Page 66 of Captive Rival: Armani
23
ARMANI
The church is securedwith bodyguards at every possible entry point, a guard patrol circling the building, and a photo ID checkpoint at the entrance to the parking lot.
It’s a sanctuary. It should feel safe. But I can’t stop imagining armed Brunos bursting inside during the christening and doing something unforgivable on my niece’s special day.
The threat of violence looms like a dark cloud overhead, even as golden sunlight pours through the church’s stained-glass windows. Clayton is posted at the front of the church, off to one side, so he can keep his eyes on the entry doors at the back, but it isn’t enough to assuage my anxiety. I suddenly have a lot more empathy for Marco’s recent edginess.
Candi has been unusually quiet since she returned from her brunch this afternoon. Probably just nerves about coming to this event. I can’t blame her. While I received plenty of warm greetings, hugs, and handshakes when we arrived here, no one in my family acknowledged Candi beyond a few polite nods. Well, except for Frankie’s mother, Miriam Abbott, who knows nothing about Candi’s former role as a Bruno spy. Mrs. Abbott is always kind to everybody, so I was glad to see her chatting up Candi.
The worst thing about my family’s behavior toward my wife is that I know I can’t force them to forgive her. Not only that, but I understand why they feel the way they do. Candi might be working for me now, but she’ll have to prove herself in order to regain their trust. There’s nothing for it but time.
We’re in a second-row pew, facing the front of the church where the priest chats quietly with my brother and his wife. Baby Liliana is dozing in Dante’s arms, her small form draped in an heirloom lace christening gown that traveled across the ocean with my ancestors from Italy over a century ago. My brothers and I each wore it in our own time, just as our father had before us. The delicate bonnet hides most of Lili’s cherubic face, but a downy tuft of dark hair peeks out of the front.
The priest greets us all and begins the ceremony. Frankie sniffles a little, then looks up at Dante. They lock eyes over their baby, sharing an intimate smile, and my chest swells with a strange emotion. There’s no denying how connected they are, the three of them. A family unit all on their own. An island.
How easily they could take their baby and leave Napa to start fresh somewhere else, far away from the threats and violence here. But if Dante did flee with his family, would Bruno send his men after them? Even if Dante stepped down as the Bellanti clan’s leader? My gut says yes. Sergio Bruno would never stop until he snuffed out every last flame. He wouldn’t want to risk Dante returning to Napa.
The good feeling inside me turns sour.
I can’t even fantasize about a future where the Brunos decide it’s in their best interest to leave us alone. That future, that peace, it only exists if we destroy our enemies completely. We have no other choice. It kills me to admit it, but it’s true.
As the priest goes on with his Bible readings and prayers, Liliana suddenly yawns hugely, her little face scrunching, her fist popping up as she stretches in Dante’s arms. A ripple of coos and soft laughter goes through the guests. Across the aisle, I see Mrs. Abbott sitting with Frankie’s sisters, Charlie and Livvie, all of them snapping photos of Lili’s sleepy antics. But I notice that Livvie isn’t smiling.
Though she’s attentive, her face is pale and drawn, her lips pressed into a line. She hasn’t been the same happy-go-lucky, horse-loving teenager I used to know ever since we rescued her from her Bruno kidnappers. She came back a changed woman. Scarred emotionally and mentally by her ordeal.
Candi shifts slightly beside me, leaning forward to watch as Frankie takes Liliana from Dante and he removes the baby’s bonnet. Then Frankie holds Lili over the baptismal font, and the priest prepares to baptize her. Candi’s hands turn to fists in her lap. She’s tense, every muscle in her body taut. It can’t just be my family that has her on edge. There’s something else on her mind.
Has Bruno contacted her since we got back from our vacation? Is he demanding fresh intel? Did he give her a job to do? If so, she hasn’t breathed a word about it to me. I do want to trust her, but I’m not entirely confident that she’d tell me right away if Bruno was up to something. Still, there are ways I can remind her which side of this war she’s on—ours—and I’m not above using them.
Sliding my hand to her thigh, I reach for her fist and squeeze it gently until she relaxes her hand and laces her fingers through mine. She looks over at me and I give her the slightest nod while watching the priest. After a second, she slides over in the pew until we’re thigh to thigh, then rests her head against my shoulder. My pulse picks up just enough that I notice.
The thin silk of her skirt does nothing to hold in the heat of her body. It seeps comfortably against my leg but gives me a new awareness of her proximity. My skin tingles in response, desire spiking in my blood. It takes all my willpower to focus on what’s happening in front of me instead of on the woman at my side. A few minutes pass before I glance at her again, and when I do, I see her wearing an expression of pure longing as she watches the baby in Frankie’s arms.
Does she want children one day? The topic has never come up between us. Not that it ever will, since I’m sure we’ll be divorcing as soon as this business with the Brunos is concluded…
“Let us pray.”
The priest’s voice draws me back to the christening and I dip my head just in time as he begins a closing prayer. Soon enough, the ceremony is complete. Dante tells everyone that refreshments are being served in the gated courtyard outside, including catered food and some Bellanti Vineyards selections handpicked by Frankie. Candi meets my eyes and my stomach drops. The only snack I want is my wife.
We all rise and I join my family near the altar for some photos. Candi hangs back, uncertain, shaking her head as I motion for her to join me. I don’t force the matter. Neither does anyone else.
Suddenly Dante turns and deposits baby Lili in my arms. I wasn’t fully expecting it, and I hold my breath and look down at her in awe as she stirs.
“She’s waking up,” I whisper to Dante in warning. “You should take her back.”
Her face turns red, mouth puckered and ready to release a cry that seems lodged somewhere. She can’t quite get it out, but she’s sure as hell trying.
Dante smiles. “The only reason she slept through the christening is because she was up all night, so I’ve already pulled my fair share of baby duty in the last twenty-four hours. She’s all yours, brother.”
“Ah, no.”
“You’re the one holding her,” he points out.
I’m man enough to admit that the thought of Liliana going ballistic gives me a beat or two of panic. What the hell does a man do with a screaming infant?
“Then take her back,” I insist, inching toward Dante.
