Page 1 of The One Night Match (Mafia Matchmaker #1)

ONE

RILEY

I don’t think I’m telling you anything you don’t already know by saying that being the middle child sucks.

The oldest is usually considered the smartest, the more nurturing, and the most mature.

The youngest is the baby. They get spoiled, even if they’re kind of an asshole, and they always get their way.

And that just leaves me in the middle.

At twenty-four, I’m single, much to my parents’ chagrin, I never plan on having kids of my own, and worst of all, I have no interest in the family business.

Now, I’m sure you’re thinking, but Riley, why wouldn’t you want to be a lawyer, doctor, or accountant?

But no. That’s not the kind of thing my family is involved in.

Nope. That would have been way too easy, even with the whole middle-child thing.

My father is an underboss in the Mafia, and my mother is the perfect Mafia wife.

Both of my sisters showed an interest in the family business from a young age, whereas I couldn’t give a single fuck about any of it.

Guns, murder, and drugs? Hard pass from me, thank you very much.

But the thing is, when you’re born into a Mafia family, you don’t get a choice in the matter.

There’s no escaping the expectations you’re born with.

Which brings me to today.

After a long day of moving from my bright little apartment in San Francisco, all the way to cold and rainy Seattle, I’m exhausted and ready for my own bed.

The kicker? I’ll never sleep in my own bed again. Because tomorrow, I meet my new husband.

At the altar.

Uh. Every time I think too hard about all this, I’m reminded of how batshit crazy my life is. And not in a good way.

My belongings are being taken straight to his home, leaving me with just a small suitcase for my last night as a single woman.

Mom and my sisters are meeting me at the church tomorrow to get ready, and I’m both comforted and annoyed by that.

I never wanted this.

Both of my sisters are single. Why couldn’t one of them marry the head of the Seattle Mafia?

They’ve accepted this life. I’d even go as far as to say they thrive in it.

But maybe that’s why Dad chose me to test the Mafia Matchmaker service.

Because I never fell in line. I rebelled. I wanted more for myself.

And this is their way of taking me down a peg.

I eye the profile sitting on the bed, mocking me.

I’ve been avoiding reading it. I don’t really care what any matchmaker says. There’s no way this guy is a compatible match.

I like my men law-abiding citizens, and I can confirm from reputation alone that Cruz De Luca is anything but.

He’s cunning, manipulative, and cutthroat, and I don’t know about you, but those things don’t scream good husband material to me.

Too bad I have no choice in the matter, and whether I like it or not, tomorrow we’ll be tied together for the rest of our lives.

I know of a few people who have been matched by the Mafia Matchmaker, and they all swear they were paired with their perfect match, but there’s no way in hell Cruz is that for me.

I don’t know if the algorithm is off, or if it’s all just one big cosmic joke, but I have no doubt that this is a mistake.

I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and consider my options.

I could stay in tonight, get room service, and wallow in an entire pint of ice cream.

Or I could go out and enjoy my last night of premarital bliss.

When you put it like that, there’s really only one choice.

Time to go and make a mistake of my own.

T he club is pumping when I arrive, and I immediately consider turning around and going back to room service and wallowing, but instead, I steel my shoulders and move toward the bar on the far wall.

I skirt around the edge of the dance floor, avoiding the throes of sweaty bodies for the moment, but after a few drinks, I’m sure I’ll be joining them.

What’s a night out without some dancing?

But first I need a drink. For one last night, I need to have control of my life.

Because come tomorrow, I’ll be the wife of a Mafia boss I’ve never met, and with that will come nothing but misery.

I reach the bar and squeeze between two groups of girls. One appears to be celebrating her bachelorette party, and a pang of jealousy radiates through my chest.

She got to choose her groom, her future, while mine was chosen for me. My name was thrown into some stupid program, and I was matched with the devil.

I shake off the thought as the bartender stops in front of me, her vibrant red hair curled over her shoulders.

“What can I get you, hun?”

“A shot of tequila and a double vodka soda.”

Her eyes widen a fraction before she heads off to prepare my drinks.

A chuckle comes from beside me, and I shoot a look up at the person responsible.

The last thing I expect to see is the single most attractive man I’ve ever seen staring right back at me. His black hair is styled in a way that is both messy and neat—make that make sense—and his eyes are so dark they barely seem real.

Add a tailored suit and some neck and hand tattoos to the mix, and I’m basically a puddle on the sticky floor.

“What’s so funny?” I snap, my tone harsher than I expect, which only seems to entertain him more.

“Looks like you’re having about as good a day as I am.” He lifts his half-full tumbler of amber liquid.

I huff out a sigh and nod. “Something like that.”

The bartender drops my drinks in front of me, but before I get the chance to hand her my card, a hundred-dollar bill slides across the bar beneath heavily tattooed fingers.

“You don’t have to?—”

“Might as well drown our sorrows together.” He shrugs.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop the retort that tries to escape. I’m the first to admit I’ve always been untrusting of men.

When you grow up the way I did, it’s hard not to be. Everyone is the enemy. Everything is a potential threat. Or worse, they could just be using me to get closer to my family.

My chest burns at that last one. The memories still too raw even all these years later.

But I’m about to be married to one, so I guess one night of harmless flirtation can’t hurt.

“Thank you.” I force my lips into a smile and reach for the shot.

It’s been a minute since I’ve had tequila, but right now it feels like the only thing that will quiet the anxiety bubbling in my chest about what waits for me at the end of the aisle tomorrow.

Dark, entertained eyes watch as I down the shot, and warmth spreads through my whole body.

One last night of freedom before I become Mrs. Cruz De Luca tomorrow.