Page 17 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

I can’t, though. Not just for propriety’s sake, but because this man is my fiancé.

Ardian Abrashi isn’t overly tall—we’re eye to eye in my three-inch heels. His face is lean and clean-shaven, his pale brown hair always slicked back with a wet-looking gel. Rheumy grey eyes usually flicker in an assessing manner that his rimless glasses hide somewhat.

Dressed in an impeccable tailored cream-colored suit, he looks chic at first glance. The next adjective coming to mind? Bland. There’s no contrast to him, no energy, bristling or otherwise. No feel of a man possessed by and possessing life.

Unlike Leo Pellegrini.

I slap myself inside. No thinking of him, and certainly not now.

Ardian grabs a lock of my hair with his free hand. The watch on his wrist catches the light. It’s a gold Rolex with a diamond bevel. I’m not a snob, but I want to wince. How gaudy. Nothing like Leo’s classy and discreet Audemars Piquet Royal Oak. And he wore gold to an Italian wedding—no one wears gold except asa wedding ring for such an occasion, as it brings bad luck.

“You let your hair down,” he says, eyes narrowed.

I gulp the terror rising in my throat down. I don’t fear this man per se, but if he came to find out what I just did, he could demand an honor killing. You’d think it’s just dramatic Italians who’d jump to such extreme measures, but Albanians are traditional to a fault, and it sometimes feels like they live by a code of conduct that hasn’t changed since the Middle Ages.

“Tension headache,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Hmm.” He rubs the hair between his fingers, a gesture that makes my skin crawl. “You disappeared tonight.”

“Told you. My head was hurting.”

I’m hoping the flush on my face can be construed as bronzer, the slash of color on my cheeks as too much blush. I’m not good with makeup—it won’t seem strange that I made a mess when I touched up the professional job on me.

I’m also praying he’s not good at poker, or at detecting liars. He’s an accountant; do these know how to read people like lawyers and business sharks?

“I was hoping to have at least one dance with my future wife.”

There’s no tone to his voice, which raises the hair on the back of my neck. It sometimes feels like talking with a robot, or a snake. Depends on the eyes, whether they’re cunningly assessing or not.

They look somewhat soft today. Maybe he’s imbibed enough Krug champagne already that I can make a swift escape.

“I’m sorry, Ardian. My maid of honor duties prevail over any other today.” I force a tight smile as I wiggle my hand from his grip. “And speaking of, Hana needs me. They’re about to cut the cake.”

“May I accompany you?” His hand tightens, his fingers trying to interlace with mine.

God, how will I get rid of him? I roll my eyes, making it look like I’m peering up.

My breath hitches in my nose. There, at the top of the stairs looking down, is Leo. Watching me. Watching us. His face is thunderous, jaw all tense, lips almost disappearing in a too thin line, eyes narrowed though that doesn’t diminish the fire burning in them.

His hair looks like he quickly raked his fingers through, bow tie slightly askew. Of course, he never can tie them right. I’m itching to race up and redo the tie, to have a reason to be close to him again, to surreptitiously touch him, feel the warmth of his skin under my fingers, smell the spicy musk of his intoxicating scent…

His fiery gaze drags from me onto Ardian, and a shiver of dread courses down my spine. If looks could kill, we’d be at a funeral right now and not a wedding.

If Leo tries anything against Ardian, war will erupt on our territories. If anyone attempts any move against the Albanians, we’d be fucked.

That’s why my impending marriage into the Abrashi family is so crucial.

In this moment, I remember my duty. I tear my eyes from the sight of Leo and look anywhere but at my fiancé as I start toward the reception room.

I lose Ardian in the crush of people near the cake table—good riddance—and fall into place behind Hana. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Leo do the same behind Mattia. I don’t allow myself to peer his way.

The newlyweds cut the cake amid loud cheers, all of us danceLa Tarantellain a circle of joined hands, the light steps and flirtatious, joyous banter more to bring luck now than a cure to tarantula bites as this tradition started. Then somehow, it’s time for Mattia and Hana to retire for the night. A private plane will take them to Nassau for their honeymoon, leaving at four a.m. so they’ll make it there in the early morning to enjoy a full day.

I don’t see Leo again—is he expressly staying away? My musings come to a halt when my father joins me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“You should go home, Bianca.”

The party’s just getting started and will last well until dawn tomorrow. Already, the Krug has been replaced by the cheaper Moët & Chandon the guests will probably drink straight from the bottle.

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