“Why is a happily ever after a false promise?” I demand, trying to ignore the incredibly annoying attraction I have for this man.
He does have a point, though. Happily ever after has been a false promise for me so far. A few years ago, I lost my entire family in the span of less than a minute. Their plane went down, and that was it. Then the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with cheated on me with his student.
But look at Luna. She’s a shining example of what real love and happiness can look like. It’s out there. I have to believe it, and that’s what I adore about turning the pages of a romance. I know what I’m going to get. Sure, it may be hell to get there, but by the end, I’m sighing and content and so are the main characters.
“Because most people aren’t happy,” Alessio drawls.
I wonder if he’s talking about himself.
And then I tell myself it doesn’t matter who he’s talking about. Nothing he does or says matters. He’s not my hot bartender. He’s not an investor. He’s part of a criminal empire.
I force a smile I don’t feel. “Speak for yourself.”
“Have you two met before today?” Francesca asks, looking from me to Alessio and then back again.
“No,” I snap.
“You could say so,” he says at the same time.
I shoot him a glare.
He gazes back at me, smug, arrogant, and infuriatingly handsome.
“We don’t know each other,” I say firmly, glancing back at Francesca.
That much is true. Alessio and Idon’tknow each other. We hooked up. I had no idea who he was, or I never would have invited him back to my room. I’d have run screaming in the opposite direction. I have enough on my plate without adding a mobster boyfriend to it.
Not that he’d want to be my boyfriend.
Or that I would want him to.
“She certainly seems to think she knows me,” Alessio says, his voice cold.
I could have held my tongue earlier. Ishouldhave held my tongue. But I was still in shock over seeing him and realizing who he was. I’d been angry with myself and with him, and I’d blurted the first thing that came to my mind.
I avoid looking at him and turn back to my food, pretending like he didn’t say anything at all. An awkward silence descends on the table, and I know it’s my fault but I also don’t have a clue what to say next. I’m seated at a table with three mobsters and two women who are in the Mafia world, and I’m at my bestie’s wedding reception. I don’t want to do so much as blink wrong.
Scorpion starts clinking his wineglass.
Yes, his name is Scorpion. I don’t know what his real name is. These guys seem to all have nicknames. Alessio’s is Saint. I don’t want to ask how these names came to be. Especially not Priest’s, whose real name was revealed in the ceremony—Matteo.
The whole table takes up their forks and joins in, so I do too, looking to the bridal table, relieved by the distraction. Luna and Priest laugh and then kiss again. I get out my iPhone and snap a series of pictures that I’ll send to Luna later.
Dinner is finishing up, and servers start making the rounds to whisk away emptied plates. I decide to head to the restroom to escape the tension at the table before the happy couple cuts the cake. Tucking my phone into the little blue clutch I bought to match my dress, I stand up and excuse myself from Francesca and Carina.
There’s still a bit of sand stuck to my feet, rubbing my soles as my strappy sandals move over the polished marble floor. The second I’m out of the reception venue, I take a deep breath. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to find myself seated at the same table as Alessio for dinner, his eyes burning intensely into me.
The ladies’ room is empty, so I stop at the mirror to fix my lip gloss.
A few seconds later, the door opens, and a six-foot-two wall of tatted Mafia muscle steps in, closing it behind him and locking it. Alessio’s gaze meets mine in the mirror.
“You’re in the wrong room,” I tell him coldly.
He shakes his head, stalking toward me slowly. “No, I’m not.”
This is a whole different Alessio than the man who sweetly charmed me over dinner the other night. He’s dark. He’s dangerous. He’s forbidden.
He’s so sexy, it ought to be illegal.
