Page 82 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

“I know. I’m sorry, but I truly believe this could be a turning point for all of us.”

Kiril stares at me for a long moment, then nods. “Very well, but we’ll need extra security, and I want Viktor with us at all times.”

I smile, relief washing over me. “Of course. Thank you for trusting me.”

He pulls me close, kissing my forehead. “I always trust you, but we are going to have a deep discussion about your secrets later, wife. Perhaps your ass will need some convincing from my hand.”

My eyes widen, and though my stomach clenches, the idea of him spanking me is surprisingly sexy.

He gives me a knowing look. “You’ll have to wait for that. Let’s get ready for this recital of yours.”

When we arrive a short time later, the dance studio is transformed for the evening. Soft lighting casts a warm glow over the polished floors, and elegant floral arrangements adorn every corner. I smooth down my dress, nervousness fluttering in my stomach as I greet the arriving guests.

Damiano arrives first, warily scrutinizing the room. “Quite the setup you’ve got here.”

I offer him a small smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you could make it.”

He nods, his gaze softening slightly as he glances at Isabella, who is offstage helping Tony adjust his tights. “Isabella and Tony are excited about the performance.”

Before I can respond, the door opens again, and Sean O’Malley strides in, Siobhan at his side. The girl’s eyes light up when she sees me.

“Ms. Morris, you look so pretty.”

I smile, not having to crouch to her level since she’s only a couple of inches shorter than me. When she finishes growing, she’s going to be tall and elegant, the perfect dancer’s body if she can convince her father to let her pursue that dream. “Thankyou, Siobhan. You look beautiful too. Are you ready for your big performance?”

She nods enthusiastically, then tugs on her father’s sleeve. “Daddy, you remember Ms. Morris?”

Sean’s piercing green gaze locks onto mine as he extends his hand. “How could I forget?” He smiles at me as his daughter darts backstage to join the cast. “Siobhan hasn’t stopped talking about your classes.”

I shake his hand, keeping my voice steady. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. O’Malley. Siobhan is a delightful student.”

As more guests file in, I feel Kiril’s presence at my back. His hand rests lightly on my waist, a subtle show of support and possession.

“Sean,” says Kiril, his voice cool but polite. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Sean’s eyebrows raise slightly. “Kiril. I didn’t realize you had an interest in ballet.”

“My wife has many talents,” he says smoothly. “Supporting the arts is important to us both.”

I watch as understanding dawns in Sean’s eyes. He glances between Kiril and me, then at Damiano standing nearby, gaze glued on Tony and Isabella, which Sean seems to note. “I see. Ms. Morris is actually Mrs. PimaslovandMiss DeLucci.” He scowls for a moment. “This should be an interesting evening.”

The energy in the air is nearly unbearable as the three men size each other up. I clear my throat, drawing their attention. “Gentlemen, why don’t we move to the refreshment area? The performance will be starting soon.”

As we make our way across the room, I catch snippets of conversation from the other guests, a blend of dance parents, local business owners, and carefully selected members of each family. So far, everything seems calm, but there’s an undercurrent of watchfulness from all sides. The only ones not present are the men’s bodyguards, who are all in the foyer or their cars. It’s just the three of them, vulnerable, aware of all the children, and hopefully, open to reason.

I lead the men to a quieter corner, away from prying ears. “I know this is unexpected, but I hope we can use this opportunity to talk. Without the usual pressures.”

Sean chuckles, though he doesn’t seem fully amused. “You’ve got guts, lass. I’ll give you that.”

The lights dim as the recital begins. I sit between Kiril and Damiano, hyper-aware of Sean O’Malley’s presence just a few seats away. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife.

As the first notes of music fill the air, Siobhan gracefully takes the stage. Her hair is pulled back in a neat bun, and her green leotard sparkles under the stage lights. She moves with surprising grace for her age, her movements fluid and precise.

I glance at Sean, seeing the pride in his eyes as he watches his daughter perform. For a moment, he’s not a feared mob boss, but simply a father.

The music shifts, and Tony skips onto the stage, his angelic face beaming with excitement. He’s dressed as a little prince, complete with a tiny crown perched atop his curls. As he begins his simple routine, I hear Damiano inhale sharply beside me.

“He seems to have a gift,” I whisper, leaning close.

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