Page 12 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
I could taste her hesitation, anger, and confusion. But I could also taste a deeper longing that mirrored exactly what was burning through my veins. By the time I pulled back, her eyes were darker, and her lips parted. My pulse was a wardrum in my chest.
She swallowed hard, gaze darting to my mouth before snapping back up.
I smirked.
“There is no going back now.”
CHAPTER THREE
MARIA
“This dress is suffocating me,” I murmured for the umpteenth time that day.
Or maybe it wasn’t the dress. Maybe it was the fact that in less than an hour, I was walking down the aisle to marry a man who wasn’t the father of my baby. A man who I had crushed on for as long as I could remember, a man who had left five years ago with no words, a man who had not returned my call or any of my messages or attempted to reach out for five years.
A man who kissed me last week and melted all the resentment I had toward him. A man I care too much about to hurt or lie to.
I pressed a hand against my stomach, swallowing the lump in my throat. No one knew. Not my uncle Enrico. Not even Luca. And definitely not Lorenzo.
This was a disaster. A beautifully arranged disaster wrapped in lace and satin.
The bedroom door creaked open, and I turned to find Isabella standing there, elegant as always. Despite everything, we have not had time due to the short notice of the marriage to talk about old days and catch up, but she had received me with so much grace and warmth as always. Despite the weight loss and the paleness in her cheeks, she was still Isabella Bianchi—regal, poised, and impossibly kind.
“You look breathtaking, Maria. Your mother would have bawled her eyes out if she saw you today,” she said, stepping forward.
A lump formed in my throat.
I had known this woman since I was a child. She was my mum’s best friend, and when my mum died in that accident about a decade ago, I witnessed how much it broke her. She had held my hand when I scraped my knee, made me hot cocoa in the winter, and scolded me when I tried to follow Luca and Lorenzo into trouble. She had always been the soft voice of reason in the middle of our shenanigans growing up.
And here she was, smiling at me like she wasn’t dying.
Like she wasn’t giving me her son.
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. If she knew the truth, she’d hate me.
She reached for something around her neck, unclasping it with careful fingers before holding it out to me.
“I wore this on my wedding day,” she said, placing the delicate platinum necklace in my palm. “And my mother before me. I want you to have it.”
I stared at it, feeling my throat tighten. “Isabella, I—”
She placed it around my neck and squeezed my hand before I could argue. “It brings good fortune. And more than that, it’s a reminder that love, real love, is worth every risk.”
Guilt clawed at my insides. I was marrying her son under false pretenses. I was standing here, dressed in white, while another man’s baby grew inside me. I didn’t deserve this necklace. I didn’t deserve her kindness.
She cupped my cheek gently. “I am so happy, Maria. Happier than I have been in a long time. My son is getting married to a good woman, a woman I know and can call my daughter,”
If she only knew.
The door creaked open again, and suddenly, there he was.
Lorenzo.
Tall, dark, and impossibly composed—like a storm that had decided to wear a three-piece suit.
The atmosphere shifted the second he stepped inside. Even without looking directly at him, I felt him—his presence, the quiet authority in the way he moved, and the way the room seemed to shrink to just the two of us.
His mother turned, feigning exasperation. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
