Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters Book 3)
Savage Hearts: Chapter 47

I spend the rest of that day in a haze. I go to bed, pull the covers over my head, and try to think clearly about what I should do next.

It’s useless. My brain is broken.

To match the other broken organ inside my chest.

Now, Mal will have another reason to want to keep me away. An even more powerful reason. It isn’t only my safety at stake.

I’ve got a baby gangster on board.

And if Mal is so protective that he’d keep me at arm’s length for my own safety, I can imagine exactly what a nutcase he’d be if he discovered I’m pregnant.

He’d probably move to another planet. He’d set up shop on Mercury and run the Russian Bratva from there.

I don’t sleep at all that night. By the next morning, I’ve decided I just need to put one foot in front of the other and deal with the most obvious thing first.

I have to tell my sister that I’m pregnant with the child of the assassin who swore vengeance on the man she loves for the murder of his brother.

Jesus on a cracker. How does that conversation start?

As it turns out, it doesn’t, because Sloane has her own important news to share.

She knocks on my door, poking her head in when I don’t answer.

“You awake?”

From under the covers, I exhale a leaden breath. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Come on in.”

The mattress dips with her weight. The covers slide down over my face, because she’s pulling at them.

“Good morning, Little Miss Sunshine.”

“Ew. Don’t smile like that. People will think you’re a cult leader.”

“Don’t be crabby. I need to tell you something, and I want you to be happy about it.”

“Wait, let me guess.” I inspect her disturbing megawatt smile. “There’s a huge sale at Bergdorf’s.”

Instead of answering, she lifts her left hand. On her ring finger sparkles a piece of ice that could double as a children’s skating rink.

I gasp, sitting up on my elbows. “It’s a ring!”

“It is!”

“You finally said yes!”

“I did!”

“You’re officially engaged!”

“I know! Isn’t it amazing?”

My voice choked and my eyes watering, I nod enthusiastically.

“Oh, shit,” she says, her eyes wide. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. I’m so h-happy for you!” Then I start to cry, because it’s my new default setting.

I’m blaming it on the hormones.

She grabs me and hugs me so hard, it leaves me breathless.

“God, my timing. I’ve always had terrible timing! You can punch me in the face if it will make you feel better.”

I consider it for a moment but toss the idea aside. I can’t be throwing swings at my kid’s auntie. Between all the warring mafia factions, we’ll have enough family strife.

“No, I’m glad you told me.” I pull away, wiping my eyes. “I’m very, very happy for you guys. Did you set a date yet?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

That makes me blink in surprise. “Oh. Wow. Carpe diem.”

“Exactly. While you were gone, I realized that life is short and full of random assholery. You have to seize the good while it’s there for the seizing.”

“Wait, you know carpe diem means seize the day right?”

“No, it’s seize the good. I know a guy who has it tattooed on his forearm. He explained it to me.”

“Uh-huh. And did this PhD have any idea he had a Latin phrase derived from Horace’s eleventh ode inked on his skin, or did he just think it was a cool Instagram meme?”

She sighs. “You could give a person a stroke.”

“No wonder people keep telling me we’re so much alike. Back to this wedding of yours. Where will it be happening?”

“The Old North Church. It’s Declan’s home parish.”

I replace it interesting that the head of the Irish Mob goes to church, but I guess he probably has lots of confessing to do. “Is Dad coming?”

A cloud passes over her face. “I didn’t invite him. And before you ask why, there’s a story I need to tell you, but I’m in too good a mood to discuss it now.”

I know they haven’t been close since she was a teenager and that she and our stepmother never got along, but it sounds like things are worse than that.

Best to leave it alone until she feels like talking about it.

“Okay, next question. Nat?”

“She’ll be there.”

“With what’s-his-face?”

Sloane smiles. “As if he’d let her out of his sight.”

“I feel like I’m missing some behind-the-scenes logistics.”

“I told Declan I’m not getting married without my best friend in attendance. And Nat told Kage she would consider not castrating him for giving Mal information about Declan if he showed up to the wedding to apologize.”

She squeezes my hand. “Sorry, sweetie. I don’t mean to make it sound like Mal is the bad guy.”

I wave it off, too interested in the developing drama to care about that. “So Nat and Kage are coming to the wedding?”

“Yep.”

“And Declan is okay with Kage being there?”

She laughs. “Not even a little bit. But those are the rules the boys are working with. And it’s not like they’ve never been in a room together before.” She pauses to think. “Although, I’m pretty sure every time that’s happened, somebody’s gotten shot.”

“Wow. Should be a fun wedding.”

She seems unconcerned about the possibility of a massacre breaking out during her nuptials, saying airily, “There’ll be security up the yin-yang. Everybody will be searched and their weapons removed before going into the church. I’m sure they can manage to play nice for thirty minutes.”

I’m not sure about that at all, but I admire her confidence.

“What am I wearing? I can’t borrow another one of your outfits to wear to your wedding. That seems like it would be bad luck. The bride is supposed to wear something borrowed, not the guests.”

“I’ve got a dress ordered for you. The seamstress will be here to fit it tomorrow morning.”

That surprises me, but not too much, considering my gift from Pakhan. “It’s amazing how you mobster folk can just order up custom gowns on a moment’s notice.”

“I can’t have my maid of honor walking down the aisle in a pair of camouflage hunting pants, now can I?”

Now I’m not only surprised, I’m flabbergasted. “Maid…maid of honor? Me?”

“You and Nat both.”

My voice is strangled with emotion. “You’re having two maids of honor?”

Her eyes shining, she says softly, “You’re my sister, dumbass. Of course I’m having you as one of my maids of honor.”

When she sees the tears gathering in my eyes, she takes pity on me. She sits up straighter and says haughtily, “Everyone would think I’m a dick if I didn’t.”

Trying to hide how overwhelmed I am, I say, “Everyone already does think you’re a dick.”

Her smile is self-indulgent. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everybody loves me.”

I fall flat onto the mattress and pull the covers over my face again. Only this time, I’m laughing.

I keep forgetting that this is Sloane’s world. The rest of us mere mortals are just living in it.

I get fitted for the dress. It’s long, silk, sleeveless, and hugs my body like a glove.

It’s also black, so it can double as funeral attire when the wedding with warring Irish and Russian gangsters in attendance hits the inevitable bumps, and the bullets start flying.

I’m trying to be optimistic, but seriously. This seems like a bigger mistake than the twelve publishing houses made that turned down JK Rowling before Harry Potter was finally published.

The day of the wedding, what seems like five hundred Irish gangsters in tuxedos show up at the house.

Spider’s there, too. He looks great in a tux. He also won’t look at me, which hurts but might be for the best.

I help Sloane into her dress, an insanely gorgeous floor-length chiffon gown with a plunging neckline that shows off her cleavage. It also has a split in the front of the billowing skirt that shows off her legs when she walks.

It’s not white, because this is my sister we’re talking about. Every bride wears white.

Sloane’s dress is vivid, bold, blood red.

Dripping in diamonds, with her hair cascading down her back and a real freaking tiara on her head, she looks like a goddess. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

When I tell her that, she smiles. “Right? Declan is so lucky. He doesn’t deserve me.”

I say drily, “If zombies ever take over, you’ll be safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“They only eat brains.”

We ride together in a limo to the church. We’re surrounded front, back, and sides by black Escalades filled with heavily armed gangsters in tuxedos, who Sloane keeps waving at like she’s the queen of England in a Christmas parade.

When we get to the beautiful old stone church, I’m shocked to see the front steps swarming with people.

Looking out the window of the limo as we drive into the parking lot, I say, “Um. Sloane?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Why are there four thousand people here?”

“Because this is Boston, and the head of the Irish Mob is getting married. It’s an important event. People are here from all over the country, plus overseas.”

I turn to her, goggle-eyed. “I thought you said you were planning a small ceremony?”

“I was.” She gestures smugly to her diamonds and dress. “But then all this glory would’ve been wasted.”

“Do you know all those people?”

“No. They’re mostly Declan’s work friends.”

“His work friends? You mean those are all gangsters?”

“And the affiliates, yes. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’ll be fine.”

“Hair is fine. A Catholic church stuffed with armed mafioso is a True Crime docuseries about to happen!”

She pats my hand reassuringly. “Listen. Declan is handling it. The security is top-notch. There are even snipers. All we have to do is look stunning and enjoy the attention. And if anything happens—which it won’t—just duck.”

I stare at her. “Duck? That’s your survival advice?”

She shrugs. “Always works for me.”

Dear god. She’s actually serious.

I blow out a shaky breath, wondering if I can steal a gun off one of the goodfellas milling around in front of the church before they’re confiscated by security.

We’re hustled from the limo into the church by a circle of bodyguards three deep. I keep expecting a bomb to go off, but we make it inside without incident and settle into a room in the back reserved for the bride’s quarters.

Our bouquets are waiting there, nestled in white boxes with tissue paper and cotton. Mine is a perfect sphere of pearl-dotted Stephanotis. It smells heavenly.

Sloane’s bouquet is a dramatic cascade of hot pink orchids studded with Swarovski crystals. It’s glamorous and over-the-top, just like her.

Two minutes after we arrive, so does Nat.

The moment she comes through the door and spots Sloane in her dress, her face crumples, and she starts crying. “You look like a princess.”

Sloane smiles. “Bitch, I’m a queen. Get your butt over here.”

She opens her arms. Nat runs to her. The two of them stand hugging in the middle of the room for so long, I wonder if the wedding will have to be delayed.

Then Nat turns to me. Her watering eyes widen as she looks me up and down. “Riley? Little Riley? Holy cow.”

I smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She comes over and gives me a big hug, too. I haven’t seen her in so long, I’d almost forgotten what she looks like. Black hair, blue-gray eyes, scarlet lips…she’s gorgeous.

She whispers, “Are you okay?”

“Ugh. Yes and no. We’ll talk about it later. There’s way too much to go over right now.”

“Okay, sweetie. I’m glad to see you.”

“You, too.”

Sloane says warmly, “Look at my girls. This church will be full of boners. Even that sad statue we passed on the way in will be sprouting wood.”

I say over Nat’s shoulder, “That was a statue of the Virgin Mary.”

“So she’ll get a lady boner.”

“You’re going to hell.”

“Ha! They wish.”

Nat pulls away and smiles at me. “The queen is proud of her handmaidens.”

“We do look pretty good, though. And you’re glowing.”

Sloane says, “That’s because she’s getting the big Bratva bratwurst on the regular.”

Nat’s cheeks turn faintly pink. “She really has a way with words, doesn’t she?”

“She missed her true calling writing love songs.”

Sloane chuckles. “Nat, your gown is hanging on the back of the bathroom door. We’ve got about ten minutes before the coordinator will come get us and we start down the aisle.”

As Nat goes into the bathroom to change, I say, “Which reminds me. Are there groomsmen we’ll be walking with?”

“No. Kieran and Spider will be waiting at the altar with Declan.”

“Oh. So what’s the order?”

“The order of what?”

“Like does Nat go in front of me, then I go, then you go?”

Sloane walks over to me and rests her hand on my cheek. “No, silly,” she says, smiling. “The bride is supposed to walk down the aisle with the most important people in her life. So the three of us are walking down together, arm in arm.”

My chin quivers. My eyes well. I have to swallow around the rock in my throat. “If you make me cry, I’ll rip that tiara right off your head.”

“For a girl who showed up at my house looking like something out of the Backwoods Survival Guide, you’re a big softie.”

“I would’ve thought you’d think it was an improvement over all the gray fleece.”

“Honey, you went from sweatpants sloth to G.I. Jane. It was a lateral move, not an upward one.”

Looking stunning, Nat emerges from the restroom in her dress. We make a few last-minute adjustments to our hair and makeup, pick up our bouquets, and head out when the coordinator knocks.

And believe it or not, the ceremony goes off without a hitch.

Declan is glorious in his tux. Sloane is a fairy tale. They exchange vows and kiss to thundering applause.

Wisely, they omit the part of the vows where the priest asks if anyone objects.

There’s a small moment of awkwardness during the photographs afterward, when Spider does nothing but stare at me with such searing intensity, my ears burn. But it’s a momentary hiccup in an otherwise perfect event.

It isn’t until the reception that everything falls apart.