Page 11 of Claiming His Mafia Princess

She’s a brat, but at least she was a helpful brat today.

“I promise you can be God Mother when we make gorgeous babies, okay?” I say and she laughs, holding her belly. Her nose wrinkles, and I can tell she finds that amusing.

“Nevio, you couldn’t keep a plastic houseplant alive. Please don’t have babies.” She snorts with more laughter, and I’m not sure if I am offended or impressed she knows me so well. Being the eldest son, an heir, is my responsibility, even if I am not taking my father’s place. At one point or another I’ll have to be a father — I sure as shit plan to be a good one when I do.

“Also, you can’t see her in the dress. That is bad luck. Go get ready in the pool house. I will help Dalila, then disappear.”

Lucia, like me, likes traditions.

They keep an order about things — and should not be disrespected. Before I can say another word, she adds, “My driver will get her where she needs to be, and if I am with her, I can’t be tempted to tell anyone your dirty little secret.” She’s right.

“Fine,” I growl, frustrated because I wanted to see Dalila in my shirt more than I wanted to see her in a dress. “But do not fuck this up. I like her. You forgot rings.”

“You don’t like anyone. You barely tolerate us.” She frowns, poking fun at my antisocial nature. “And I don’t forget things.”

“I like you, somedays.” I say, “Please Lucia, can you just not mess this up for me?” My sister stops joking, gives me a genuine smile, and nods.

“I won’t,” she says. “You deserve at least one lucky break in life.”

I deserve more than that, but this one thing will do.

Chapter Seven

DALILA

When I get out of the shower, Lucia is sitting on the bed, surrounded by white dresses and a bouquet. “Short notice, so we have to just roll with what we have.” She says to me like this is all somehow normal, that a secret wedding isn’t a big deal. I stand there wrapped in a fluffy grey towel that smells like Nevio, and glance around, looking for him. “I sent him to the pool house. We don’t want any bad luck, thanks.”

“He won me in a card game. I think his luck is good.” I say and walk over to the frills, bows and taffeta. None of them look like anything I’d choose for myself or wear. I’m a little disappointed that my wedding gown is going to be whatever fits on the day. “Thank you for doing this.” I say, even though there’s a heavy feeling in my chest.

“I did it for Nevio,” she says, “don’t hurt him, Dalila.” Her eyes meet mine, and it’s a plea, not a threat. I wasn’t planning to hurt him. He’s been soft and kind in all this. I wish my brothers had spoken to me though — warned me there was trouble. But if Mas asked him to care for me, there is a good reason for that. I trust my brother. Even when I hate him, I trust him.

I guess, to be honest, if he had warned me this was going to happen, I probably would have snuck out and avoided it somehow.

“I won’t.” I reply as she hands me a dress.

“Let’s see you in these.” I take a long look at the odd creation in my hand. “One of them will work.”

“Not this one.” I pull a face and hand it back. “There are a lot of bows on there.”

Lucia laughs at me and tosses the dress over her shoulder. Digging through the dresses, she holds up a few that I am not interested in trying on at all.

“This is not awful.” She says, holding up a short white dress that will hug every lump and bump of my body, but at least there are no bows or puffs. It’s pretty — even though it’s not a dress I imagined getting married in. I take it from her and go into the dressing room to change.

I don’t like being naked in front of anyone, never mind someone I barely know. Lucia is younger than me, and not someone I was allowed to hang around. She is a ‘wild child’, according to my father. I think she is normal. What he considers wild is just growing up. And I have been held prisoner to his standards all my life.

The difference is, she has a mom. I think I would have had a different life if my mother had lived. Wiggling myself into the dress, I struggle against the feeling of it suffocating me. When I spin to face the full-length mirror, I don’t know what to think.

I don’t look like me — but me would never marry Nevio, in a dress his sister chose. I have to forget myself right now and remember that I don’t get a choice. This is reality now. “Oh, wow.” Lucia’s voice gives me a fright and I spin around to where she’s standing in the doorway. “My brother is going to love that.” She walks around me.

“It’s snug.” I am uncomfortable showing so much of myself.

“It’s hot,” she says, “and we are racing the clock, remember? It’s that or the bows and the frills.”

I accept defeat and realize I only have sneakers here. That’s going to be a sexy look.

“I don’t have shoes here.” I say and look down at the running shoes on the floor.

“Shit,” Lucia says, “What size are you?” She asks me.

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