The Mafia Heir Paid Me to Ruin His Wedding

The groom put a check inside Nina Rook's champagne glass while his bride was watching. Nina lifted it out by one dry corner. The ink had begun to bleed. Behind Luca Vescari, two hundred people waited for him to finish his rehearsal toast. "You have ten seconds," he murmured. "To deposit this?" "To make my uncle hate you more than he hates the bride." Nina looked at the woman in ivory at the head table. Celeste Duran held her smile so still that a muscle fluttered beside her mouth. She had one hand beneath the table. Her father held the other. It could have been affection, viewed from far enough away. Nina had come to the Bellweather to collect payment for a canceled consultation. This morning Luca's assistant had hired her to advise on a troublesome wedding guest. He had sent the fee, an invitation and a warning that discretion mattered. He had neglected to mention the guest was apparently his own uncle. "I don't perform without knowing who gets hurt." Luca turned slightly. Near the doors, a large man touched an earpiece. A waiter approached Celeste with a small folded card. Her smile vanished when she read it. "Her," Luca said. "Unless somebody looks at you." That wasn't enough information. Nina knew it. She also knew the expression of a woman trying to pull her hand out of a man's grip without being seen trying. She took Luca's microphone. "Darling," she said, loud enough to reach the kitchens, "you promised to tell her before dinner." The quartet's violinist kept playing for two bars after everyone else stopped. Luca stared at her. She gave him a smile that promised a bill he would dislike paying. At the head table, Celeste looked first at Nina, then at the wet check in her hand. The bride understood the shape of the lie before the guests did. She freed her wrist while her father was turning to stare. "Tell me what?" she asked. Nina walked toward her. Every phone rose. She had stopped weddings with missing licenses, runaway cakes and a horse that declined to enter a chapel. None of those jobs had required her to borrow another woman's humiliation. She would have preferred the horse. "That he needs help," Nina said. She unfolded the check, displaying it to Celeste rather than the cameras. "Quite expensive help." Celeste read the name on it. Nina Rook. Recognition flashed, followed by something much less friendly. "The wedding saboteur." Three tables heard her. They made sure the remaining seventeen did too. "I prefer cancellation consultant." Celeste rose. Luca started toward them, but his bride lifted one finger and stopped him. Then she took Nina's champagne glass, poured its remaining contents down Luca's shirt and put the stem back in Nina's hand. "Consult him," she said. "He seems confused." Laughter broke out before anyone could stop it. Luca stood with champagne dripping from his waistcoat. A man at the nearest table choked on his wine. Celeste walked away from her father with the unhurried dignity of someone who had just discovered a useful fire. Nina watched until she reached the powder-room corridor. The waiter with the folded card tried to follow. Celeste shoved the card into a flower vase and went through the ladies' door. Good. A small escape. Nina could still undo the affair insinuation, refund the fee and leave. Then the man by the ballroom doors blocked her path. "Mr. Vescari would like a word." "Which one? The damp one has had enough." "Enzo." The name quieted the two guests nearest them. Nina noticed. So did Luca, who stepped beside her without reaching for her arm. "Nina is with me, Bram." "That appears to be the difficulty." Bram Kessler had a broad face, clean nails and the patience of someone who expected every refusal to become temporary. Nina had seen him once before. She could not place him, which bothered her more than the way he stood across the door. "Let her pass," Luca said. Bram looked over his shoulder. At the far end of the room, Enzo Vescari sat beneath an arch of white roses. He raised his glass to Nina. He didn't look angry. He looked entertained. "Don't make him ask twice," Nina told Bram, and moved before he could decide which man she meant. She reached the powder-room corridor. Luca followed. The music resumed behind them, too loud, with the feverish cheerfulness of people determined to enjoy a disaster that wasn't theirs. "You knew she'd recognize my name," Nina said. "She helped choose you." "Then why did she look ready to kill you?" "She doesn't know what I found this afternoon." Nina held up a hand. "I can make rich people look ridiculous. I don't make threats disappear. If that's what you need, call someone with a badge." "I have. Mara Venn. Financial crimes. She wants the guests interviewed away from here. My uncle has brought their families into the hotel." "Then tell them." Luca looked through the open ballroom doors. At a table near the west wall, a gray-haired man folded his napkin and stood. The waiter who had approached Celeste was speaking into his ear now. Luca went white. "Owen isn't supposed to move until tomorrow." "Who is Owen?" He didn't answer. He was already crossing the ballroom. Nina followed because she had just made herself memorable to every person in it. Leaving a frightened bride and a frightened groom behind her would not make her anonymous again. The waiter steered Owen toward a mirrored panel. Nina got there first, catching Owen by the sleeve as though he had been late to an appointment. "There you are. Celeste wants your speech now." "I haven't written a speech." "Then you're the only honest man here." She put the microphone in his hand. Guests turned. Owen blinked at them. Beside the mirror, the waiter stopped with his hand hovering over a small black reader. "My wife is waiting downstairs," Owen said quietly. "Call her from here." "He said she'd fallen." Nina took the waiter's elbow. His jacket was too tight across the shoulder for a server who carried heavy trays. "Then say which hospital she's going to. I'll bring the car around." He tried to shake her off. She let go before he had to use force, and smiled straight at the nearest phone. "We have a medical emergency. Can somebody call the lady directly?" The waiter withdrew. Owen's hand shook badly enough to knock the microphone against his teeth. Luca caught it, switched it off and gave him his own phone. When Owen heard his wife's voice, he sat down so suddenly that the chair scraped a long white mark in the floor. "She's at home," he said. Enzo was still watching from beneath the roses. Luca took Nina into the pantry. He shut the door, then opened it again when she looked at the latch. A cook passed carrying a vat of stock. Steam filled the little room. Nina welcomed the ordinary heat. Luca unfolded a page from his inner pocket. The Bellweather's seating chart. Times ran down its margin beside names crossed in blue. Owen Vale was first. Nina Rook was last. Next to her name someone had written: After the bride leaves. "Where did you get this?" "Enzo's office. His driver had the same names under tomorrow's deliveries." "You hired me before you found it." "Yes." "And you put me in front of him after." Luca said nothing. Champagne had dried stiffly on his shirt. Nina could smell it when he breathed. She tore his check in half. The paper was still soft from the glass. "That's your cancellation," she said. "Now start again, and this time tell me what the wedding is for."