"So," he asks casually, as if he's asking about the weather. "How did you two meet?"
The table goes still. Not dramatically. Subtly. I feel it before I see it. Massimo stiffens beside me. Not much. Just enough. His hand rests loosely on the table, still. His jaw tightens a fraction. A flicker of warning passes through his eyes.
Oh.
I fight a smile.
Amauri perks up immediately. "Yeah! Mummy never told me!"
Massimo's eyes cut to Enzo in a way that, under different circumstances, would have resulted in someone reconsidering their life choices.
Enzo lifts both hands. "What? It's a normal question."
Is it though?
I beam sweetly. "He helped me get rid of a body."
Silence. Utter silence. Massimo turns his head toward me very slowly. His eyes scream:Are you fucking serious?
"A body?" Amauri echoes, eyes enormous.
I widen mine right back at him. "A raccoon," I correct lightly. "I accidentally ran it over."
The men stare at me. Not buying it. Not even a little. Gabe's mouth twitches. Damiano coughs into his napkin to hide a grin. Alessio watches me like I just passed some kind of unspoken test. Massimo closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head. I feel his amusement before I see it. He leans closer, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "I love you."
I turn to him fully, my heart hammering in my chest, and the candlelight catches in his dark eyes. "I love you too."
It slips out easily. Naturally. Like it was never gone. Across the table, Enzo exhales softly. Damiano smirks into his wine. Gabe looks away, as if suddenly very invested in his phone again. Amauri looks between us, suspicious. "You guys are being weird."
Massimo ruffles his hair. "Get used to it."
Later, when we have a moment, I ask Massimo about Gabe. His strange obsession is quietly bothering me.
Massimo shrugs, utterly unconcerned. "We all have our tics."
I stare at him. "That's not atic."
That finally earns me a glance. A small, knowing smile. "Depends who you ask."
I look back across the room. Gabe is leaning against a pillar, phone in hand, expression unreadable. He types something,pauses, then pockets the device as if whatever he needed to know has just been confirmed. I briefly consider warning her.
Whoeversheis.
Then reality settles in. I don't know her name. I don't know where she is. And I don't know what version of the truth she's already living inside. Also, I have enough on my plate. Because whatever this is, it isn't casual. It isn't accidental. If there's one thing I've learned living in Massimo's world, it's this: Some men don't need proximity to possess. Some men claim from a distance. And once they do… they don't let go. I don't dwell on it. This world is full of choices made long before anyone realizes they had one. And I've finally learned where my responsibility ends.
The weekend arrives sooner than I thought. On my side, there will only be a handful of people. Amauri, of course, he will walk me down the aisle—since my father is, has been, and will be incarcerated for the foreseeable future. He's also my best man. Then there's Esther. And my cousin Philippa, who lives in England, far enough away that we could maintain acloserelationship without her ever seeing the cracks. The secrets. The shadows.
I haven't let many people close over the years. After I dropped out of college, after everything that happened, it was easier to keep my distance. Easier to be composed, contained, unknowable. Too many secrets made intimacy feel dangerous. But I'm learning something new now. Secrets don't have to be isolating. They can be shared. Held. Protected. I'm learning to livewiththem instead of hiding inside them.
The guest list on Massimo's side more than makes up for the lack of people on mine. What started with a handful of invitations snowballed fast. In addition to his capos, Massimo invited the three people who helped get Amauri out, Stephano, Raffael, and Stephano's wife, Oksana, along with Raffael's wife, Sophia. That opened the door for more of the New York family. Enzo brought his daughter Violet and her husband, Marcello, to Vegas, and once they were included, the rest followed. Enrico Sartori and his wife, Cat. Antonio DeLuna and his wife, Scarlet. Friends. Extended family. Allies. Suddenly, we're looking at close to a hundred people. More than enough to remind me exactly how alone my side of the aisle still is.
The day comes without fanfare. No crowds. No press. No spectacle. Just sunlight spilling through tall windows, soft and golden, and the low murmur of voices that matter. I stand at the altar in a dress that is objectively ridiculous—custom, silk, worth more than my first car—and for once I don't feel like I'm wearing a costume. I feel like myself.
Amauri stands a few steps away, solemn in a suit he's already wrinkled, clutching the rings with a seriousness that makes my chest ache. Esther smiles at me from the front row. Philippa dabs at her eyes like she knew she would. Behind them sit an entire clan of people who all seem to get along well, but who I have yet to properly meet.
And then there's Massimo. Waiting. Tall. Still. Dressed in black like he always is, but softened somehow, stripped of armorin a way only I can see. His eyes are locked on mine, unblinking, like I'm the only fixed point in the room. I don't think about danger. Or consequences. Or the life we're choosing. I just know—deep in my bones—that this is right.
When it's my turn, I sayI dowithout hesitation. No tremor. No doubt. The words feel like an anchor dropping into place.
