Page 147 of Vows of a Mobster

“We’d better be,” she scolded her, although there was a big smile on her face. Then she faced me, a little pout on her face. “Why couldn’t we have done it small like that?”

“Well, you married the boss,” Daphne told her laughing.

“Very funny, Daphne.” Brianna wasn’t laughing along.

“Too late now for regrets,” I patted her on her bottom. “Let’s go to the reception. I want to make sure that the Irishman behaves, and that my daughter and my cousin are safe.”

Brianna shot me a surprised look, and then her eyes softened. We were family, and Emma would be protected as my daughter. Emma found her way into my heart and wedged herself into it along with her mother. Her outgoing personality captured everyone around her. Besides, my little daughter was an expert at drawing multiple, fancy compliments out of me. And then she’d tell me I must love her lots if I gave her that many compliments. And then she’d move on to Antonio and work all the compliments out of him.

I didn’t care that she wasn’t biologically mine. She was my kid now. End of story.

We headed out of the church, my men behind us, and more in front of the church and surrounding streets. I kept Brianna close to me, her hand warm in mine.

I noticed Angelica as soon as we started descending the stairs. My eyes always roamed for threats, and she stood there as one. She has been calling me, but I refused to answer her calls. How in the hell did she find out about my wedding? She started approaching and the last thing I wanted on my wedding day was to have her anywhere near my wife or me.

“You go,” Antonio spoke low in Italian. “I’ll take care of it.”

“See you at the reception,” I told them both, as I nudged my wife into our Rolls Royce.

She threw me a backwards glance as she scooted across the seat to allow me the room. “Why are we rushing?”

“Amore, the sooner we get there, the sooner we leave.”

“I like the way you think, husband,” she grinned and waved Daphne and Antonio goodbye.

“Drive,” I ordered the driver.

The car went ahead, we passed Angelica and the look on her face should have been my warning. And she wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were blazing with jealousy, focused on my wife. This once, I was thankful Brianna was oblivious to her surroundings, because her eyes were soft on me.

“Mateo, did you hear me?” She watched me, making me believe she said something I missed.

“I’m sorry, Bellissima,” I leaned over and pressed my lips onto her soft skin. “Tell me again.”

Her hands came to my chest, her palm over my heart that belonged to her. “Is two hours too short to stay at our own reception?” she repeated her question, guilt all over her face. “I know your family came from far away and on such short notice. I don’t want to be rude. But crowds make me… uncomfortable.”

“If you are not having a good time, we’ll leave in two hours.” I promised her. The smile she gave me was priceless. You’d think I offered her the world.

* * *

Thousands of lanterns floated in the air all around us. Brianna’s eyes shone like diamonds. All of the flower arrangements fragmented the summer air, and I took my wife’s hand for our first dance as husband and wife.

My eyes were steady on her, this woman that had captured me from the moment our eyes locked.

“What’s our song?” she questioned me, smiling happily. Her eyes shone like diamonds, capturing me, drawing me in.

The first tunes played out, and we swayed to the soft tunes of Sam Smith’s, “Fire on Fire.”

She raised her eyebrows, a surprise in her voice. “Sam Smith? I kind of expected Bocelli.”

It was my turn to be surprised. “What? My wife who listens to some ghastly tunes knows of Andrea Bocelli?” I teased. Bocelli was a world known singer that reached millions of listeners, all genders, age groups, races, and continents. People either loved his songs or hated them.

Her laughter echoed through the dance floor, everyone’s eyes on us but she was only aware of me.

“I listen to all kinds of cool music,” she told me. “And yes, I know Bocelli. Remember, I spent a year in Italy. And you couldn’t get away from the man’s tunes.” She smiled, humming along. “I do love his songs. But I love this song. Perfect choice.”

“I knew you’d like it. Because you are my fire, wife,” I told her, softly moving her across the floor. “I hope you will give me your second dance too. I have another song especially for you.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Agosti.”