That's when Enzo appears, moving with the kind of purpose that never means anything good. He doesn't waste time. The second he's close enough, he lowers his voice. "Someone took Gabe's girl."
"Shit," Massimo mutters, already going still behind me.
My chest tightens for her. I know exactly what that feels like, beingtaken, being powerless while someone else decides your fate. "Massimo, we need to do something."
Enzo glances between us. "This is your wedding. Damiano, Alessio, and I have it handled. We'll keep you in the loop, boss."
I feel the hesitation ripple through Massimo, the pull between here and there, between me and them. I hate the idea of him leaving. But this is the life I chose. And Gabe, Gabe is family.
"If you need to go…" I start.
Massimo shakes his head before I can finish. "No. Enzo's right. They can handle it."
It's not dismissal. It's trust. The kind that runs bone-deep between men like them. Enzo nods once and disappears as quickly as he came. The music swells again. Voices rise. Glasses clink. Like the world didn't just tilt. Like something terrible isn't already in motion somewhere else. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Then, because apparently this is who I am now—standing at the center of a mafia wedding while someone is being kidnapped—I murmur, "I know this isn't romantic, but I have to pee."
Massimo goes very still behind me. Then his hand tightens at my waist, like he's anchoring himself there, like he needs the reminder that I'm here. Safe.
"Now?" he asks.
I tilt my head back to look at him. "Yes, now. It's a thing people have to do."
His eyes narrow slightly. Calculating. Hopeful. Suspiciously hopeful. His fingers tighten around mine. "You don't go anywhere alone," he says quietly.
"Come."
I blink. "Massimo?—"
But he's already moving, pulling me with him through the crowd, not even bothering to hide it.
"Massimo," I hiss under my breath, trying not to laugh. "We're at our wedding."
"Exactly," he says, not slowing. "Good timing."
I stare at him. "You are unbelievable."
He glances back at me, completely serious. "You could be pregnant."
I open my mouth. Close it. Then laugh despite myself as he pulls me toward the elevator.
By the time we reach the penthouse, I'm half laughing, half shaking my head.
"This is getting ridiculous," I tell him as he pushes the door open.
"You say that every time," he replies calmly.
Because this isn't new. For the past week, there's been a test. Every morning.
Every. Single. Morning.
I swear the man has never been more disciplined about anything in his life. He lets go of my hand long enough to reach for the drawer. I don't even have to look. I know what's inside. A small, perfectly organized stack. I cross my arms. "You bought them in bulk."
He doesn't even try to deny it. "Efficiency."
"Obsession."
"Preparation."
