Heart of the Mobster (Lords of New York #8)

Prologue

Gabriella

“She’s here!”

The church falls into a hush, air thick with excitement and the only sound left is the soft murmur of the guests and the gentle swell of music.

The lights dim, casting a warm glow over the floral arrangements and the polished wood of the pews.

I straighten as the music shifts from a slow ballad to the procession song, “Love Me Tender.”

The doors slowly open and the bride looks like something out of a fairy tale in a dress that flows around her like a dream—a masterpiece of delicate lace and silk crafted by a designer flown from Italy for the occasion.

The intricate patterns of the lace catch in the light when she steps into the church and the fabric moves with her, a whisper of elegance and beauty.

Her white hair is styled in soft waves, a few tendrils curling loose around a stunning face.

And her eyes—those vivid green eyes—see no one else but the groom.

And when she starts mouthing the lyrics of the song, all else seems to fade.

“Love me tender, love me long. Take me to your heart...”

I tear my eyes from the bride and turn slowly to the groom, and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when I read the naked emotion on his face—the love.

He’s mouthing the lyrics back to her in a moment that feels deeply private and intimate.

Everyone else is too busy watching the bride and her breathtaking gown to notice the groom, or his glistening eyes.

I should be happy.

This room holds a crowd of the most important people in my life, all smiles and happy tears. This should easily be one of the happiest days of my life.

And it is. I am happy…I swear I am.

This is the happiest I’ve ever seen my father.

He stops singing and smiles as he watches his bride walk down the aisle, his expression soft with a look of love in his eyes I never saw directed at me.

He is a good father—present and caring, but no one would ever accuse him of being overly affectionate, certainly not me.

At first, I thought that was simply the way he was.

A don. A mobster. His permanent scowl and cold eyes made sense.

I told myself that a guarded man like that struggles to admit love openly, even to his only daughter.

Leonardo Rossi is a family man through and through.

He gave me everything I wanted, spoiled me rotten with everything but affection.

For years, I was content with that. I told myself that money was the only way a man like him could show love. But…

I guess I was wrong.

He shows it freely now in front of all these people—business partners and men who both fear him and answer to him.

His eyes shine with the threat of tears, a quiet smile for his bride, no shame whatsoever for the emotions on display.

What I feel watching him is harder to name.

This isn’t the consuming soul-deep love he carried for my mother—I’ve always understood that.

What he and Estella have found is quieter than that.

Steadier. Two people who each buried a great love and found their way to something gentler, something comforting.

She has always honored my mother’s memory, never once tried to fill a space that wasn’t hers to claim, and he has done the same for her late husband.

That mutual grace is what makes them work.

And still, I am happy for him. Genuinely.

I hold my smile and pretend my chest doesn’t ache. Try to act as if I haven’t spent years longing to see love in the eyes of the man who sired me. But...how could he?

How could he look at me and not feel the ache of what he lost?

I am the reason his first love died. I am the reason he never got to grow old with her and will never get to sing these lyrics to her now.

For nearly two decades, he’s lived in pain with the memory of losing Antonia—the mother of his five children, the woman he built his world around.

He was robbed of a lifetime with her, and none of it would have happened if I had never been born.

If only they’d never had me, then maybe…

I shake off the thought as it surfaces, forcing my smile when it threatens to slip.

I can’t think about the past—one I’ve been reminded repeatedly that I had no control over.

My brothers have done their damnedest to fill the emotional well left empty by my father’s distance. But today is not about me, dammit!

No, today is not the day to wallow. I’ve never seen my father this happy, and I ought to hold onto that.

My eyes drift from my father to his bride, Estella.

A stunning woman with the kind of face men go to war for and kind eyes that carry warmth wherever she looks.

Their engagement came as no surprise to anyone.

Estella and her family have been close to ours since I was small, and when that friendship deepened into something more, we were all glad.

I couldn’t have asked for a kinder stepmother, and I love her for it… so why does my heart ache?

My fingers tighten on the bouquet as my eyes move from Estella to the men walking her down the aisle.

Her two sons, Bruno and Nico, both dressed in perfectly tailored tuxedos.

I find myself watching the younger of the two, Niccolò Benito, the man I’ve harbored a secret crush on since I started seeing boys as something more than overprotective brothers.

And he’s about to become my new stepbrother.

Nico has been in my life for as long as I have been alive. He and my oldest brother, Matteo, are thick as thieves, and when he officially started working for my family, his place in our home was cemented.

I don’t remember falling in love with Nico—only realizing that I already had.

My heart would race whenever I heard his voice in our kitchen, and knowing he’d spent the night did things to me as a teenager.

Pulse fluttering, I would work up the courage to approach him, only to be met by that gorgeous face, framed by dark blond hair, eyes the color of sea glass, a smirk on that infuriating mouth I’ve wanted to kiss for years.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and built in a way that short-circuited my teen brain.

I would melt, turn into an awkward, babbling idiot in the presence of a man twelve years older.

I was well aware the attraction was one-sided. It didn’t seem to matter to me.

Even now, I can’t look away as he walks his mother down the aisle, every step bringing him closer to a permanent place in my family.

My stepbrother.

Sweet lord, I knew the odds were against me—that Nico would never see me as anything other than his best friend’s little sister—but I’d clung to that sliver of hope anyway.

What was the harm in hoping? Well, now I know.

Once he becomes my stepbrother by law, that hope dies.

I’ll be forced to watch him fall for someone else, sit through his wedding, and pretend I’m not quietly coming apart as he makes his vows to a woman who isn’t me.

Deep breaths, Gabby. Today is not about you.

I manage to quiet the voice in my head long enough to focus on the ceremony.

I watch Nico place his mother’s hand in my father’s.

After a quiet exchange between the two men, our parents turn to the priest. The music fades as the man in a white robe begins to speak about the sanctity of marriage. My mind drifts anyway.

I should stop looking at Nico. Once the ceremony ends, he is my stepbrother. I have to stop stealing glances at him. I must.

And yet, my gaze seeks him once again—the line of his jaw, the way the tux sits on those shoulders, the V of his throat above his collar.

A body I have seen half-naked before. From my bedroom window, I’ve watched him and my brothers in the pool more times than I can count—rivulets of water tracing the lines of his chest, sliding down to his abs, and vanishing into his shorts along a perfectly defined V-line.

Found myself tempted to go down there and lick—

Stop, Gabby. Look away.

I do. Then my eyes wander back—to that strong jaw, the mouth I’ve spent years wanting to know.

I wonder what kind of lover he is. Would his kisses be sweet and gentle or is he the kind to stake a claim?

I bite my lower lip, letting my eyes linger a moment too long, and when I finally look up, my breath snags.

He’s watching me. Intensely.

I flush, mortified at being caught staring, but I can’t drag my eyes away to save my life.

There is nothing playful in the way his eyes hold mine—none of the easy warmth I’m used to from him.

For one terrifying moment, with my heart lodged in my throat, I am almost certain he’ll close the distance between us and kiss me.

That I’ll finally know what his mouth feels like.

Heat pools low in my stomach, a heat I usually only allow myself to feel in the privacy of my bedroom.

Can he tell? Can he see how badly I want him?

Forbidden.

“If anyone has any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace…”

The words snap the spell. Nico’s expression shifts—warm again, and he winks at me.

My flush deepens. I look away, half-hoping someone in this crowd will jump up and object—anything to keep the ceremony from finishing, to give me one more day before he becomes untouchable.

But no one does. No one would dare. My father is the don of one of the most powerful Italian mob families in New York, and anyone who tried to disrupt this day would not enjoy the consequences. Still.

But no one speaks. No one stands up, so the priest continues.

Despite my heartache, I force my eyes forward and keep them there—through the vows, through the kiss, through the applause—refusing to look his way. Refusing to let anyone see how much this costs me.

I want him.