Charade

“You got the family discount,” Sasha explained. “I hope you don’t mind, but that’s how I’ll always see you and Gianna. And Carmine, of course.”

Carmine chuckled. “No, thanks. I’m looking for a different kind of relationship.”

Sasha laughed, then turned back to Antonio. “Take a closer look at Gianna. I think she’s the work of art. Don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Sasha,” Gianna said, wiping away her tears. “And thanks again for coming. I was afraid you wouldn’t. And you’re the closest thing to a sister I have, now that—well, you know.”

Sasha gave the bride a warm hug, knowing how much it would have meant to her—to everyone—if Vittoria Martino had lived to see this day. But Tori had died young, another victim of the mob violence that had plagued both their families for almost a century.

Wasn’t that why Sasha was working with the FBI? To put an end to that madness once and for all?

Taking a deep breath, she directed her full attention toward the man with the unfamiliar face who had backed into the shadows, watching them in silence. “You must think I’m awfully rude, sir, bursting in this way and interrupting your tender moment. I’m Sasha Bracciali.” Extending her hand, she walked closer to him, positioning the bra-cam to capture his face, and hoping that there was enough light for the image to be useful.

“You’ve grown into an exquisite young woman. More beautiful than even your mother, and she was a goddess.” The stranger kissed her fingertips respectfully. “You may call me zio Dante. I’m not really your uncle, but I’m an old and dear friend of your father’s, here for a short visit.”

Sasha tried not to stare, but the effort was wasted. This was just too good to be true. The man’s voice was familiar, but she had never seen that face before in her life. Rumors of Vincenzo “the Butcher” Martino’s plastic surgery had abounded for years, and she was sure she was now getting confirmation thereof, not to mention, a huge coup for the FBI’s Organized Crime Unit.

“Did you get a chance to see Daddy?” she asked him carefully. “He was here earlier, I’m told. But he left before I arrived.”

“Big Frankie and I had a nice visit last year when he came to Roma on a business trip. I was sorry to hear about your mother’s death, Sasha. She would be so proud if she could see you today.”

Yeah, it’s a shame Dad killed her, isn’t it? Sasha challenged him silently. But considering how many people you’ve offed in your time, I guess you’d be the first to understand why he had to do it. Caesar’s wife and all, right?

“Don’t talk about her mother. It makes her sad,” Gianna scolded the men. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

“The happiest day of my life,” Antonio said quickly. “To see my daughter married—that is pure joy. And on that same day, to have both Sasha and my beloved cousin return to this house after too long an absence. It is more than a man deserves. We must drink a toast immediately. Carmine?”

His beloved cousin? Sasha’s pulse began to race. Vincenzo is one of his cousins! Isn’t that enough proof of his identity to move in now? I hope Summit’s getting all this! If the bra-transmitter lets us down I’ll shoot myself.

Carmine poured brandy into four elegant snifters and handed them out. Then he murmured, “To Sasha. She’s as fucking stubborn as ever, but tonight, that’s gonna work in my favor.”

Antonio scowled. “What sort of toast is that?”

“Allow me.” Sasha lifted her glass with a flourish. “To my family, not through blood but through choice.”

The man who called himself Dante chuckled. “Any girl who can quote Sinatra deserves to be a Martino.”

“To Sasha,” Antonio agreed, raising his glass.

As the others echoed the toast, Summit’s warm voice sounded in Sasha’s ear. “Okay, Camper. We’ve got more than we need. I’m going to ring your cell, you’re going to answer, and then you’re going to tell them your best customer just called you in hysterics over some dressmaking emergency and you have to go soothe the ruffled feathers.”

Her phone rang on cue, and she apologized, then stepped away from the group and answered it.

“Good girl,” Summit whispered. “You’ve done an amazing job. First by designing that crazy bra, and now this. It’s unbelievable. It’s also over, so get the hell out of there. And if that horny bastard Carmine tries anything, tell him you’ll sic your father on him if he doesn’t back off. Got it?”

“For heaven’s sake, Martha!” Sasha exclaimed. “It can’t be that bad. Just calm down. I’ll be right there, I promise. Just don’t try to force the zipper whatever you do. We used the last scrap of fabric for the lining of the jacket. So please, just calm down. I’m on my way.”

She could see disapproval in the eyes of Antonio and Dante, not to mention annoyance in Carmine’s. “Sorry, I thought I turned that thing off,” she said in apology. “But it’s lucky I got the call, because my best customer is having a panic attack, and she’s having it in her five-thousand-dollar business suit. I’m so, so sorry, but I’ve gotta dash. Forgive me?” Before they could protest, she walked right up to Dante and said, “I’ll give Daddy your best. And next time I visit Mom’s grave, I’ll tell her all the lovely things you said about her.”

He patted her cheek. “She would be sad to see you put business ahead of a family wedding. You should marry young Carmine here. Then you’d never have to work again.”

“And we’d really be sisters,” Gianna agreed with a tearful smile. Wrapping her arms around Sasha’s waist, the bride insisted, “You were so sweet to come at all. I know it was awkward, but it meant the world to me and that hunky new husband of mine.”

Sasha gave her friend a teasing smile. “You’d better go find him. Last time I checked, he was dancing with Tessie Gallo.”

“What?” Gianna scowled, then said to Dante, “Stay right here, zio. I’ll be back before you leave so you can kiss the bride one last time. Or the widow, depending on what’s going on out there.” Grabbing Sasha’s arm, she added, “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Carmine told her, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Sasha and I have unfinished business. Right, beautiful?”

Sasha arched a disapproving eyebrow in his direction, and was pleased when he winced. Then she took Dante’s hand and smiled sheepishly. “I made such a silly bet with Carmine. He told me you were an old friend of don Martino, and I thought I knew everyone from the old days, so I bet him that I knew you. Is it possible I’m just forgetting? Maybe you met me once, when I was just a baby. I really want to win this bet, so…”

Dante chuckled. “There was one time in particular. You spit up milk all over my brand-new suit. I’d say that binds us for life, wouldn’t you?”

“That doesn’t count!” Carmine bellowed. “Sasha doesn’t remember it, so it doesn’t count.”

Sasha sent an inquiring glance toward his father. “I’ll abide by your decision on this, zio.”

“Fuck that,” Carmine muttered. “I won the bet, and I’m going to collect.”

Antonio Martino’s eyes darkened, but his voice was even when he announced, “My son is the loser here today, in more than one way. Gianna? Show our guest to the door, then go and pay attention to your husband. Sasha, take care. And Carmine?”

The son’s expression had twisted with apprehension. “Yeah, Pop?”

“Apologize to Sasha for trying to take advantage of her. And to your sister, for ruining her wedding day. And then, if you are very, very lucky, I will allow you to apologize to me.”

“So? What do you think the don did to him? Slapped him around, right?” Winston Lowe grinned at Sasha. “Man, I would’ve loved to see that.”

“Yeah, but at least we got to see Carmine Martino cower in fear, thanks to Campie’s brilliant tittie-cam,” said his partner Chuck McBride, the third member of Jeff Crossman’s Organized Crime team.

Sasha bit back a laugh. “Have a little respect. It’s called a bra-cam.”

“Too bad you can’t find a way to have the lens implanted directly into your nipple,” Winston said wistfully. “That way if some hotshot like Carmine ever gets you naked, we could still see the show. Er, I mean, collect the evidence.”

“You guys are so immature.” She glanced toward the special agent in charge, hoping for a nod of agreement. But Jeff Crossman was scowling.

Oh, fine. The honeymoon’s over already? she asked in silent disgust. Even after I got you a photo of Vincenzo Martino’s new face? You’re such an ingrate, Crossman.

Aloud, she murmured, “What’s the problem, Jeff?”

“As if there’s just one?” He exhaled in apparent exasperation. “Fine. Let’s start with that toast of yours.”

“The Sinatra toast?” Winston asked with a wink. “Did you really quote Old Blue Eyes, Campie?”

“Stop calling her that,” Jeff warned him. “If you two clowns want to participate in this debriefing, grow up.”

“Sorry, Jeff,” his men said in unison.