CORINA

“Stop doing that.” I turn my gaze away from the scenic view of the Italian fields through the car window to Dante. He’s looking down at my fingers tapping the seat. I clench my hand and place it on my lap. “I’m nervous.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You’re not the one who’s getting married.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been to a Mafia wedding.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, we won’t be bathing the bride in the blood of her enemies as part of the ceremony.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Are you talking about the twenty-one-gun salute we would do for the bridegroom?”

Images of men in...