Page 7 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
The lawyer didn’t even blink. “Your father was adamant that for you to receive your inheritance, you must first wed. The marriage must be proven to be real before you are granted your share.”
Luca let out a short, humorless laugh. “Guess he really thought you needed a man to keep you in line.”
“Oh, fuck off, Luca.”
He smirked. “Not my words, sis. Just stating the obvious.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “So, let me get this straight,” I said, turning back to the lawyer, who, frankly, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Luca gets to go on a dramatic revenge quest like he’s starring in some mobster soap opera, and I—what? Have to start husband hunting?”
The lawyer cleared his throat. “Your father believed—”
“My father believed a lot of things,” I snapped. “Like women should be married off and tucked away like fragile little dolls.”
Luca stretched his legs out, looking far too entertained by my predicament. “Hey, at least you don’t have to go digging through the filth of New York looking for a ghost named Shade.”
Shade, that name still brought me nightmares and traumatized the hell out of me. My father’s murderer. This ridiculous clause. And worst of all—the very real, very damning double lines on that pregnancy test.
Shade had already ruined my life in ways no one knew. And now, one more truth loomed over me like a guillotine. I was carrying his child.
The irony could knock me over. My father had spent years hunting Shade down like a rabid dog, blaming him for ruining his business. And now? Shade had not only ruined my life—he had taken up permanent residency inside my uterus.
I dropped my head back against the wall and exhaled through my nose. No one could know. Not Luca. Not my uncle. Not a damn soul.
Especially not my uncle.
****
I walked into the dining room and immediately regretted it.
Uncle Enrico was already seated at the head of the table, wearing that smug look that made me want to launch a plate at his face. He was managing the estate until Luca and me fulfilled the conditions in my father’s will, and he acted like he owned the place.
“Maria,” he said, barely glancing up from his plate. “You look tired. That activist nonsense of yours must be exhausting.”
I clenched my jaw. “Good morning to you too, Uncle.”
“I see your manners are still missing in action.”
Luca groaned from the other end of the table. “Can we not do this before I’ve had my coffee?”
Uncle Enrico leaned back in his chair, looking me over like I was some disobedient child instead of a grown woman. “You know, if you spent less time pretending to be a man and more time being a proper woman, maybe you’d find a husband by now.”
I bristled. “Oh, forgive me, Uncle. I must’ve missed the era where women were supposed to sit down, look pretty, and let the men do all the work.”
He sneered. “Traditional men like traditional women. You? You’re too stubborn. Too opinionated. No man wants a woman who thinks she can run things.”
Luca kicked me under the table, a silent plea not to make this worse. But I was already leaning forward, my lips curling into a slow, venomous smile. “And yet here you are. Maybe it’s not me, Uncle.”
His face darkened, but before he could spew whatever misogynistic bullshit he had lined up next, I pushed my chair back and stood.
“I suddenly lost my appetite,” I muttered, storming out before I caved and stabbed him with a butter knife.
That night, Luca barged into my room, looking more desperate than usual. That was never a good sign.
I folded my arms. “What do you want?” I asked. He had not stood up for me earlier on when our uncle came for me. That was one thing about him. He lacked any sense of responsibility. Maybe that is why my dad gave him that baggage to bear, to finally get him to step up.
He shut the door behind him, running a hand through his hair. “I have a solution.”
I raised an eyebrow. “For what? Your lack of life skills? Your inability to take anything seriously?”
