Page 49 of The Mastermind (Mafia Rivals #1)

CESARE

My third Formula One drivers’ and constructors’ championships were in the bag.

We had one hundred and forty million dollars to develop next year’s car.

In two days, I was marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. And the other secret project I’d been working on was rolling along nicely.

With Bonafacio scrambling to liquidate assets to appease Ivanovski before he was literally liquidated in a vat of sulphuric acid – ostensibly one of Liv’s preferred methods of dealing with his enemies – Maddelena had insisted on joining me in Qatar for the last race. I’d given in, of course.

I thought she would be wicked mad at me for the unapologetic hand I’d played in fucking shit up for her family, but hell if she hadn’t flipped the script and thanked me in the sweetest way possible.

And with every day her grandfather stayed away, every day her mother and siblings remained unharmed, her eyes grew brighter, her smile wider and layers of tension dissipated.

I would puff my chest out with pride like a fucking peacock for protecting my woman if that stone in my gut wasn’t growing heavier by the day.

Standing on the top podium for my last race win, I fixed my smile in place. Hell, I even managed a wink in her direction, making her blush when a million gazes swung her way and the whispering started.

Eyes on me, bedda .

We hadn’t exactly publicised our intentions, but she was wearing my ring – proudly – and fuck if that didn’t fill me with even more pride. And if she was nervous about being acknowledged as publicly mine for the first time, she hid it well.

The anthem finished playing. I was handed the trophy and hoisted up by Renzo and the third-place guy – not Narciso, thank fuck – and something clicked into place inside me.

I’d done it.

I’d achieved my goals. Wrestled my dream into reality. With three championships I was already in an elite group. I would probably never achieve super-elite Lewis Hamilton or Michael Schumacher status, but I’d launched the Salvatore name into Italian racing history books.

Orazio wouldn’t have a leg to stand on now.

Not when I presented him with the next Salvatore dream project I had cooking up.

I pushed the ball of dread churning inside and allowed the team’s euphoria to carry me all the way to when I opened my dressing room door an hour later and saw what awaited me.

‘Oh… fuck. Bedda .’

‘Hey, champ.’

I fumbled for the door handle behind me and opened it a crack. ‘Fist. I do not want to be disturbed for the next hour. Capisci? ’

‘Yes, Boss.’

I slammed the door shut and inhaled, but it was no use. All my blood had rushed south.

Maddelena was spread out on my small bed, decked out in the racing green and black colours of my team. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the leather and lace concoction, nor did I want to.

I tugged off my suit, grimaced at the sweat and champagne stickiness of my skin. ‘I need a shower.’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I want to lick the victory and hard work off your hot body.’

What man could argue with that? What sane man tried?

Five minutes was all I needed to recover after I’d come down her throat, and she’d swallowed every drop with a vixen’s gleam in her eyes.

Then I put her on her knees, poured more champagne down her arched back and watched it drench her pussy as I rammed her to a screaming climax.

‘I can’t wait to make you my wife,’ I said afterwards in the shower.

‘I can’t wait to be yours,’ she replied, her arms sliding around my neck.

And if that knot in my belly continued to grow? No one needed to know.

Yet .

Maddelena

In less than an hour I would no longer be a Mancinelli. I would be swapping one volatile heritage for another. And yet I couldn’t be happier.

The only fly in the ointment was the marked absence of my family. In anticipation of that, Cesare and I had agreed to ditch the tradition of designating family areas in the chapel.

Salvatores occupied pews on both sides of the beautifully decorated chapel, with honoured guests spread out behind them.

Three hundred of Orazio’s nearest and dearest had cleaned out Tom Ford, Brioni, Valentino and Prada.

I was walking down the aisle on my own.

There’d been a few minutes of tension last night when Orazio had announced he would like to do the honours. As much as I’d craved the support, my suspicion that he was doing it more to fuck with Bonafacio than with my needs in mind had firmed my refusal.

His thunderous glare had quaked my insides for a full minute before he’d backed down. Cesare’s gruff ‘ Brava, bedda ’ a moment later when Orazio turned away had warmed me up very quickly.

As had Bibiana Salvatore’s unexpected visit ten minutes ago.

She’d arrived just after I’d been helped into my wedding dress, looking effortlessly stunning and elegant in a Dolce & Gabbana gold satin sheath overlayed with silver tulle as she held out a large black jewellery box.

At my wary look, she’d done that half-smile thing I was realising was a family trait. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not the family jewels. It was just delivered for you.’

The hard ball of tension lingered as she’d dismissed my attendants with a jerk of her head. Door shut, she’d blatantly stood there in my bedroom as I opened the box.

To find an exquisite pair of antique chandelier diamond earrings. And a handwritten note from my mother.

This was always meant to be yours, figghia . It wasn’t how I wished to present it to you but your nonna and I would be honoured if you wore it today. I will pray for you. Ti vogghiu beni. Mama. X

Bibiana’s eyes had softened a little as I dashed away tears, her arms folded as she watched me. ‘I’m glad you said no to Orazio.’

‘You are?’

‘You’ve drawn a hell of a line by changing lanes to this side of the war zone. Buckling under the thumb of the men in this family now will only set you back. I suggest you go on as you’ve started.’

‘Noted. Thanks.’

She’d nodded, then cast my wedding dress a beleaguered little look, reminding me that she had a murky past with another crime family.

‘Good luck. I hope you won’t need it,’ she’d murmured.

Before I could think up an appropriate response, she was gone and my attendants were back, buzzing around me like overexcited bees, muttering about being late to church.

I was fifteen minutes late on account of reading my mother’s note for a second time with a fuller heart and more tears, and needing my make-up touched up.

It may as well have been hours by the rabid look on Cesare’s face when the doors swung open, and the fact that he was halfway down the aisle, storming towards me. He stumbled to a halt for a split second, then charged even faster, renewed, savage need etched into his face.

Sweet Lord , he was a sight.

I stopped in my own tracks, unable to move as my heart pranced in my chest like the pistons of Cesare’s racing car.

Pia, my dress designer, and Cesare’s stylist had coordinated, so it came as no surprise to see the silk cravat he’d worn with the navy three-piece morning suit was the exact dark ivory colour as my dress.

His hair was slicked back, his clean-shaven jaw highlighting the wicked dark ink crawling up his neck.

He was danger and sophistication. Wicked control and feral hunger.

He was mine.

My breath stuttered as he reached me. ‘Maddelena,’ he breathed. As if he couldn’t help but say my name.

‘You couldn’t wait?’ I whispered shakily, my gaze devouring him.

He caught my hand, brought it to his lips and kissed my knuckles. ‘No, bedda . Another second would’ve killed me,’ he rasped fervently. ‘You look magnificent.’

My heart sang at the reverence in his voice. The very public claiming, not as a trophy but as someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. So much so he couldn’t wait a second longer at the altar.

‘Shall we do this?’ I whispered when the murmurs rose.

Behind him, Rafa stood equally suave in a similar three-piece suit, a ghost of bemusement on his face as he watched us.

Father Calogero, another surprising revelation, waited at the altar, a sort of stern fondness on his face as he waited.

A deep breath shuddered through Cesare, and he nodded. ‘ Sì .’

He walked me up the aisle, ignoring Orazio’s mildly disapproving frown.

Once there, he bluntly refused to let me go, and we stood hand in hand, in the presence of all of his family and none of mine and said our vows.

‘I’m so fucking glad I blackmailed you.’

My soft laugh held echoes of a sob, and I blinked back tears of joy as I glanced up into the face of my husband.

My husband.

The hand wearing the exquisite platinum band matching my gorgeous engagement ring rested on his shoulder as Cesare swayed me across the dancefloor. Hundreds of eyes watched us, but I only had eyes for him.

‘Technically, you asked me to produce something I didn’t have. Or else.’

He shrugged. ‘Potato-pot-aa-to. I had you. And I never intend to let you go.’

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, and I sighed. It was a little scary how happy I was. How complete I felt. Did that mean I wasn’t going to squeeze the joy out of every second of this feeling? Hell no.

‘Rafa and the twins treat you right?’ he murmured.

I smiled. Cesare had ordered his brothers to dance with me after our first official dance. Rafa still remained a little stiff with me, but he’d done his duty without complaint. Renzo had flirted with me all through the four-minute dance. Dante had mostly grilled me about my family.

It was early days yet, but I couldn’t wait to uncover their unique personalities.

‘They were perfect gentlemen,’ I replied.

He grunted, just as the music trailed off and a mic was tapped for attention.

Cesare turned me so my back was to his front, his arms wrapped around me as his grandfather stepped up to the podium.

‘Here we go,’ Cesare muttered.

I hid a grin.