Page 38 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

As the night winds down, I find myself in conversation with Santino. He eyes me over his glass of vodka. “You’ve done well by her,” he says, nodding toward Felicity, who’s chatting animatedly with Anya.

“I try,” I say, watching my wife. “She makes it easy.”

Santino chuckles. “She seems to be a force of nature. Just like her mother.”

I turn to him. “I’ll keep her safe with my life.”

Santino nods, appearing satisfied. “I know you will. The trust fund is not meant to insult you. I owe her a lifetime of care, and the money is just one to make up to her all that I didn’t give her. It’s there if she needs it, but I don’t think she will.”

“She will not,” I say briefly but with finality.

Felicity appears at my side then, slipping her hand into mine. “What are you two conspiring about?” she asks playfully, though her gaze is concerned as it moves between us.

I pull her close, kissing her temple. “We were just discussing odds and probabilities.”

She frowns. “Like for horse races? My mom loved the racetrack.”

Santino laughs. “I’m glad to hear that didn’t change about Susan. She was always a gambler, except when it came to you.”

Felicity smiles as she looks between us, her obvious concern lessening. “It means a lot to me that you’re both here.”

Santino smiles warmly at his daughter. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. The facility put up a fuss when I told them I was leaving for the night.”

“You should listen to them,” she says with a shake of her head.

He waves his good hand, since the other rests on his lap. “I’ll not let a stroke make me miss nights like this.”

They squabble gently about his health for a moment before she changes the subject to the baby, and Santino asks a series of questions. The baby is a relatively safe topic, and Felicity obviously relaxes and lets herself actually warm up to him.

The party slowly winds down. As the last of the guests begin to leave, Felicity yawns, leaning heavily against me. I scoop her up in my arms, ignoring her halfhearted protests.

“Time to get you home.”

She nuzzles into my neck, already half-asleep. “Mmm, home. I like the sound of that.”

As we step out into the cool night air, I’m struck by how much has changed in such a short time. What started as a business arrangement has become so much more. I never expected to develop feelings for her beyond general cordiality and concern for her well-being, but now that I have, I can’t fight it.

17

Kiril

Isit at my desk, staring at the screen of my laptop. A message from Damiano DeLucci glares back at me, its implications heavy in the air. A truce offer. A high-stakes poker game after the official poker games. Negotiations for territory and an end to hostilities.

I drum my fingers on the polished wood as I consider the proposal. It’s tradition, this annual game. A neutral ground, where the various families come together, ostensibly for business, but really to size each other up, to test the waters of alliances and enmities.

The door to my office opens, and Felicity walks in. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, moving to stand behind me.

I turn the laptop so she can see the message.

Her eyebrows raise as she reads. “Is this legit?” she asks, sounding skeptical.

I shrug. “It’s hard to say. Damiano’s not known for his honesty.”

Felicity snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

She perches on the edge of my desk, her legs crossed at the ankle. Even after months of marriage, the sight of her still takes my breath away.

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