Fractured Souls - Page 70

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she says. “When you and Pasha decide to have kids, how about you let me pick out their names? Auntie will make sure they are super special.”

I stare at my sister in horror. There’s no way I would ever let her pick the names for my children. I’d be risking them being named after chocolate bars or some other candy if I do. Or worse.

Sienna looks up at me and grins. “Relax.” She giggles. “I’m just kidding. But admit it, going out there in front of all of those people sounds less terrifying now.”

I snort. “It certainly does.”

“Everything is going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

I straighten my dress for the umpteenth time, “Maybe I should have picked a white dress. What if people—”

“It’s your wedding day. You can wear whatever the fuck you want, Asya.” She looks down at my bright yellow lacy dress and grins. “I love it! You look like you walked out of a fairytale.”

“You think Pasha will like it?”

Sienna grabs my face between her palms and leans in closer. “That man is so ridiculously in love with you, you could walk in there wearing a kitchen rag and he would eat you up with his eyes.”

I laugh. “I can’t believe I’m getting married.”

“Me either, sweetie.” She sniffs. “Come on. Arturo is waiting. And I’m ruining my makeup.”

Sienna squeezes my hand tightly as we leave the room and hurry down the hotel hallway toward the big wooden door at the end, where Arturo is waiting. Leaving me with our brother, Sienna slips inside the wedding hall, pulling the door shut after her. A few moments later, the first tones of a melody reach my ears.

It’s not the wedding march.

“Ready?” Arturo asks.

I nod, trying to keep my breathing under control.

The music gets louder as the door before us slowly open. It’s “Moonlight Sonata.” We step into the hall.

Pasha is standing at the end of the aisle, his eyes glued to mine, following our every step. As Arturo leads me forward, a thought crosses my mind that something is out of order. Considering I’m a bundle of nerves, it’s not surprising that the realization hits only when we almost reach our destination.

I blink in confusion. Pasha is dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. He knows it doesn’t bother me when he wears a suit, so why did he come in jeans? I turn my head to my brother, roving my eyes over his jeans and a Henley shirt until I reach his face.

“Your Russian arranged the dress code for the wedding,” he says as he keeps walking.

I take a deep breath and glance at the guests sitting on our left. My heart flutters in my chest. I look over to the right side, as well. It’s the same. Every single man is wearing jeans and either a long-sleeved or short-sleeved T-shirt. Even our don, who’s sitting in the front row with his wife. I’ve never in my life seen Salvatore Ajello in a T-shirt. In fact, I don’t think anyone has. Except maybe his wife.

I shift my eyes back to Pasha and see him smiling, and I can’t keep the tears at bay anymore. So, I let them roll down my cheeks and smile widely as my brother hands me off to my future husband.

Pasha lifts my hand to his mouth and places a kiss on my fingers. “Everything okay, mishka?”

“Yes,” I say, “everything is perfect, Pashenka.”

* * *

We’re going through the buffet line when Arturo’s phone rings. I turn to the side and pass the serving spoon to the older man standing next to me when I note the tension in Arturo’s voice.

“How come they didn’t find anything? It’s been months.”

He listens to the person on the other end of the line for a few moments, then squeezes his temples. “All right.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“They still don’t have a clue why Rocco’s house burned down the way it did, but the report will show a suspected gas leak. No remains were found because everything was scorched to ashes, and the building crumbled in on itself. Based on the security footage before the signal cut out, Rocco, Ravenna, and Alessandro were inside. Without any more evidence, they’re closing the investigation and pronouncing the three of them dead.” He puts the phone in his pocket and looks over his shoulder. “I need to tell the boss.”

I’m staring at Arturo’s retreating form when I hear subdued snickering at my side. I look over at the gray-haired guy next to me. He’s piling meat on his plate while a wide smile spreads across his face. What the hell is wrong with him? Three people died, and he finds it funny?