Page 57 of Secret Mafia Daddy

Aurora couldn’t make it because the baby had a fever, so Alyssa and Mia are Catarina’s bridal party.

The music starts and I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling anxious for no reason I can pin down.

Chelsea skips down the aisle, throwing flowers and then throwing the whole basket down, and I laugh along with everyone else in the pews.

And then Catarina comes down the aisle.

Catarina looks unbelievable, the ivory dress clinging to her every curve, cleavage spilling out the sweetheart neckline of her off-the-shoulder dress.

My heart does some kind of backflip in my chest. God, what if I do love her? What if all these feelings I’m having for her are real?

She’s your wife, I remind myself, telling myself what Dante and Nico had said to me the night before. Would it be so bad?

As she gets closer and slowly removes her veil, I’m stunned into complete silence, my breath hitching in my throat. I’d known she was beautiful, but not like this. Her makeup is done up perfectly, her blonde curls trailing down her back from a little up-do, and the line of her jaw, her throat, her full lips, her silver eyes – everything is perfect. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I stumble over my words when the priest asks me to repeat them.

I repeat every word, looking down into those stunning eyes of hers that have haunted my sleep since the first night I met her, and I realize that it’s true.

I am in love with her. I’m in love with my wife.

Fuck.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur until it’s time to kiss her, and I cup her face in my hands, press my mouth against hers with all the love and confusion I’m feeling. Catarina makes a confused sound in the back of her throat and blinks at me as I pull away. I can’t stop smiling. I can’t wait to tell her. I can’t wait to start our lives together.

I’m scared shitless, but at the same time, my heart is racing, my head light. This is better than any adrenaline rush I’ve ever had.

We don’t get any time alone together, though, as she gets whisked away by her bridesmaids for pictures and my mother grabs my arm.

“How come I haven’t met your wife?” she demands to know, and I’m frowning, looking for Catarina in the crowd.

“You will, Ma. I promise,” I tell her, and that’s when Andrea Bianchi comes walking over.

My mother’s lips thin in a hard line, and I stare him down.

“You look lovely, Theresa,” he says to my mother.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Is that so?”

“As lovely as the day I met you,” he says, taking her hand and kissing it, and I push him away.

“As lovely as the day you left her, you mean?” I demand, and my father holds up his hands as if in defense.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. ”I was just being honest.”

“She doesn’t need your honesty,” I say, and then my mother pats me on the back.

“Calm down, Angelo,” she says firmly. “I can handle Andrea.”

My father chuckles, his brown eyes sparkling. “You always could.”

I’m about to get in his face when Nico saves the day, ushering me away for pictures with the groomsmen, and then pictures with Catarina, Chelsea, and her family.

Catarina and my mother do meet, and they hit it off, talking about knitting of all things.

My wife is a knitter. And I’m madly in love with her.

I just need to get her alone so that I can tell her.

“Angelo, are you all right?” she asks after the third picture when I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

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