Page 145 of The Devil Can Be Kind

“I don’t want to just do a fundraiser, Jess. I want to help people who have gone through trauma or are at rock bottom. I want to give them a fresh start in life, like what Marco has given me.”

He eyed me skeptically a moment. “So…you’re going to kidnap addicts and hold them for ransom too?”

I smacked him on the arm playfully, unfazed by his obvious lack of enthusiasm.

“The Cosa Nostra has done its fair share of creating the drugs epidemic facing this country. It’s time that we do something to help some of the lives we have damaged and give back.”

Jesse’s seemed to contemplate my words for a moment longer before he nodded. “It’s a great idea.”

He took my glass and downed the rest of the contents as I headed back inside the changing room.

“Are you sure you don’t just want a horse or something?” He yelled through the door on the other side. “That would besomuch easier to arrange!” He whined jokingly.

“Animal therapy? I love it! We can add it to our list of services,” I yelled back tauntingly, and he groaned in mock defeat.

When we had reachedthe house that afternoon, I spoke to Marco about the idea, and we’d somewhat refined the details. Surprisingly, it didn’t take much to get him onboard with the whole idea, and we agreed to sit down after the wedding to work out the logistics.

Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for the future.

Marco had held me in his arms as we stood on the terrace that evening.

We had come out to watch the sun dip behind the horizon, the spring air mild and fresh, his warmth keeping the slight chill at bay.

“You know I never thanked you, Marco, for this exceptional and beautiful life,” I murmured into the quiet as I looked out across the grounds of our home. “I know our world is not perfect, but I am glad to be here and to share it with you all the same.”

“It was far less exceptional and beautiful before you got here,” he remarked, brushing his nose against the shell of my ear. I felt him take a deep breath, his chest brushing my back.

“I don’t have many regrets in life, Ada, but I do regret that our love story was not moreconventional. That you have had to see the bad parts of me more than any of the good…but I’m working on it.”

My heart fluttered in my chest.

“I don’t regret it.” I caressed the back of his hand with my fingers. “Our love story may not be conventional but that’s how I know it’s real.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

ADALYN

To say I was a nervous wreck was an understatement.

The biggest understatement of the fucking century.

I had been just about ready to duck and roll right out of the cathedral when the ornate wooden doors had swung back, revealing the masses of people congregated inside and watching my every move. If it hadn’t been for Eliyana’s gentle grip on my hand and the fact that I didn’t know Sicily half as well as I should have by now, then I would have given into my crippling fear and rolled the hell back out the doors.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I focused on keeping one foot in front of the other until Marco’s handsome face came into view. The moment I met him at the end of the alter, happiness replaced my anxiety and everyone else seemed to slip away. Leaving only the two of us captivated entirely by our love for each other.

I had gasped in awe when we’d arrived at the villa for our reception. The wedding planners had done a magnificent job.The large, ornate villa looked more like a palace than I would have ever thought possible and boasted more marble columns than I had ever seen. It was beautiful and sophisticated, yet simple and elegant. It wove the expected La Torre opulence with my more modest tastes seamlessly, and I was overjoyed with how everything had turned out.

It wasn’t long before the celebrations began after dinner and once again, my nerves had my stomach clenched with unease and anxiety spiking in my system. More guests had arrived for the evening, and I internally cursed myself for wearing such god-forsaken high heels for the day. Dancing in front of that many people would have been nerve-wracking enough in sneakers rather than the sky-high heels I was sporting for our first dance.

“Why are you concentrating so much?” Marco—myHusband—had asked me as we swirled gently across the dance floor.

Unlike me, Marco moved effortlessly.Lucky bastard.

“I am just trying not to break anything. Damn shoes.” I muttered, my attention caught between my balance and not getting my heel hooked on the dress.

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