Page 178 of My Mafia Queen

Made of the most expensive French lace I could find, my wedding dress was designed by a couture house in Milano.

They spared no detail to make it unforgettable, with a scalloped neckline that reveals my shoulders and the top of my chest to the fitted bodice, flare skirt, and cathedral train.

Yards and yards of lace and tulle make me look like a princess.

The short veil cascades from the top of my head while my hair is peppered with natural white flowers matching my bouquet.

Jen can’t take her eyes away from me.

She looks fantastic.

She’s never looked better, in fact, and her mauve bridesmaid dress highlights her tan.

She’s come a long way since that awful day when I found her curled up in a stranger’s bed with bruises on her body and the worst things in her soul.

She’s healed her body and soul and never wanted to talk to me about what happened that night, but it wasn’t that hard to imagine.

One thing she told me, though.

Beau Anthony had set her up, leaving her phone on the kitchen counter without her knowledge after he’d noticed that I’d called her several times.

She answered my call, convinced she could get away from him.

Not only that she couldn’t get away from them, but they punished her, especially his two soldiers.

I couldn’t tell her I shot Beau––Damaso’s rules, not mine––but I assured her none of the men had survived.

It was true.

No one had walked out of that house alive that day except for us.

It didn’t do much for her. And I understood. Some things could never be fixed.

And if there was one thing I regretted, it was pulling her into my life. Yet she assured me it was her choice.

I chose to believe her, although I still felt bad about what happened to her.

One good thing came out of that horrible story, though.

Damaso made her dream come true by helping her quit her job and have enough money to go wherever she wanted to so she could start the life she’d always dreamed of.

She’s never found the man of her dreams, yet she’s found the house of her dreams right here in Italy.

She teaches English and learns how to tend to an orchard of olive trees.

It's not a bad occupation if you ask me.

I wish Damaso and I could live here, but it’s not possible.

Damaso’s life is in New York.

He has people doing everything for him over there. Yet, he needs to keep a watchful eye on everything that happens.

His uncle had betrayed the organization, and to cover up his deeds, he attempted to frame his nephew.

When Damaso said his uncle had been removed, he didn’t mention how. Later, I found out he was killed.

Damaso knew it would happen. That’s why he waited for that call, although he’d never confessed to me.

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