Page 148 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

I stared at the woman reflected in the mirror, dumbstruck. “Gia, it’s . . . Wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

My twin had designed a wedding dress for me in just three weeks. The result was an off the shoulder silk gown with three-quarter length sleeves that hugged my curves before dropping into an a-line skirt. It was elegant and classy, and absolutely perfect for me.

“Just say it’s gorgeous, dummy.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Seriously, Em. You look beautiful.”

“I love it,” Frankie said, coming to stand on my other side. “Gia, how did you manage this so quickly?”

“I based it on Audrey Hepburn’s first wedding dress, the one she never wore. It’s simple, but I think it suits Emma’s personality.”

“It does. I love it, Gigi.” My sister was so talented. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“Turn around,” my father said behind us. “Let me see my youngest daughter.”

I slowly spun toward the library sofa, where my father was resting before the wedding started. He looked tired, and I suspected the husbands had kept him up late last night. Giacomo wouldn’t tell me what they did or said, except that they’d arrived at an agreement that suited all of them. And the bandage on his palm meant they’d signed it in blood.

Papà’s face softened and I could see the moisture gathering in his eyes. “Emma, you look beautiful. You all are. I wish your mother were here to see this.”

Frankie slipped her hand into mine, so I reached over to grab Gia’s, as well, linking the three of us together. “I wish she was here, too,” I said.

He smiled, his gaze dragging over each of us. “She’d be so proud of each of you, of how strong and smart you are. Successful and driven. I know I haven’t always been the best father, but I love each of you very much.”

“We love you, too,” Frankie said, her voice tight with emotion. “But you can’t make us cry because the makeup team has already left.”

It wouldn’t matter. I knew I’d spend most of the day in tears. This wedding meant so much to my father, which was why I’d insisted on having it. A happy occasion, surrounded by our family—allour family.

The door to the sitting room flew open and two small sets of feet came running in. “Nonno! Nonno!”

We turned to see Raffaele Ravazzani run into the room, his sister Noemi on his heels. Frankie darted toward them, grabbing the kids before they could reach my father. “Slow down,” she said. “Nonno is resting. Be careful with him. Remember what I said?”

“That we aren’t monkeys and he isn’t a tree,” Rafe repeated, using his English instead of Italian.

“Come over here,” my father said. “Nonno wants to see both of you all dressed up.”

Carefully, the kids went over to my father and stood before him on the sofa. “Mamma mia, how nice you look! Who helped you with your tie, Rafe?”

“My Papà.” Rafe tugged at the small tie around his neck. “But I hate it. It’s too tight.”

“No, it isn’t,” Frankie said. “And don’t pull on it. You can take it off after the photos.”

My father leaned down and squeezed Rafe’s shoulder. “Mine’s uncomfortable, too. Later, we’ll take them off together, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And let me see my beautiful girl,” my father said as he focused on Noemi. “You are so pretty it makes my eyes hurt,” he said softly, then tickled her ribs. She giggled and crawled up onto the sofa next to him, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. My father was gentle and sweet with Noemi, much as he’d always been with me, which confused the heck out of Frankie and Gia. They hadn’t seen this side of him until recently.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Almost time,” Gia answered. “Are you ready?”

More than ready. I didn’t mention how we were already married. This ceremony, surrounded by friends and family, would be the one I’d remember. “Should we go down?”

There was a knock on the door. “Dolcezza?” Fausto said from the hall. “May I come in? Are the kids in there?”

“Pronto!” she called.

My brother-in-law, looking every inch the elegant and handsome Italian older man in his three-piece suit, came into the room, a small baby cradled in his arm. No wonder Frankie’s ovaries couldn’t keep up with him. Fausto spotted the kids with my father and frowned. “What did I tell you both?”

“Not to run around,” Rafe said repeated dutifully, “but—”

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