Page 13 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
Lorenzo’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile but more of a shadow of one. “I don’t believe in luck.”
Of course, he didn’t.
Isabella sighed, patted my cheek one last time, and then turned to leave. “I’ll see you both at the altar.”
And then it was just us. The room felt smaller, warmer, and more dangerous.
Lorenzo’s sharp blue-gray eyes flicked over me, slow and assessing. He didn’t rush it and didn’t look away when he reached my face.
“Are you ready?” His voice was smooth and deep, carrying that undercurrent of control he always had.
No, I wasn’t.
I forced a smile, lifting my chin. “Of course, I am ready.”
He didn’t move and didn’t blink. He just watched me with that unreadable expression that always made my skin prickle.
God, he looked good.
Too good.
His dark hair was neatly styled, though I knew he had a habit of running his fingers through it when he was annoyed or thinking too hard. The sharp angles of his face were impossibly perfect—a chiseled jawline, a slightly crooked nose from a fight years ago, and piercing blue-gray eyes that could strip a person bare with a single look, just like they were doing now.
And then, there was his suit. Black, tailored, fitting him like a second skin.
He was the personification of danger in luxury. I needed to break the tension and make this feel normal.
“I never thought I’d be marrying you for my first marriage,” I said dryly, arms crossed.
His brow arched slightly. “Your first marriage?”
Shit.
I waved a hand, forcing a chuckle. “Yeah. This is temporary, remember? One year, and then we divorce, you get to keep your empire, and I go back to my life.”
Something flickered across his face, so brief I almost missed it. But I didn’t.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. His gaze shifted, dropping briefly to the necklace at my throat.
He recognized it. He knew exactly where it had come from.
I swallowed, fingers brushing over the delicate silver chain. “Your mother gave it to me.”
His expression remained carefully neutral, but I saw it: the tension in his shoulders and the way his fingers flexed at his sides before he slid them into his pockets.
“She gets a little…sentimental.”
I scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”
“She’s just excited.”
“She said it was hers.”
His eyes flickered.
“She said she wore it at her own wedding.”
A slow exhale. “She’s always been dramatic,” he responded.
