33
Liv
It’s the weekend now, and Alessio thought it would be a fantastic idea to announce our engagement.
Without consulting me, because why would he?
He called his parents and scheduled dinner with them when they return from Portofino, where they’ve been vacationing for the last three weeks.
I didn’t technically agree to meet them, but I didn’t exactly say no, either.
The whole conversation happened right as he handed me a brand-new phone, one I get to keep and use as I want.
Strings attached.
.
.
definitely.
Am I ignoring that fact for now?
Also, yes.
The first thing I did was call Clover.
I kept things vague and told him I was traveling and seeing the world.
It’s not a total lie, just a heavily filtered version of the truth.
No way am I dropping the ‘Hey, I’m engaged to a mafia boss’ bomb over the phone, especially when Alessio probably has some goon monitoring my calls.
I’ll tell Clover eventually, just not today .
Meanwhile, Alessio’s throwing another dinner to “share the news” with his so-called most trusted men.
Alessio was quick to mention the asshole Alonzo will be here but assured me the prick knows better than to even glance in my direction.
That’s mildly comforting.
Plus, I’ll have the big bad Warden sitting next to me for moral support, from the guy who kidnapped me.
Right now, I’m in crisis mode.
Like, what in the hell am I going to wear?
I stand in the walk-in closet, with my arms crossed, staring at a sea of dresses like one will magically jump out at me.
Nerves twist in my stomach, but I don’t have the option to skip out on this dinner.
“Paola!” I yell.
“Yes, Liv?” Paola calls back, rushing into my room.
I know I startled her as she was dusting or fluffing pillows for the third time today.
The house is spotless, but she insists it needs to sparkle, like Alessio’s guests will run white-gloved inspections mid-dinner.
“I need help,” I plea, waving helplessly at the overwhelming rack of dresses.
Her face lights up.
“You called the right person, dear,” she says, beaming like this is her favorite emergency.
Paola steps into the closet, like a woman on a mission, gently nudging me aside so she can examine my options, as if she didn’t pick out every dress in here .
It’s been years since I played dress-up, but at this point, I’m more than happy to let her take the reins.
This dinner feels like walking into a lion’s den wearing a meat suit, and I have zero clue what qualifies as mafia fiancée appropriate.
Murder-chic?
Hostage-couture?
The options are endless and all terrible.
Paola clicks her tongue, planting her hands on her hips as she scans the closet.
“I wish you’d mentioned this sooner. I could’ve special-ordered something that screams, ‘touch me and die,’” she says, using air quotes with a mischievous spark in her eyes.
“But don’t worry, you have a good selection to choose from. We’ll find something perfect.”
God, I hope so.
An hour later, I’m staring at my reflection, giving myself a once-over in the mirror, taking in the emerald-green Valentino satin mini dress Paola swore was perfect.
The high neck and bubble hem work way better than I ever expected.
Paired with the nude Louboutin heels she insisted I’d need someday, despite my protests that they’d only collect dust.
I have to admit I was wrong, Paola knows her shit.
The dress hugs me in all the right places.
The fabric is soft and complements my figure perfectly.
Flattering but not screaming, look at me.
Thanks to Paola’s magic touch, my hair falls in soft waves with just enough volume to look effortless.
I apply my NARS lipstick, On Edge.
It feels fitting, considering what I’m walking into tonight.
Paola is totally in her element, grinning the entire time, and honestly, I’m enjoying it too.
It’s been so long since I’ve done something like this.
I missed out on these moments with Mom, and having Paola here feels nice.
Comforting in a way I didn’t realize I need.
He appears behind me in the reflection, wearing a black suit tailored to perfection.
His tie is slightly loosened, like he’s halfway between business and sin.
His eyes drift down my body, slow and unapologetic, tracing over every inch of me.
Heat crawls up my neck.
I turn to say something, but he closes the space first.
His arms slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
Heat radiates from his body, and that familiar scent of him wraps around me.
God, he smells way too good for my sanity.
“Sir, the guests should be here any second,” Paola calls from the doorway, trying to sound professional, but the amusement in her voice is impossible to miss.
I laugh and glance over at her.
“I won’t let him ruin all your hard work,” I say, nudging him with my elbow.
Paola smirks and slips out, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving us alone again .
Alessio grumbles under his breath, and his grip tightens around my waist.
I rise onto my toes and press a quick kiss to his lips.
“Come on, big guy. We can’t keep everyone waiting.”
I try to step around him, but his hand catches my arm, pulling me back.
His lips find mine again.
Slower this time, deeper, making my pulse skip.
When he pulls back, his breath ghosts against my ear.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers so low, like he isn’t sure he wants me to hear him.
I should crack a joke, push it off like it’s nothing, but those words land somewhere soft, somewhere I wasn’t ready for.
A stupid smile spreads across my face, that won’t seem to budge.
We stand toe-to-toe, staring at each other.
It’s quiet, but comfortable.
Without saying another word, he laces our fingers and leads me toward the door.
Ready or not, here we go.
Alessio introduces me to his men.
My head spins keeping track of the names and faces of those eager to meet me.
Their respect for him is obvious.
The way they laugh, joke, and wait for his cues—he owns the room.
It feels weirdly nice, like maybe I could picture myself in this world.
Sure, they probably have FBI files thicker than textbooks, but they seem genuinely decent, in their own criminal, mildly terrifying way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Paola.
She flashes me a proud smile that makes my chest squeeze before she turns to a caterer.
“You absolute moron!” she snaps at the poor guy, who nearly drops a bottle of champagne.
I try to catch the rest of her colorful threats, but Kota strolls up, interrupting me from being nosy.
“Looks like congratulations are in order,” he grins, pulling me into a quick side hug.
“Didn’t think the Boss had it in him.”
I smirk.
“What, charm and good taste?”
Kota laughs.
“Nah, to bring someone around who isn’t scared of him. He’s normally... less friendly.”
“Oh, I’m terrified,” I deadpan.
“I just hide it with sarcasm.”
“Bold strategy,” Kota smirks.
“Most people just nod and pray.”
“Yeah, well,” I glance at Alessio, “I like to keep him on his toes.”
Kota grins wider.
“I like you. You might actually survive.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say.
“That’s comforting.”
Kota chuckles, giving my shoulder a light squeeze before stepping back.
“Just saying, most people don’t joke around with him like that. You’ve got guts.”
“Or questionable survival instincts,” I quip, glancing at Alessio.
“Probably both.”
Kota grins.
“Yeah, definitely both.”
Before I can retort, Alonzo shows up with a drink in hand and a stupid smirk in place.
“Didn’t think you’d last this long.”
“Funny.” I give him a bland smile.
“I was just thinking how you light up a room.”
Kota snorts.
“She’s quick. I like her.”
Alonzo raises a brow.
“Careful. That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”
“Pretty sure that ship sailed the moment I met him.” I nod toward Alessio, who, despite pretending to focus on another conversation, is definitely listening.
Alessio walks over, slipping his arm around me.
“Did I miss something?” His words are directed at the group, but his eyes lock on Alonzo.
“Nothing, Boss,” Alonzo mutters before turning on his heel, storming off like a kid denied candy .
Alessio’s thumb brushes against my hip, a silent I’ve got you.
It sends a ripple through me that makes that stupid, cheesy smile come back.
Paola appears behind us.
“Take your seats,” she says, waving a hand toward the table, looking over the staff like she’s ready to bark her next order.
“Dinner will be served shortly.”
We head to the table, but Alessio stops.
“Go sit. I’ll be right there,” before pulling Kota aside, talking about something I can’t hear.
The table is round, and I remember reading about this tradition.
No head of the table means unity.
Tonight, it’s about family and me, apparently.
A way to welcome the newcomer and pull me into his world.
Everyone hovers around the table, waiting for what I don’t know, but no one is sitting.
“They won’t sit unless you do first. Permission and all that,” Paola whispers behind me.
Well…
shit.
I suck in a breath, pull out my chair, and sit.
I look up at the group of men who could probably make people disappear before dessert.
Fake it till you make it, Liv.
“Please, take your seats.”
Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone follows suit and settles in.
No one sits beside me until the chair on my right drags back.
Of course, it’s Alonzo.
He lifts his water glass.
“To Liv. May she survive the night, and us.”
The table responds in cheers ‘to Liv,’ but I don’t pick up my glass.
Not because it’s bad luck to toast with water, but because of his pathetic attempt to insult me, he’s baiting me.
No one else drinks either, which wipes the smug grin off Alonzo’s face.
His cheeks flush a deep red, and he leans in, jabbing my arm with a sneer.
“So, upgraded from whore to housewife, huh?”
I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove it, but then Alonzo freezes, his hands pressing flat on the table, staring behind me.
I don’t need to turn to know why.
Alessio stands a few feet behind the seat to my left, with Kota on his left.
They are both staring at Alonzo.
The room goes silent aside from the waiters moving around us, placing champagne flutes on the table.
“Liv,” Alessio says, looking at me.
“Stand up.”
His men are watching me.
So, I do what any sane person would do in a room full of killers, and what Alessio expects—I listen.
I can practically hear him tell me I’m a good girl, the way he’s eye-fucking me right now as I push my chair back and stand up.
“Take a step back,” he adds.
I move back a couple of feet.
“Here good?”
That sinfully sexy grin flashes at me.
Then it’s gone as he turns back to the table, looking like an ice-cold killer.
“This is Olivia Morano,” he announces.
“My fiancée. Disrespect her in any way, and you will pay. I shouldn’t have to say it once, and I won’t say it again.”
“Yes, Don,” echoes around the table, voices overlapping, each in agreement.
I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
The big, broody killer.
.
.
and yet, he’s standing there, protecting me, claiming me.
Bang.
The gunshot pierces my ears, and Alonzo screams.
He’s clutching his bleeding hand, that is damn near missing right now.
Blood spatters and little pieces of hand hit the table, and me.
I don’t move.
I stand here, frozen.
It’s like everything around me happens so fast and so slow at the same time.
The only thing that registers is the cold blue eyes staring at me and the gun in Alessio’s hand.
“Let that be a lesson,” Alessio says.
“Get him the fuck out of my house.”
Two men leap up, dragging Alonzo away as he swears and howls.
What the hell did I sign up for?