Page 23 of Married to the Mafia Devil

Matteo

As we walk under the towering arches of the Rose Main Reading Room at the New York Public Library, the grandeur of the occasion strikes me with full force.

The room, usually a temple of quiet reading, has transformed into a cathedral of opulence for our wedding. Marble pillars rise like sentinels around us, and the high, painted ceiling stretches above, echoing with the murmurs of the hundreds of guests assembled from the upper echelons of New York society.

Everyone wants to see me get married. Either they never believed it would happen or they’re hoping my wedding day will make me generous.

Golden light spills from ornate chandeliers, casting a glow that makes the gilded edges of the bookshelves shimmer. The bookshelves serve as backdrops for lavish floral arrangements, their blooms as varied and colorful as the gowns of the attendees.

The air is perfumed with the scent of roses and peonies, mingling with the subtle hint of old books—the scent of my life.

Each table is draped in silks and adorned with towering centerpieces that reach toward the frescoed ceiling, sparkling subtly under the soft lighting.

Silverware gleams against crystal, and every glass reflects the flicker of candlelight, creating a starlit effect across the expansive room.

I glance at Emma as Marcella brings her in and my heart sinks. Her entrance should be a moment of triumph, the final scene of a fairy tale, yet her shoulders are tense, her eyes wide not with wonder but with apprehension. The weight of everyone's gazes seems to press down on her, the air thick with expectations she fears she can't meet.

“I can’t do this,” she mutters to herself, her breathing turning into gasps.

The murmuring crowd, a tapestry of the city’s most illustrious and influential, doesn't help. Their scrutiny, even veiled in smiles and polished courtesies, is palpable. I see it all crashing down on her—the noise, the stares, the stifling air of anticipation—and I know at once what I need to do.

“Everyone, out!” My voice cuts through the conversations like a blade. The room falls silent, every pair of eyes turning toward me. “Now.”

There's a moment of stunned silence, then a low murmur of confusion before the crowd begins to move, the rustle of expensive fabric and the soft clacking of heels against the marble floor as the room empties.

Soon, the vast space is silent, devoid of everyone but Emma and me. She looks at me, bewildered but visibly relieved as the doors close, leaving us totally alone.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emma says, getting her breathing back under control.

I take her hands in mine. “You can do this. You are the most important person here.”

She shakes her head slightly, her eyes still wide. “I come here to read sometimes. It’s a long way on the subway but it’s worth it.” She manages a smile. “I always dreamed I’d get married somewhere like this.”

“You are. You can do this.”

“It doesn’t seem real. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my apartment.”

“It is real. This is real, and I am here with you.”

I draw her close, my lips finding hers in a kiss meant to reassure and comfort. As we part, I see her relax, a soft sigh escaping her as she leans into my chest.

“When you feel your anxiety rising,” I whisper, holding her close, “think of me protecting you. Nothing can hurt you again, not while I'm by your side.”

She nods against me, her voice a whisper. “You protect me.”

“Yes,” I affirm, feeling her cling to the promise in my words.

I continue to kiss her with fervor, each touch igniting a fire within us both. As my lips trail down her neck, her breath quickens. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“Helping you relax,” I reply, lowering her onto the plush carpet that forms the aisle.

“Someone might come in. You can’t.”

“I’d kill them,” I reply, lifting her wedding dress to reveal those gorgeous legs of hers.

My hands move with practiced ease, gently removing the soft fabric of her panties and exposing her most intimate parts to me.

A wave of desire and love washes over me as I lower myself to taste her essence, my tongue dancing over her skin in intricate patterns that elicit moans of pure pleasure from her lips.

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