Page 6 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

I blink at the sudden change—which feels forced, too—but go ahead with tying the veil in her silky hair. This wedding, this pairing, can’t go wrong, not now. Four months ago, my brother didn’t even know Hana. I met her at Pilates, we became fast friends, and one day, we bumped into him in Manhattan.

Mattia’s gaze landed on her, and it’s never left her whenever she’s around him. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is. Within two months, they were engaged. She assured me this wedding isn’t shotgun, so if not for love…

There’s a knock at the door. The wedding planner. It’s time to head to church. The groom’s party has already left, she confirms, so no chance he’d see the bride in her dress before she makes it to the aisle.

We make our way down, ensuring Hana’s dress and train don’t get crushed in the car. I slip in beside her then pull out my phone. Ingeniously, it’s tucked under my bouquet.

Me:Give me Leo’s number.

Mattia:Why?

Me:Maid of honor duties overlapping with best man’s. Give.

He texts me the number. I save it and start a new thread.

Me:Hey, it’s Bianca. All okay over there?

Leo:Yes. Why?

Me:Just checking.

The three dots keep dancing for long seconds.

Leo:What’s wrong?

God, how has he sussed this out?

Me:Let’s make sure it goes without a hitch.

Three dots again.

Leo:Getting them hitched, you mean?

I smile, send a googly face emoji in reply.

I can’t believe he almost made me laugh right now.

All too soon, we’re in front of the church. Hana hasn’t said a word. She’s not chatty usually, but this feels off.

I make sure we get out, that her dress is pristine on her slender form, then spread out her train, carrying it daintily as we hear the first notes of Pachelbel’s Canon, our cue to enter the church.

I’m focusing on not letting the fragile lace rake upon the stone steps, then the petal-strewn carpet inside. There are gasps as Hana steps in.

Halfway down the aisle, I glance up. My eyes immediately lock with Leo’s dark gaze at the altar next to Mattia.

It’s like a magnet clicking into place, refusing to let up.

Then there’s a tug at my hand. The lace. I focus back on it, andmercifully, we end up at the altar with no tear in the fabric. We’d ripped a small one near the right-hand edge for good luck, an Italian tradition. We don’t need any more, though. Hana settles next to Mattia, and I move to the left, a few feet from the priest.

When the holy man steps forth to start the ceremony, I find myself standing right across from Leo Pellegrini.

A small puff of air escapes me. What a sight he is. Leo always had a powerful figure, but as a teenager, he was more on the gangly side.

Now, he’s filled in, and beautifully so. The pristine lines of his tailored tux can’t hide the well-distributed amount of honed muscle on his big frame. Man works out, looks good, and he knows it. Though there’s no cocky air about him. No, he’s just quietly confident.

Just like he was all those years ago, too. Power, discipline, strength—it’s just who he is.

He was always so nice to me. And it didn’t feel put on, like he was forcing himself to be polite to a young girl whom every grown up saw as a nuisance most of the time. I’m naturally curious, and I ask a lot of questions, sometimes with no filter between my mind and mouth.

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