The Lost Girl of Astor Street(76)

Mariano grasps my hand in his. Smiles.

“Pippy.” Nick’s voice blasts into the moment. Alana trails behind him. “They’re about to cut the cake. They want to photograph the wedding party in front of it first.”

Of course they do. We wouldn’t want a moment to go by that we don’t photograph.

“Fine, I’m coming.” I squeeze Mariano’s hand before releasing it. “I’ll be right back.”

As I walk away with Nick and Alana, Nick emits a blustery sigh. “So you’re really going to do this, huh? You’re really going to date a Cassano.”

My fingers curl into a fist, and if we weren’t dressed in formal wear inside a ballroom, he would feel the full force of my right hook. “Why do you hate him so much? Is it just him, or are you prejudiced against all Italians?”

Nick shoots me a scathing look, but falls quiet as the photographer arranges us.

But the anger is too consuming for me to keep my mouth shut. “I like him, okay? And I don’t see why that’s such a big problem.”

“Now isn’t the time, you two,” Tim says as the photographer steps back to survey his work.

“Smile, everyone!” he chirps.

“What did you expect, Piper?” Nick asks through his smile. “That we would all be okay with you dating someone from a mafia family?”

What? My head snaps toward my brother. “What?”

The pop of the flashbulb sounds.

Nick looks at me, his brow pinched. “What do you mean, ‘What’? You know, right?”

“Brother, sister,” calls the photographer. “Eyes up here, please! Let’s try again!”

The memory that I couldn’t quite grasp earlier rolls me flat. Dinner with Father and Nick the night Lydia went missing. Father had offered the wine to Nick, saying, “Nick, you help with the Cassanos’ cases. You should enjoy some of the spoils.”

Air rushes from my lungs as I breathe out the family name. “The Cassanos.”

Clients of Father’s. A name that I had probably caught snatches of when walking by his office, or if I came upon my brothers and him discussing a case. How could I not have put it together?

“Sister?” calls the photographer. “Up here, please! Smile!”

Tim puts on his big brother voice. “Nick, Piper. Do this later.”

I turn to the photographer. Beyond him, Mariano appears to be making polite conversation with Alana. Why didn’t he tell me?

“They’re our biggest client. We thought you knew,” Nick mutters.

The flashbulb pops, and the metallic scent of magnesium fills my nostrils. “I didn’t.” I hate how stupid I sound. I had been so annoyed when Lydia fell in love with Matthew and became so illogical, and it turns out I’m no better. All the clues were there the whole time, and I just couldn’t see.

“I’m sorry.” Nick’s countenance has softened. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you Mariano isn’t the white knight you thought he was.”

I don’t want to ask, don’t want to hear the answer—but I can’t bury my head any longer. “What is he, then?”

Nick’s eyes hold sympathy as he deals a second blow. “Just another crooked cop.”





CHAPTER


TWENTY


Piper?” Mariano’s voice rises above the cacophony of the busy city street.

I stiffen, but don’t turn. I don’t want to see him coming down the Congress Hotel steps with that confident gait I’ve admired. I don’t want to see him, period.

“What are you doing out here?” He sits beside me on the cool concrete steps, close enough that his leg brushes against mine.

I yank away. “Don’t touch me. Just leave me alone.”

“Piper, what happened in there? What’s wrong?”

A laugh bubbles out of me . . . or was that a dry sob? “Have you and your buddies been laughing about it behind my back? Or what’s the official word for men like you? Soldato?”

Mariano goes rigid beside me.

I cut him a glare. “You and your fellow soldatos probably thought it was good and funny, didn’t you?”

“Piper, what are you talking about?” His tone is one I’ve never heard from him—a low and dangerous sound that scrapes against me. “I’m a police detective, not some mob soldier.”

I grind my teeth together to lock in the tears. The only thing that would make this worse is Mariano seeing me cry.

“Where did you even get that idea? Have you seen a single shred of evidence that I’m faking my way through this job?”

“No, but when would I? You’d be great at pretending. You’d have to be for the police force to actually buy it.”

“Listen to me.” Mariano’s hand grips my bicep, tightens.

I look from his hand on my arm to his eyes. “Let me go, Mariano Cassano, or I’ll be forced to throw a fit right here.”

He lets go. “Yes, this kind of thing happens. Police officers get bought, Prohibition agents take bribes, but this is me, Piper. I thought . . .” Mariano’s gaze soaks in my unflinching face. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I thought I did too.”