Page 7 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

Leo never lost patience with me, always taking the time to answer, to explain if he could. If he couldn’t or didn’t know, he’d simply say so. He’s a man who’s always been secure and confident in himself, and kind to me.

He must’ve felt me staring, because he lifts his head up a little and looks at me, pins me with his dark eyes. A lock of dark hair breaks from the swept back mass to brush his forehead, and Ihitch in a breath.

It gives him a boyish look, and suddenly, I remember the boy—no, young man—I kissed at sixteen.

The jawline is more striking now, freshly shaved, deliciously pronounced. Lips still more in a tight line than a smile. There’s also a small fanning of lines at the outer corners of his eyes.

Life’s taken a toll on all of us. He’s twenty-eight now. Fully a man.

Something makes me focus back on him.

He’s frowning, thick eyebrows furrowed.

“You okay?” he mouths.

I gulp back. He seems worried about me. Of course, I must’ve made him panic with my texts. Mattia and Hana have said their vows; they’re exchanging rings now.

I give Leo a small nod and a tight smile. I won’t breathe in relief until this ceremony is over and I know Hana’s not done a runner.

Finally, they’re pronounced man and wife. Is it just me, or is the kiss just a perfunctory press of closed lips like at a chaste medieval wedding?

What’s wrong with them? While they’ve never really given in to PDA, there’s a certain complicit air about them usually. Today, they look like strangers who just met at the altar in an arranged—or worse, forced—match.

They start down the aisle, and this time, as I settle behind Hana with her veil in hand, Leo steps beside me.

Right. We’re supposed to exit together. Thanks to who we are—prominent members of the Italian Mafia syndicate—there was no rehearsal to show us the ropes. Too risky to have every one of us present in the same spot twice in a row. The wedding itself is highly guarded.

“What’s wrong?” Leo murmurs.

“I…it’s nothing.”

I can feel the frown directed at me when I refuse to look up at him.

Thankfully, I fall onto my duties as maid of honor and settle Hana back inside the car. Except, Mattia’s to ride with her now.

A large hand closes on my upper arm when the bride and groom’s car takes off.

Tingles register on my naked skin, and I suck in a deep breath. Bad move. A hint of spice on a waft of hot leather fills my nose. It makes me think of warmth, musk, heat, passion—of strong, powerful flesh rippling with strength and power between my thighs, and I’m not thinking a horse here.

No. It’s man. Pure man.

Leo Pellegrini.

“You’re with me,” he says huskily.

Wait, what?

I can’t think as he keeps his hold on my arm and steers me to a waiting limo on the curb. I can hear a few men protesting, but Leo sends them packing right as he ushers me into the back seat,then gets in behind me, closing the door on us.

In these closed confines, the scent of spice is headier. It’s rushing to my head, and I close my eyes.

“Dio santo, when’s the last time you had anything?”

A bottle of water is thrust into my hand.

“Drink,” he orders.

I don’t demur, and take a few sips.

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