a familiar frame. Awash in gold-red light, Vinn’s carved features stood out among the plain-faced mafiosos. A pretty girl I’d seen once or twice kissed his granite-like mouth.
I wanted it not to hurt.
I spun from the infuriating sight, searching for Michael in the smoke-filled bar. He sat beside a mafioso in his thirties, who shot me an ear-to-ear smile.
“Speak of the devil.” Michael grinned as the man got up. “Li, join us.”
“Hey, Liana. How are you?”
“I’m good. It’s Leo, right?”
Leo beamed, as though his name falling from my lips had made his night. He offered me his chair. “I’ll let you catch up with your brother.”
“Thanks.”
I took my seat, and he drifted away. My elbows upset the pile of cards, earning a hiss from Michael.
“Watch it.”
“Sorry. What are you playing?”
“Hand and Foot. Not that it matters.” Michael shoved the cards together and clicked his tongue. “Vinn can’t sit still long enough to finish a round. Anyway, thank you for coming. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“What’d that guy want?”
“You.” Michael chuckled, packing his Ziplock. “He asked for permission to date you.”
“Really?”
“He’s a bit old, though. Thirty-eight.”
I spotted Leo nearby. He caught my eye and winked. “Someday, a man will ask me out instead of going to you.”
“Not done in our world.”
“A girl can dream.”
He snorted. “You’re thinking like an outsider, not a Costa.”
Daniel’s constant refrain.
My throat tightened. “He would’ve wanted me to follow my heart.”
“Daniel would’ve sold you to the highest bidder.”
That sank a stone in my gut. Daniel wasn’t perfect, but he was like my dad. Michael felt the same way, but it had never stopped him from insulting Daniel.
“Sorry,” Michael murmured, looking remorseful for once. “I’m trying.”
I nodded.
He’d turned a one-eighty after marrying a kind woman named Carmela, whom he’d met after Serena died. I was happy for my brother, but a pang of jealousy hit my chest. I’d kill for a relationship like theirs.
“I just want what you have, Mike.”
He raised a brow. “Carmela?”
I threw a straw at him. “You know what I mean, idiot.”
“I didn’t expect to love her,” Michael conceded, smiling wistfully. “Though I’d hoped it would lead to something more.”
“I can’t have that, too?”
“Sure you can.” Michael eyed the seashell hanging around my neck. “Where’s the guy who gave you that?”
Dead.
A vision consumed my mind—navy dress pants with a red stripe, seagulls cawing, warm waves lapping my feet, and the soldier who folded my fingers over a jagged shell. Our love was never allowed to blossom, because it’d been one-sided. Unrequited.
When I finally realized he was gone, I smothered those feelings. I mourned and moved on. I shook my head, clearing my senses of the sea and his gentle touch.
“He’s out of the picture.”
Michael digested that, his brows creasing. “So you know, I’ve received offers demanding your hand in marriage. I’ve said no to them, but you have a very aggressive suitor. He’s a biker in Legion.”
My heart pounded as I pictured the man who’d terrorized Michael’s wife.
“A biker? Who?”
“You’ve never met him, but he’s seen you at events.”
My chest tightened as the sounds in the bar seemed to magnify. “You’re not considering this.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“After what happened to Carmela, you’d give me to them?”
“I’m stalling him,” he ground out. “There’s a difference.”
“When did he propose?”
“A while ago.” Michael tucked the cards into his jacket, his hooded eyes narrowing. “You’re my sister. You’re more than a bargaining chip. That’s why I want to set you up with someone who will treat you well. I don’t care who you pick but do it fast. This guy is relentless.”
“Can’t you tell him no?”
“Unfortunately, we’re in a bind. He’s high up. I can’t say no without a good reason, like if you’re already engaged.”
“Ah. Engaged. I get it.”
“No, Li.” His lips pulled into a taut smile. “None of my guys will settle for a fake engagement.”
“But you just dumped this in my lap! How long do I have? Two weeks? One? You expect me to find a husband like that—and why am I even considering this? I’m not getting married. I’m barely legal to drink.”
“It’s not what I wanted, either.”
“I have my own life, Michael—separate from this mafia shit.”
“Mafia shit,” he repeated, his tone cooling. “You wouldn’t have a sick-ass apartment in Allston-Brighton if it weren’t for mafia shit. You wouldn’t be able to afford the tuition at your ridiculously expensive Ivy League school or have any money for shopping, food, and clothes, if not for me.”
“I need those things.”
“I know you do, but show