Page 147 of Their Princess

Wilde nodded, but darkness shrouded Massimo’s features.

“There is no one else,” continued Wilde. “All the ranking officers—besides the treasurer—have ol’ ladies.”

Massimo circled his desk and sipped his Scotch. “And what’s wrong with the treasurer?”

“Beans is...” Wilde scratched his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him with anyone. Never even heard rumors of it. I think he’s...”

“Not into women?” I offered, then scowled. “Well, maybe not into anyone?”

Wilde waved off the topic. “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t do shit ’cept spreadsheets. Sas is our only possible officer. He’s young and can be unpredictable, but he’s a solid choice.”

It seemed tough for him to play diplomatic, but he managed. Massimo would have some respect for it because he too liked to play to decorum in these moments. It was something that Gambinos had always done and what our father taught us.

We were gentlemen... until we weren’t. Massimo had a room of his own to prove it.

My brother finished off the whiskey and sighed. “A loveless and sexless marriage is one thing, but there’s gotta be trust. Think maybe we should meet this?—”

“Sas is loyal as fuck,” barked Wilde. “He’s saved my other VP’s life. And Adelina’s, if you remember. What was it you said that meant to your Italian family?”

Wilde was walking on thin ice, and I tried not to grimace. I could pretend that I had control over Adelina, but I couldn’t even pretend with Massimo.

Mass smirked and tapped his finger against the glass as one second after another ticked by. My heartbeat quickened as he reached for the bottle and poured another three fingers. “What do you think, little brother?”

I had too many thoughts. Too many ideas about Adelina and her life and what happened last night between Sas and Adelina and Graff... and me. I hadn’t been involved, not really. I had only watched, but I had hungered for more. I had barely slept last night, exercising until I was sweating and spent and then working my cock until it nearly bled.

Massimo was still watching me with our father’s eyes—my eyes too—but that was where our similar features ended. His skin was tanner than mine, and his thin lips were in a constant downturn. We were only half-brothers—something he had made very clear to me when I was young—and I often felt the divide between us.

Our blood wasn’t the same.

“Sas is fine,” I grumbled. “He’ll get the job done.”

“What a stunning review of the man,” said Massimo, rolling his eyes. “But fine. I’ll arrange things with Bishop Thomas down at the Guardian Angel Cathedral.”

Wilde stepped toward the door. “Then we should see you?—”

“We’re not done yet,” said Massimo.

Wilde shut his jaw, and I went rigid too. Apparently, it was too much to ask that this would be over.

Massimo checked his watch. “Rafe, get Sas ready for the wedding.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

ADELINA

The fabric washeavy but tight across my chest, and the white lace sleeves and decolletage made the olive tones in my skin pop. I admired myself in the mirror for a second before I stepped out of the dressing room. Immediately, my mother’s eyes popped open, and her mouth dropped as Caterina said, “Yeah, that is the one!”

My cheeks burned because yes, it was the one. It was the perfect wedding dress. It wasmywedding dress. As though Vera Wang designed it especially for me.

I glanced toward the front of the wedding shop we had rented out for privacy. Alongside Papà’s man, Alessio, Graff stood in the door, watching the rest of the mall. I wanted him to look at me in this dress. I wanted to judge his reaction... to see if he would lick his lips or if he would study me with that artistic eye of his. I wanted him to say how beautiful I was because Iwasfucking stunning. The other dresses I’d tried on needed so many alterations they wouldn’t be done by Saturday.

“Lina?” asked Caterina. “Should we have the clerk pack it up?”

“She should to try on another,” said our mom, glancing down at her phone. Probably arranging a gala or charity auction.

I sighed, wishing Nonna were here to see me. “You don’t like it, Mamà?”

“I really do like it,” she replied, smiling in a way only a mother could, “but I’m not sure the long sleeves suit you for a wedding. They would be appropriate for a formal evening, but let’s see what other options we have.”

---