Page 6 of Captive Heart: Armani
He takes the money. And smirks, which has become his default when interacting directly with me. Standing, Bakka stuffs the cash in the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Long-term relationships are often tested,” he says. “Let’s hope ours withstands the storm.”
“Indeed,” I say.
Lighting a cigarette, he walks out, leaving me alone. His passive threat means nothing to me. I only hope that he makes good on his part of this plan.
Taking my jacket from the back of the chair, I slip into it and spot something on the chair where Bakka had been sitting.
Three one-hundred-dollar bills, messy and crumpled, left behind.
He may have left a peace offering for me, too.
But I still don’t trust him.
3
CANDI
Don’t forgetit’s cake tasting day! See you at noon, the text from Juliana reads.Oh, and wear something stretchy in the waist. We’re going to have a LOT of options, lol.
Then she sends me the address for the bakery—it’s the same Bruno-owned bakery responsible for my and Armani’s wedding cake fiasco, except this location isn’t in Santa Rosa. It’s right here in downtown Napa, a cute place with a storefront café that’s open to the public, which the other location isn’t. I’m glad it’s a short drive, otherwise I’d probably talk myself out of meeting her before I even got there.
Chewing my thumbnail, I reread Juliana’s messages and wait to see if she sends anything else. She doesn’t.
Can’t wait!I type back.
My stomach is in knots. The last time we spoke, we got in a huge fight over my refusal to hand over the names of the “associates” that Armani met with on the yacht during our honeymoon. Now, Jules is acting like our argument never even happened.
This isn’t unusual behavior for her—deciding when or if to forgive someone she believes has crossed her without any kind of discussion or input from the other person—but it’s going to be hard to play along like everything’s fine this time.
How am I supposed to pretend I’m having fun sampling options for her wedding cake when I know full well that my husband’s family is actively plotting to sabotage that wedding? I’m not exactly a great actress. But there’s no way I can beg off. I’m the matron of honor.
I just hope to God Juliana doesn’t turn this tasting into a full-on interrogation. I’ve got an interrogation of my own to conduct.
Realizing that the morning has gotten away from me, I hurry to get ready. Dress, strappy sandals, minimal makeup, a braid in my hair. I’m going for an understated look; the last thing I want to do is upstage the bride-to-be. After I call Donovan to get my car brought up to the house from the main garage, I give Mr. Sprinkles a quick snuggle for good luck. Then I set him back on his favorite perch on the cat tree and head out.
My pulse is pounding with adrenaline as I slide into the driver’s seat and buckle in. I plug the bakery address into my map app and send Juliana a quick text.
On my way. See you soon.
This is it. No turning back.
The whole drive over, all I can think about are the various ways things could go sideways with the Bellantis’ secret plan to sabotage Juliana’s wedding. And what if the plan fails, and the wedding does go on as planned? Juliana will have married into the Russian mob, unifying the Bruno clan and the Bratva. Effectively creating a villainous superpower that will threaten not only the Bellantis, but who knows how many other families? With the Bratva in his corner, Sergio Bruno will be free to act with impunity. Even the old guard Brunos over in Italy won’t be able to keep him in check anymore.
I wish I could talk to Armani about all of this. I still don’t know what he’s plotting with his brothers. In fact, I don’t even know where he is right now. He left yesterday to go meet up with some associates—a term I’m getting all too sick of hearing—and hasn’t been home since.
The only thing keeping me from having a full-blown meltdown about his safety is the fact that he took a stealth security detail with him. I have to believe they’re keeping him alive. That, and every time I’ve texted to ask when he’ll be back, he responds with, “soon.”
As I exit off the freeway, my insides are a mess. I was hoping the drive would calm me down a little, but fresh waves of nausea and heartburn wash over me in turns while I look for a parking spot. Hopefully I won’t hurl all over the wedding cakes. That would definitely put a damper on my fact-finding mission.
The second I park the car, I take a deep breath. I need to focus. Part of me wants nothing more than to drive straight back to the Bellantis’ and hide, but if I do that, Juliana will probably never speak to me again—no matter how good my excuse is—and I’ll lose my chance to find out if she really is who I think she is.
The old photo of young Liliana is tucked away in my handbag. I study it again and then slip it into my hip pocket in between my phone and my credit card. I’m not sure I should have even brought it, but I figured it might help convince Juliana that there’s a chance she’s the Bellantis’ sister. Otherwise she might just dismiss me out of hand. Supposing our discussion even reaches the point where I reveal my suspicions out loud. I may not even get that far.
After I swipe my Visa at the parking meter, I head down the street to the bakery. As I approach, I can see Juliana through the large front windows, animatedly chatting with someone.
“Candi!” she squeals when I walk through the door, waving me over.
