Page 50 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
Maria yanked herself away from me so fast she nearly knocked over the pan.
I turned just as Luca, Matteo, and Kayla walked in.
Luca paused as soon as he entered, his gaze shifting and scrutinizing with a scowl on his face.
Maria cleared her throat. “I’ll set the table.”
Luca didn’t take his eyes off me. “Lorenzo, I told you, I’m watching you.”
I chuckled, shoving my hands into my pockets.
That makes two of us because no matter what, I couldn’t stop watching her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LORENZO
Thank God Enrico wasn’t here. The last thing I needed was to sit across from that slimy bastard and pretend I didn’t want to put a bullet between his eyes.
Instead, dinner was surprisingly normal. Almost enjoyable.
Luca was deep into some tragic retelling of a date gone horribly wrong, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and a wounded expression like he was reliving war trauma.
“I swear to God, this woman hated me,” Luca groaned, stabbing at his food. “She spent the entire night making fun of my shoes. My shoes, Lorenzo. What kind of psychopath judges a man based on his footwear?”
I leaned back in my chair, smirking. “Considering you wear those overpriced, limited-edition sneakers like a sixteen-year-old influencer, I’d say she had a point.”
Kayla snorted into her drink.
Luca shot me a glare. “You wouldn’t understand. You have the emotional depth of a brick wall if you even have a heart.”
I gestured vaguely. “I manage just fine.”
“You don’t even have a love life. So why the fuck are you laughing at me?”
I arched a brow. “And you do?”
Luca pointed his fork at me. “We’re the same, you know that, right? Both emotionally stunted, allergic to commitment, and so deep in our shit that we’d probably need to schedule therapy sessions.”
I smirked. “I don’t need therapy. At least I’m getting married.”
The second the words left my mouth, my gaze flickered to Maria, expecting her to shoot back some sharp remark—some ice-cold retort to remind me that this wasn’t real and whatever was between us was nothing but a transaction.
But she didn’t.
She wasn’t even looking at me. Her eyes were locked on Matteo.
Something in her posture shifted. Her usual cool, effortless grace stiffened, and I followed her line of sight.
Matteo hadn’t touched his food.
His little shoulders were hunched, and his face was blank. Too blank.
Maria leaned in slightly, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Matteo, what’s wrong?”
The kid barely moved.
Maria tried again. “Do you not like the food? Do you want something else?”
