Page 37 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Isabella

T he words hang between us, too heavy to take back.

My fingers drift to my throat, to the spot where Luca’s butterfly pendant used to rest. I wish I’d never taken it off. Would it comfort me now or condemn me?

Dario’s hands are still in my hair. “You’re betraying Sebastian?”

“No. Luca.”

He blinks, straightening slowly. “Luca?”

“We were engaged. And then bam. He vanished. Years ago. Gone. Dead now. Probably.” I swallow hard. “But I promised him I’d wait.”

“And now?” Dario asks gently, his voice softer now.

“Now I’m in Vegas, in a glittering maze, about to marry a man I started talking to less than a month ago.”

He steps back, giving my hair a final, satisfied fluff. “At least your hair’s fabulous.”

I laugh. It comes out as a weird, snorty giggle that ends with tears streaking down my cheeks. My mascara’s probably halfway to my chin.

“Oh, honey, no,” Dario clucks, springing into action.

He grabs a sponge and a brush, dabbing and sweeping with quick, practiced strokes until I look flawless again. I blink at myself, impressed.

Meanwhile, I keep drinking.

The more I sip, the further away Luca seems, and it’s like I’m watching this whole thing from somewhere above, floating near the ceiling light.

“I do like him,” I mumble, squinting at my reflection. It’s getting fuzzy. Not metaphorically. Literally blurry. “Sebastian is kind. Stable. A great kisser.”

“See? Priorities.”

“And he listens. My father never did. All he ever wanted was a son.”

“And he didn’t get one?”

“Nope,” I snort. “Five girls. So he started what we now call the Seal-the-Deal Alliance Plan. Marry us off to the highest bidder.”

Dario pauses, halfway through dabbing under my eye with his sponge. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish. After he died, we found a color-coded spreadsheet. Suitors. Alliances. Timelines. If it had a logo, it would have been a wedding ring strangling a dove.”

Dario claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “That’s dark. I love it. Please tell me there was glitter on it.”

“No glitter. But lots of Italian, Irish, and even Russian names. The list had chapters, one for each of us.”

He eyes me like he can’t decide if I’m joking or confessing. It’s definitely not the former.

“Was Sebastian on it?”

“No. I found him myself.” I hiccup-giggle. “Actually, he found me.”

Dario shakes his head, setting his brush down, crossing his arms as he studies me like I’m his final masterpiece.

“I’d love to hear more, but it’s nearly eight, and I finished just in time.”

“Eight already? That came quickly.” Too quickly. I bring my champagne glass to my lips again.

“You sure you want to do this?”

I almost choke on the bubbles, the question taking me by surprise .

“Yeah. It’s my way out.”

“Out of what, exactly?”

“The spreadsheet, the politics… a miserable life. Sebastian’s a good choice. I think.” I swirl the last sip of champagne in my glass and shrug. “Even though I learned today that I know little about him. But hey, I’ve got a lifetime, right?”

Dario grins, removing the cape and leaving me in the silky robe the chapel provided.

“Well, at least he’s hot to look at. I bet he’s glorious naked.”

I burst out laughing. Then hiccup. Then laugh harder because of the hiccup. The whole thing is ridiculous and terrifying all at once.

Dario helps me up, and the second I’m on my feet, the room tilts, the lights smear at the edges, and I sway, clutching his arm for balance.

“Whoa, babe.” His grin fades into concern as he steadies me.

He grabs a plate from the vanity and holds out a cracker.

“Here. Eat something. You need to soak up that alcohol.”

I shake my head, the motion making the spinning worse.

“No time.” The words are thick on my tongue.

“At least drink some water,” he says, snatching a glass and holding it out to me.

I try to wave him off again, my hand clumsy, the gesture slow.

“I insist,” he says more firmly, pushing it into my hands.

Rolling my eyes at him, I take the glass and drink, reluctant but compliant.

“All of it.”

“Bossy.”

He just grins at me. Once I set down the empty glass, he guides me into the Carolina Herrera dress I picked this morning, smoothing the ivory silk down my sides. Simple. Elegant. And nothing like the dress I once imagined.

That one would have been softer, flowing, with a train and a veil long enough to catch the breeze.

No veil now. No train. No reminders of the girl who planned to marry for love .

Dario kneels to slip on my matching heels, his touch gentle as he fastens the straps. Then he loops his arm through mine and guides me toward the door, his steps slow and steady like he’s leading me through a dance. And still I wobble.

“Oh dear, you’d be better off in flats.”

Probably.

“I’ll manage,” I try to assure him, though I sound less convincing than I’d like.

My heart pounds loudly beneath the silk of my dress, and my legs feel like they belong to someone else.

A few inches from the door, Dario stops and turns to face me, his hands on his hips, one brow arched.

“Alright, babe. Let’s see what we’re working with. Show me you can slay that aisle.”

I blink at him, the world still swaying. “You’re joking.”

He grins, fanning himself with invisible drama.

“Do I look like I’m joking? Go on. A trial run. Give me bride.”

I take a shaky breath and let go of his arm, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

The silk whispers around my legs, the absence of a bouquet suddenly heavy in my hands. I manage a few steps, rocky but upright.

Dario claps softly, the sound as delicate as the smile he gives me.

“Not bad for a lightweight. It will do.”

There’s a brief knock on the door. It opens, and a chapel assistant sticks her head in.

“We’re ready for the bride.”

Brilliant… I’m not.

Dario picks up the bouquet of cascading roses in deep red and blush and hands it to me with a flourish.

“Now go and own that aisle.”

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the stems until the thorns almost puncture my skin. My heart hammers loudly, drowning out the first notes of the music.

My head swims, but I nod and let the assistant lead me into the corridor. I throw one last glance over my shoulder at Dario, my confidant, my lifeline for the last hour. He gives me a wave and a thumbs-up, calling after me, “You go, girl.”

I focus on setting one foot in front of the other. The hallway is too short. I need more time.

The music rises, bold and bright like it is mocking me.

Shit.

It’s time.

My stomach clenches. Mari threw up on the priest. Please, God, do not let me be that bride.

The doors swing open. Blinding light floods in.

My heart seizes for a beat.

Or is it my feet?

I push through the sinking sensation and take a step.

Sebastian is waiting at the altar. Or is it two Sebastians?

Oh no.

I blink hard, trying to clear the double image. They merge. Then they split again.

I keep moving. My legs are stiff, awkward. The static in my head grows louder, like the world is sliding further away.

I sense eyes on me. They’re sharp like needles on my skin.

My knees wobble. I grip the bouquet so tight my knuckles ache.

I want Mamma and my sisters.

I want the sun, the sea.

And I want Luca waiting at the end of this aisle.

I take another step. The chapel tilts. Or I do.

Sebastian smiles… I think.

I try to smile back, but my lips don’t move right.

My chest tightens. My heart crashes in my ears. The music turns to a hum.

My limbs are so damn heavy.

Then there’s a sharp sting on my neck, like a mosquito. I’m tempted to slap it, to squash it beneath my hand. Seriously, how dare it sting me on my wedding day ?

But I don’t. I’d have to let go of my bouquet for that.

My head swims harder. My vision blurs at the edges.

One more step. Maybe two.

My legs buckle. The floor rushes up to meet me.

“Isa,” someone shouts. Sebastian?

Then the whole world is gone.