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I have much bigger issues to deal with—the last thing I need is a brown-haired, hazel-eyed distraction plaguing my mind.

I need this wedding to go off without a hitch.

The future of the mafia world depends on this union going through. And come hell or high water, Maria will become a Davacalli.

Even if I have to drag my son down that aisle myself.

7

MARIA

Istare at myself in the mirror. This is the dress of my dreams. I never gave much thought to my wedding day, and to be quite honest, I don’t care much for it now. But after speaking with Daniele, I feel hopeful that we could build a good life together.

But I still haven’t seen the groom in over twenty-four hours. The last time I spoke to him, he stormed out of the ballroom with his father in tow. I didn’t see him all of yesterday, and now I stand by the mirror, dressed in my gown, ready to marry this man.

“Oh, you look stunning, cara.” My mother comes into view in the corner of the mirror. She’s dressed in a lavender gown that compliments her skin perfectly. Her brown hair is swept up into an elegant updo, and her face is dusted with the softest makeup to accentuate her features. “I’ve seen the dress already, but seeing you now, all dressed up… a true princess.”

I give her a small smile in the mirror, letting go of a shaky breath as I look over my body. A beautiful floor-length gown with a tight sweetheart bodice holds my breasts perfectly. The skirt cascades down to the floor with a slight side slit that allowsme the freedom to move. My hair flows down my back in loose curls, and I wear a tiara—a family heirloom my mother dusted off for this day.

I hear the door to the bridal room creak open, and in walks my father, dressed in his tuxedo. I expect him to at least look somewhat pleased that this deal is finally going through, but instead, I see only the tension locked into his features.

I turn around, my heart already slipping to the floor. “Papá, stai bene?” Dad, are you okay?

His eyes find mine, and from that stare alone, I know something is wrong. A cold weight sinks in my stomach, rooting me to the spot. My mother moves to stand beside him, her face drawn with concern.

“Marcello?” She places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

My father runs a hand through his graying hair. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched.

“Daniele is gone.”

I blink. “What do you mean he’s gone? Gone where?”

“Matteo tells me he left in the night. Headed back to the States,” he explains, and I catch the slight bitterness in his tone. “You won’t be marrying Daniele…”

There’s a flicker of disappointment, but it’s followed—almost instantly—by a rush of relief. I’m free. I had come to accept that marrying Daniele wouldn’t be so bad. But now that he’s gone—likely running from the very thing I feared—it feels like a weight has finally lifted from my chest.

“So… that’s it? No wedding?” I ask, hope fluttering like a dying bird in my chest. I try to keep my voice steady, but it trembles despite me. As much as I hated the idea of marrying Daniele, my father had been counting on it. I had been preparing for it.

“No,” my father says, voice tight. “There will be a wedding.”

I blink. “I… I’m sorry—what?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m pretty sure a bride needs a groom to have a wedding,” I say, my heart picking up speed.

His eyes find mine. Cold. Unblinking. “You have a groom.”

Something in my body freezes. A sudden, unnatural stillness, like the air before an earthquake.

He breathes out the words like they don’t carry the weight of a thousand knives.

“Matteo.”

My entire world splits in two.

Silence. Deafening. My breath catches, and I swear the room tilts.