Page 3 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Two

Isabella

M ari glances at Luca across the table. Their eyes meet, and he gives her a quick, subtle look toward the door. She catches the signal instantly and responds with a barely perceptible nod.

The thrill of anticipation is making it hard to sit still. I can’t wait to see what Luca has planned.

My pulse quickens, ripples of excitement fast becoming waves.

There’s only a small, quiet part of me that wonders what would happen if someone caught us sneaking out.

If Father believed I was compromised, would he bring the wedding forward? That might be worth it.

But knowing him, I’d just end up with a long lecture on proper decorum, and worse, he might restrict Luca’s visits.

Definitely too risky.

I steal a glance at Luca. He waves off the waiter standing in the corner, and the man slips out through a side door.

Luca’s eyes flick to mine and lock on. There’s something wicked in his gaze, a glint of mischief that coils heat low in my core.

Without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls out an iPad, handing it to Mari. She takes it from him with a wide grin, her excitement palpable.

It’s clear he’s got a plan, and every step, every detail is mapped out. It’s part of his charm, this methodical precision, like nothing is left to chance.

“Are all the movies I wanted on there?” she asks, her fingers almost trembling with anticipation.

“Of course,” Luca responds with that edge of competent self-satisfaction I’ve come to recognize. Mari’s smile stretches impossibly wide, and Mia, sitting beside her, claps her hands together.

Father doesn’t allow us to watch movies. Something about not wanting us to have unreasonably high expectations. More likely, he doesn’t want us to see what a normal life outside the Mafia could be like.

With my sisters distracted, Luca stands, his chair scraping softly against the floor.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath. Yet, it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity through me.

My heart skips, then stumbles into a faster rhythm. He takes my hand and I follow him, my feet moving of their own accord, my body already betraying me.

I make sure my steps are quiet and careful, like we’re both shadows slipping away unnoticed. There’s a heady rush in the secrecy of it, in the knowledge that for the rest of our time together tonight, it’s only us.

His hand tightens around mine as we slip out of the dining room. Luca leads the way through the dimly lit corridors of the restaurant that spill into the adjacent small hotel.

His presence is commanding, his eyes darting to every shadow, every flicker of light, as if he’s scanning for danger, but it’s more than that. It’s how he moves through the world… observant, calculating, never missing a thing.

No one will see us leave; he’ll make sure of it. He throws a quick glance upward as we enter the hotel hallway, a casual assessment, a check for cameras or prying eyes. There are none .

Luca doesn’t slow. He’s focused. He’s leading us somewhere, and I’m following, glued to him as he entices me into the thrilling unknown.

At the elevator, his fingers hover over the button, pausing for a beat as if savoring the moment. The doors slide open silently. It’s like he summoned it with his mind alone.

We step inside, the doors closing smoothly behind us. He doesn’t let go of my hand. Not now. Not ever.

The button for the top floor glows under his touch while the elevator hums to life with a low vibration I feel deep in my chest.

We’re facing forward, our reflections locked in a silent exchange. His eyes are dark and intense and seem to grow hungrier with every floor we pass. There are only four; it’s a small hotel, after all. But even in that short span, the air thickens. My breath stutters, and blood rushes in my ears.

His thumb brushes gently over my knuckles. It’s enough to trigger tremors in my stomach. His lips twitch into that cocky smile that always catches me off guard, like he knows exactly what’s happening inside my body.

When the elevator halts, the doors slide open, and Luca steps out first, not giving me a chance to catch my breath. He moves effortlessly, his steps deliberate, guiding me down the hallway.

The soft swish of a keycard, followed by the muted click of the door opening, breaks through the quiet with a sharpness that sends a thrill skittering down my spine.

He holds out his free hand as an invitation to enter first. The atmosphere shifts again, deeper, sweeter, and my heart skips a beat. I step inside and freeze.

This room is not what I expected.

I blink, biting my lip as the details slowly register. This is no ordinary hotel room.

It’s a dream. A secret garden.

A love spell made real.

Soft, sheer veils in dusky pastels float from the ceiling, lit by strings of fairy lights that flicker like distant stars.

Rose petals cover the floor, and the bed, dressed in creamy linens, is strewn with them too.

On the bedside table, a bouquet of pink and red roses spills from a crystal vase, their fragrance sweet and heady in the warm air.

The space is small and intimate. Every detail sings of care and intention. It’s like he’s reached into my soul and brought to life the kind of magic I only ever read about in fantasy novels.

Luca steps into the room, and the air shifts again.

That gentle magic he created still hums in the background, but the look he gives me cuts through it like lightning.

His gaze is pure possession, unfiltered and blazing. Creating something so tender seems to have only deepened the hunger in him.

I feel it in my bones.

He made this fairytale haven for me, but he is no fairytale prince. Not now.

The boy standing before me is fire and flesh and need, and I’m the only thing he wants to consume.

The contrast makes my pulse stutter. Everything around us whispers romance, but the heat in Luca’s eyes promises something else entirely. And I want both.

I want all of it.

“This time next year, you’ll be my wife, farfalla .” The promise in his tone winds its way down to my core. “And it’s going to be our wedding night.”

My heart stutters. This time next year, we’ll be married.

“I can’t wait,” I whisper. “I wish it was today.”

“Me too. This could be a rehearsal for the real deal,” he grins, stepping closer, his hands reaching for me.

His fingers graze my cheek, featherlight, as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The warmth of his touch lingers, and I let out a contented sigh.

When his thumb brushes over my lips, my breath catches and my pulse speeds up, my heart thudding faster beneath his gaze.

“This day has always been special, hasn’t it, farfalla ? And not only because it’s the day you were born.”

I smile because he’s right.

He’s been there for every one of my birthdays. First as a friend, then as more.

Every major turning point in my life seems to circle back to this date. And every one of them is tied to him.

“Two years ago, you kissed me for the first time,” I say, my voice hushed, the memory still vivid.

I lick my lips, remembering the rush of it, how my whole world shifted with that one touch.

I had dreamed of Luca being my first kiss, and when it finally happened, it was everything I had hoped for.

Soft, warm, and perfect. The way only something deeply wanted can be.

“I did,” he says, his smile curling gently. “I could never have given that first to anyone else. Do you know how hard it was to wait for that moment? It nearly drove me crazy.”

Being two years older than me, he was seventeen, and already a gentleman. Always holding back… for me.

He once told me anything sooner would have felt wrong, like taking something I wasn’t fully ready for.

So we waited.

We flirted, we brushed hands in passing, and for a long time, a lingering touch was the highlight of my year. Until that birthday, when everything changed.

“Not as crazy as kissing you whenever I could and having to stop there,” I say with a quiet laugh.

I remember trying to tempt him, testing how far his self-control could stretch. But Luca always had an iron will, despite his relentless desire for me.

So we waited… again. For another birthday, another milestone.

“You made love to me exactly one year ago,” I whisper.

I was supposed to wait until marriage. That was… is the expectation .

But I don’t think anyone really expects us to last until I’m eighteen. Our parents must suspect we crossed that line and just turned a blind eye.

Maybe because they see the love between us and remember what it’s like to be young and in love and utterly consumed by it. Well, at least our mothers. Our fathers? It’s hard to believe they have any feelings at all.

That night one year ago, the night of our official engagement, we might have broken a golden rule. But it didn’t feel like it.

It was like finally coming home.

Since then, we’ve made love more times than I can count in our little secret hideaway. The way Luca looks at me when he peels back my clothes, when he kisses every inch of my skin like a promise, when he whispers my name like a prayer. It’s always like it’s meant to be, like we’re meant to be.

But I hate the secrecy. I hate the waiting. And most of all, I hate pretending to be the perfect virginal daughter when my heart is elsewhere, when my body is still sore from his touch and all I want is to go back. To him.

Another year of this. But then we’ll be free to be together… always.

Just three hundred and sixty-five more days and we won’t have to sneak around anymore.

But none of that matters right now.

I’m alone with my love, and I burn to touch him.

Turning abruptly, I launch myself into his arms, and he catches me effortlessly, supporting my backside so I can wind my legs around him. With my arms around his neck, I press my lips to his, peppering his face with endless kisses.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is perfect. You are perfect.”

His hand slides into my hair, holding me in place as he crushes my lips to his, turning us and pushing me against the wall for balance.

His lips devour mine, hungry, claiming, his body flush against me. There’s nothing gentle in the way he kisses me now. It’s all heat and desperation, an unspoken apology for every second we had to spend apart.

I grind down against him, and he groans into my mouth, low and needy, the sound vibrating through me. His hands shift under my thighs, squeezing, anchoring me to him like he’s terrified I might slip away.

“God, I needed this,” he breathes, kissing a trail along my jaw, down to that spot just beneath my ear. “I thought I’d lose my mind.”

My head falls back against the wall, and I gasp as his mouth finds my neck.

“You’re not the only one,” I whisper, my breath hitching. “Every minute without you touching me, I’m suffocating.”

His hands slip beneath my top, and I arch into his touch like I’m starved for it. Because I am.

His fingers are warm and reverent and just rough enough to make me shiver.

“Can’t have that. Let’s fix that immediately. You need your oxygen.”