Mirabella was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when Summer opened the parlor door. “Ah, here you guys are.” She came on into the room, closed the door behind her, then did a small double take and said, “Where’s Evie?”

Choosing to ignore that for the moment, Mirabella countered instead with, “Who’s minding the kids?”

“Riley volunteered to keep an eye on them. Thought I’d see if you needed any help. Guess not-you look fantastic.”

“Yeah, right.” Mirabella ground her teeth together as she glared at her reflection in the mirror. “I hate…this…dress.”

“Really? Gosh,” said Summer, “I didn’t think they were so bad. I actually kinda like it.”

“Why shouldn’t you? It makes you look like a Greek goddess. I look like a mailbox.”

“Oh, Bella, you do not. You look like a gorgeous pregnant woman. With stunning red hair. Who’s gonna notice anything else?” Summer leaned over Mirabella’s shoulder to examine her own face for nonexistent flaws. “Mom and Pop here yet?”

Mirabella shook her head and moved aside to give her sister the mirror. “Troy and Charly are bringing them. Do you think it’s too early to get the flowers?”

“Probably,” Summer murmured absently as she tweaked futilely at strands of sun-streaked blond hair that had already come loose from her French twist hairdo. “Where on earth is Evie? She go to the bathroom or something?”

“Not… exactly.”

That was all it took; Summer knew their older sibling’s penchant for mischief as well as she knew the not-too-subtle nuances of Mirabella’s voice. She straightened up like a shot. “Oh no-don’t tell me. Oh God, what’s Evie up to now?”

Mirabella said darkly, “You do not want to know.”

“Bella-”

Mirabella sighed. “All I can tell you is, she left here carrying an open bottle of champagne and two glasses.”


Eve held the champagne bottle up in front of her face and squinted at it with one eye closed, trying without much success, in the meager light seeping under the lid of the trash bin, to gauge how much was left. And a damn fine wine it was, too, she thought regretfully. Meant for better things. But at least she hadn’t wasted any of it on that sonofabitch Sonny Cisneros.

To her dismay, the thought was punctuated by a loud hiccup.

Hiccups! That was all she needed. Sonny’s thugs were due back any minute. With that racket, even those two dimwits could hardly fail to find her. She sucked in a breath as deeply as the gown’s tight, corsetlike bodice would allow, held it until she saw spots before her eyes, then released it in a rush.

Satisfied that the dangerous impulse had been vanquished, at least for the moment, she slid the wine bottle down along one hip and deliberately shifted her skirts to cover it. No more wine for you, Evie, she said to herself. Not until you’ve thought this mess through.

She had to think. Up until now she’d been operating on instinct, but now that the adrenaline was ebbing, it was occurring to her that, since her instincts apparently hadn’t been all that reliable lately, especially where men were concerned, maybe she should try using reason and intelligence.

Okay. So she’d overheard some shocking, extraordinary things. What she had to do now was try and make sense of them.

First, the fact that seemed as incontrovertible as it was unbelievable: Sonny’s goons-her Sonny!-were the very ones responsible for threatening Summer and her children and setting fire to their mobile home last June, apparently in an effort to flush Summer’s ex-husband, Hal Robey, out of hiding. Why? Because Hal had stolen some files from Sonny, files containing something so incriminating they could send Sonny to jail.

Sonny? Jail? But according to Summer, the FBI was certain it was some big crime syndicate that had been looking for Hal. Syndicate… as in The Mob. So, if that was true, it had to mean Sonny-her Sonny-must be the mobster in question.

No! Impossible! Sure, Sonny owned a casino in Vegas, among other things; good grief, he owned resort hotels and businesses all over the world. But he was supposed to represent the new Las Vegas-a strictly legitimate businessman, good clean family entertainment, civic leadership, philanthropy. Sonny, her fiancé…a member of organized crime? No way-impossible!

“… Shoulda just done ‘em both… ”

She felt cold and clammy all over. Her stomach churned with nausea. Tossing aside her recent vow of temperance, she dragged the champagne bottle out from under her skirts and raised it to her lips with shaking hands. After several deep gulps she felt better-as well as could be expected, considering it had just become abundantly clear to her that the person in big, big trouble right now was Summer’s big sister Evie.

The first thing on her agenda, she decided as she wiped wine from her mouth and chin with the back of her hand, was to get out of the trash bin. Yes, sir. She was a sitting duck in here. They wouldn’t even have to dispose of the body. What she needed to do was get with some people, get to a phone, tell somebody. Like the police.

Yeah, and then what? Jeez, Louise, she had the Mob after her. Her future suddenly seemed very short. What was next for her-the Witness Protection Program?

Tears sprang to her eyes. Hoping to forestall them, she guzzled more wine. Then all at once she burped-loudly. Oops. Damn… she must be getting tipsy. Couldn’t have that-had to keep her wits about her.

It seemed pretty quiet out there in the alley. Okeydokey, Eve thought, this is it. Now or never.

She floundered around for a few moments as she searched for solid footing amid the bags of garbage, but managed to achieve a more or less upright, if crouching position. Then cautiously pushed upward, lifting the lid with one hand while she peeked under the edge. Aha-the coast was clear. She lifted one leg, clad in a lacy white stocking, over the edge of the bin.

It had seemed a whole lot easier getting into the bin than it did getting out. Something to do with adrenaline, probably. And possibly gravity…

That was her last thought before gravity took control of her exit from the Dumpster, as well. The next thing she knew she was flat on her back on the filthy cobblestones with half of her face on fire and her skirts hiked up in a bunch around her hips.

No doubt, she acknowledged as she groaned her way into a sitting position, it would have gone easier on her if she hadn’t been holding on to the bottle of champagne. But no way was she letting anything happen to that bottle, nosiree. Not when it had cost her… she’d forgotten how many bucks. But lots. And she didn’t intend to waste a drop of it just because she’d been stupid enough to marry a mobster. Almost marry a mobster.

Marry! Oh, Lord, she’d forgotten about that. Right this very minute there was a whole bunch of people sitting in there, in that church, who’d come to see her get married! Her family, her film crew, her friends. Sonny’s friends and business associates, and-good heavens, were they all mobsters, too?

What was she going to do? She had to tell them something.

She had to find her sisters, that’s what. Summer and Mirabella. They’d know what to do.

Yes. Get to the church, Evie. You’ll be safe there.

Holding on to the side of the Dumpster, she managed to haul herself painfully to her feet. Oh, Jeez-her hands were scraped, too-and filthy. And she was bleeding! Tiny red polka dots spangled the sleeve and bodice of her wedding dress. Where had that come from? She touched her face and winced. She thought, What must I look like? Like I’ve been mugged, at least.

Never had she felt more stupid, more humiliated or more frightened. Please God, she thought, just let me get to my sisters before anybody sees me. Before Sonny finds me.

She’d almost forgotten about Sonny.

Back down the alley she crept, making almost no sound in her stockinged feet. Just before she reached the arched breezeway, she froze in a comical, teetering half crouch. Voices! Yes, definitely Sonny’s voice. And Sergei and Rick’s, too. Mumbling, so she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

But then suddenly, and very distinctly, Sonny was saying, “Where’s she gonna go? She’s wearin’ a wedding dress, for God’s sake!” There was some more mumbling from one of the two stooges, then Sonny again. “I’m tellin’ you, she’s got no keys, no purse, nothin‘. Her whole family’s in there. I’m tellin’ you, that’s where she’s gonna go. You two get those entrances covered. If any of her family even looks like they wanna leave, you tell me, and then you tail ‘em, you got me? Now go!”

“What’re you gonna do, boss?”

“Whadaya mean, what am I gonna do? I’m gonna go find the damn preacher, that’s what. Hey-I don’t know a thing, right? I’m here to get married, so I’m gonna go get married. What do I know?” He muttered angrily to himself under his breath, then said in a bitter tone, “My bride doesn’t show up, I’m gonna look like a chump. In front of the whole world I’m gonna look like a blinkin’ chump…” His voice faded, still mumbling, into the distance.

Eve slumped against the stone wall of the rectory and let out her breath. Boy, was Sonny ticked off. His ego was bruised. What could be worse for a man like Sonny than looking like a fool? He was never going to forgive her for this-never.

What was she saying? Forgive her? At the very least, it seemed to her, he was going to have to kill her. Or have her killed, more likely; murder didn’t seem like the sort of thing Sonny Cisneros would actually indulge in himself.

But first he’d have to catch her.

Except… like Sonny had just said, where was she gonna go? Cut off from her family, with no purse, no car keys, no shoes, wearing a filthy dirty wedding dress, battered, bleeding and reeking of garbage?