There’s something almost casual about it that makes this more terrifying—like he’s so confident he didn’t even bother to dress up.
“Connor Brennan!” Leo’s voice cuts through the screaming, cold and controlled and absolutely lethal. He doesn’t shout, but he doesn’t need to. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
My father steps fully in front of me, his gun drawn and pointed at Leo’s chest.
Around the cathedral, I can see his men doing the same, weapons appearing from jacket holsters and ankle straps and God knows where else.
The Lombardos are armed too.
Tony’s father and brothers form a protective line near the altar.
At least thirty guns are now pointed at Leo and his men.
Leo doesn’t even flinch.
“You’ve got about five seconds to turn around and walk out of here before I put a bullet between your eyes,” my father growls. I’ve heard that tone before. It’s the voice he uses right before someone dies.
“I don’t think so.” Leo’s still walking and rapidly closing the distance between us with measured steps, his gaze locked on something—someone—behind my father.
On me, I realize with a jolt of terror.
He’s looking atme. “You took something from me five years ago, Connor. Today I’m returning the favor.”
Five years ago.
My mind races.
Five years ago I was nineteen, in my sophomore year at Sarah Lawrence, worried about finals and boys and all the normal things college girls worry about.
What could have possibly happened five years ago that would lead to this, to Leo Santoro crashing my wedding with an army of gunmen?
Wait. The Santoro underboss.
The one who died in that warehouse dispute.
I was away at school when it happened, insulated from the worst of the family business, but I remember the tension that summer.
The increased security.
The way my father seemed harder somehow, more volatile.
Oh god.
“My daughter has nothing to do with our business,” my father says, and there’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before. Is it…fear? “You walk out of here now, Santoro, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
Leo laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Forget? The way you forgot about Gabriel bleeding out on that warehouse floor? Or how about how he was begging for help while you walked away?"
Gabriel. The name echoes in my head.
Why does that sound so familiar?
The pieces fall into place and I nearly sway.
Gabriel. GabrielSantoro.
Leo Santoro’sbrother.
Holy fuck.