his head. “No. She told Jaz we had a story to cover up here, so the timing ‘worked out.’”
That’s what Cris had come to my house to discuss the other night.
A surprise wedding.
The wedding plans had been stressing Jasmine out like mad. She’d been crazy busy at work, preparing for Fall Fashion Week, as well as designing her winter line. And she’d only just finished her wedding dress—one she’d designed, of course. According to Cris, she had never wanted a giant wedding with all the fanfare, but had felt pressured to plan the wedding of the century since they were currently New York’s hottest couple. Cris being the financial mogul that he was and Jasmine setting fire to runways all over the five boroughs had Page Six abuzz with all the wedding planning hoopla.
Cris had finally said enough was enough.
He was sick of seeing his fiancé miserable. But the real tipping point had been Raphael’s kidnapping the other day. Something in my brother had snapped after that. His words down in my basement that night still echoed in my ears.
“What if he comes after us again?” Cris asked, sounding the most distressed I’d ever heard him. “I promised Jasmine she was safe from that asshole, and now he’s out there.”
“But we don’t know he’s free,” I countered. “He could be getting tortured or killed even as we speak. It didn’t seem like he was besties with the men who took him.”
Besides, what really had me concerned was what one of them had yelled after the driver shot me. “What the fuck are you doing? You know we’re supposed to leave them all alive!”
Leave who alive? Certainly not the guards. They’d opened fire on all four of them without batting an eye. Which left…us. As in, the Rossettis. If the masked men had been instructed to leave everyone in my family alive, that meant someone had hired them. They were working for someone—but who?
It also meant that someone had a plan for us.
Something we all needed to be alive for.
And that was what had Cris sweating bullets.
“And what if we’re wrong?” he snapped. “What if the breakout was all a ruse? Or what if he was able to talk his way out of his own death?” He shook his head, rocking back and forth in his chair. “He’s got a score to settle with us, Nico. With me. I was there the night he got arrested. I killed his son. If he wants to come after me, fine. I fucking welcome it. But he’s not laying a finger on Jasmine.”
“You’re worrying about something that hasn’t even happened. Don’t assume the worst until we have more information about who these guys are and what they want.”
He ran both of his hands through his hair and down his wan face. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m sick of all this waiting bullshit. We don’t know Esposito’s next move. And I’m not wasting another goddamn day without Jasmine as my wife.”
The bad news was we still didn’t have any new information on Esposito’s possible kidnapping. Until we learned otherwise, we had to assume that’s exactly what it was, that he was in the hands of his enemies, and that someone had likely hired them to do it. Bryce had been leaning on his informants around the city, but nobody on the streets was talking. There was no ransom demand, no body had turned up. No news coming out of the five families about Raphael’s whereabouts or well-being.
We didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.
So, Cris and I had hatched a plan in the middle of the night. I’d gathered Mom, Gia, and Roxy on the phone to work out all the necessary details. I loved my brother, but wedding planning was where I drew the line on how far I’d go for him.
“Hey, in all seriousness,” Luka addressed Cris, “we’re all happy for you, man. And not just because you’re lucky that Jaz even stuck around after you pulled all that stalker shit on her.”
He grinned when Cris glowered, while Bryce choked on his beer.
“So, not to get too sentimental,”—Luka raised his beer at Cris—“but here’s to you and Jaz.”
We all followed suit, raising our glasses, and muttered our own cheers.
“That was pretty, dude,” Rome deadpanned. “I didn’t know you wrote poetry.”
“I practice in front of the mirror at home,” Luka quipped. He chugged down the rest of his beer, stood up, and waggled his eyebrows. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve