Page 7 of Till Death Do Us Part

Elisa shakes her head, scowling at me playfully while laughter falls from Rosa, the drink in her glass spilling over the rim as her shoulders shake in amusement.

“Oh, sweet girl, I hope you keep that spark alive when you get to America.”

With her reminder that I’ll be leaving England tomorrow to fly to New York, the mood on our table turns sombre. We’ve avoided talking much about the inevitable. All of us struggling with the thought of saying goodbye.

The tent gradually fills over the next half hour, the volume in the space becoming almost deafening as introductions are made and the alcohol flows.

Very few people interact with my sisters and me, beyond the odd hello and congratulations. It seems they’re unsure as they pass, wary as to how to interact with the new wife of the Capo.

All I can hope is that they get over themselves quickly, otherwise life in New York will be quiet and lonely. From everything I know—which is little—the Mafia are a tight-knit family and rarely do they interact with outsiders.

It’s easier that way.

Safer.

My stomach churns when Antonio finally graces us with his presence, slipping into the seat beside me. He doesn’t speak, and the conversation around us halts as people turn to take him in. I wonder what we look like together to them all.

The boss and his obedient wife.

That’s what they’re all expecting, I’m sure.

But when his best man walks into the room shortly after, commanding their attention, awareness travels through me. I’m not sure obedience is something I can offer with a temptation like him around.

There’s a tickle in the back of mind, a familiarity when his eyes lock on mine. My body recognises him, but I can’t recall ever seeing the man before today. I’m sure I haven’t—he isn’t the kind of person you could forget so easily.

“Hello, ladies,” he says, dropping into the seat to my right. He rests his hand on the table, right beside mine, our pinkies grazing as he flings a smile my way. “Princess.”

Narrowing my eyes on him, I clench my thighs to tamper the pulse that starts in my centre at the nickname. There’s something about the way it falls from his mouth that sends a wave of heat coursing through me.

A single word from his lips, and I might as well be panting like a bitch in heat over a stranger.

Taking a deep breath, I will my heart to slow. He’s just a man. Sure, a totally fuckable, hotter-than-the-sun man with a voice rich like melted chocolate—but he’s still just a man.

“Good evening,” I reply, dropping my eyes to the table and taking a sip of my champagne. His eyes burn holes into my head, but I refuse to look up.

Instead, I focus on the differences in our hands, my eyes tracing the lines of the ink that spread over his skin. A rose on the back of his hand, etched in black and grey, and a series of numbers and letters across his fingers. Whereas my hand is bare and rather boring in comparison to his.

Thankfully, Rosa comes to my rescue and steers the conversation to New York. Over the next hour, Leonardo entertains our table with stories of the city and his life growing up in New York with Antonio.

Antonio remains silent, oblivious to any questions sent his way.

My father finds us a little while later, a frown marring his face before he smiles widely at me. When I ask what’s wrong, he tells me it’s nothing.

Bloody brilliant.

A husband who wants nothing to do with me.

A father that is keeping secrets.

And a hotter-than-sin man making me think all kinds of naughty things about him—that I doubt he even realises.

Elisa is right.

I’m going to get myself killed.

My feet burn and a steady thump is starting at my temples as I’m passed around from man to man on the dancefloor. Antonio’s uncle smiles leerily at me, dropping a wet kiss on my cheek before spinning me out and handing me off to yet another person.

I’m not sure whose bright idea it was to make sure half of Antonio’s extended family got a dance with me, and if I ever find out, I might actually kill them.

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