. But something about that sugary smile told me this wasn't nearly as innocent as she wanted everyone to believe.

A chair moved. Amber Gordelli stood. Of fucking course. Amber and I had never liked one another. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that several of the older underbosses constantly used me as an example whenever discussing how wives should behave.

Poised. Educated. Discreet. Supportive. A growing assest. The ideal mafia wife.

Apparently living in my shadow had irritated Amber enough that she'd spent years searching for opportunities to watch me fall. And naturally...she'd attended Yazmin's ridiculous mock wedding.

“Come sit over here!” Amber called, her smile carrying just enough smugness to make me want to throw my wine at her. “I'm so glad you could make it.”

Yazmin started toward her. Then stopped directly beside me. Of course she fucking did.

“Oh!”

Her voice dripped with false surprise.

“Mrs. Saldini.”

I slowly lifted my eyes.

“Yazmin.”

“It's been forever since I've seen you.”

This fucking bitch.

“You look so beautiful.”

I smiled. Years of training ensured not a single crack appeared.

“Thank you, Yazmin.”

I allowed my gaze to travel over the dress I was sure my dumbass husband purchased her as there was no way she could afford that brand on her own.

“As do you.”

“Thank you.”

Her smile widened. Sweet. Polite. Fake as hell. Then her eyes moved past me. Toward Emilio. Something passed between them. Something silent. His expression became unreadable. Yazmin's smile faltered for the briefest second before returning. Then she continued toward Amber.

I reached for my wine. Beside me, Emilio hadn't moved. I took a slow sip.

“I take it you didn't know,” I murmured.

His head turned.

“What?”

“That she was coming.”

His jaw flexed.

“No.”

Interesting.

For once, I believed him. Across the room, Yazmin laughed at something Amber said. Loud enough for Emilio to hear. I stared into my glass. Three days. She would be here for three fucking days.

Fantastic.

I looked toward my husband. He was already staring at Yazmin. Then, almost as though sensing me, his gaze snapped back to mine.

I smiled.

That same faded, elegant smile I'd perfected over three years. The smile of Mrs. Emilio Saldini. The good wife. The dutiful wife. The woman who never embarrassed her husband. But somewhere beneath that smile, something darker stirred.

Because Emilio didn't know there was a black card sitting inside my purse upstairs.

He didn't know there was another man whose voice still whispered through my thoughts when I closed my eyes.

And he certainly didn't know that for the first time since marrying him...I had a secret of my own.

I lifted my wineglass and looked toward Yazmin again. Wonderful. This weekend was going to be fucking exhausting.