Chapter 2
Bianca
Hana’s looking like a dream. The fragile lace closes like a frock over the satin bodice and long skirt, covering her slight frame like a smattering of delicate petals spun by a master weaver.
“You are so gorgeous. Mattia won’t know what hit him.”
I expect her to laugh, but the small smile on her face looks strained.
“Wait, you’re not getting cold feet, are you? Did you send me to see if the guys were here so you could do a runner?”
She huffs. “I’m still here. I know my duty.”
Her words make me blink. I draw closer to the standing mirror.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
She sighs, then forces on another smile. Brighter, but only just.
“It’s the jitters.”
I place my hands on her shoulders and meet her eyes in the mirror.
“Mattia loves you.”
She nods, the smile still stiff.
“Hana, you’re scaring me.”
She reaches up and clasps one of my hands.
“Don’t you worry about me. Come on, let’s get this veil on.”
I blink at the sudden change—which feels forced, too—but go ahead with tying the veil in her silky hair. This wedding, this pairing, can’t go wrong, not now. Four months ago, my brother didn’t even know Hana. I met her at Pilates, we became fast friends, and one day, we bumped into him in Manhattan.
Mattia’s gaze landed on her, and it’s never left her whenever she’s around him. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is. Within two months, they were engaged. She assured me this wedding isn’t shotgun, so if not for love…
There’s a knock at the door. The wedding planner. It’s time to head to church. The groom’s party has already left, she confirms, so no chance he’d see the bride in her dress before she makes it to the aisle.
We make our way down, ensuring Hana’s dress and train don’t get crushed in the car. I slip in beside her then pull out my phone. Ingeniously, it’s tucked under my bouquet.
Me: Give me Leo’s number.
Mattia: Why?
Me: Maid of honor duties overlapping with best man’s. Give.
He texts me the number. I save it and start a new thread.
Me: Hey, it’s Bianca. All okay over there?
Leo: Yes. Why?
Me: Just checking.
The three dots keep dancing for long seconds.
Leo: What’s wrong?
God, how has he sussed this out?
Me: Let’s make sure it goes without a hitch.
Three dots again.
Leo: Getting them hitched, you mean?
I smile, send a googly face emoji in reply.
I can’t believe he almost made me laugh right now.
All too soon, we’re in front of the church. Hana hasn’t said a word. She’s not chatty usually, but this feels off.
I make sure we get out, that her dress is pristine on her slender form, then spread out her train, carrying it daintily as we hear the first notes of Pachelbel’s Canon, our cue to enter the church.
I’m focusing on not letting the fragile lace rake upon the stone steps, then the petal-strewn carpet inside. There are gasps as Hana steps in.
Halfway down the aisle, I glance up. My eyes immediately lock with Leo’s dark gaze at the altar next to Mattia.
It’s like a magnet clicking into place, refusing to let up.
Then there’s a tug at my hand. The lace. I focus back on it, and mercifully, we end up at the altar with no tear in the fabric. We’d ripped a small one near the right-hand edge for good luck, an Italian tradition. We don’t need any more, though. Hana settles next to Mattia, and I move to the left, a few feet from the priest.
When the holy man steps forth to start the ceremony, I find myself standing right across from Leo Pellegrini.
A small puff of air escapes me. What a sight he is. Leo always had a powerful figure, but as a teenager, he was more on the gangly side.
Now, he’s filled in, and beautifully so. The pristine lines of his tailored tux can’t hide the well-distributed amount of honed muscle on his big frame. Man works out, looks good, and he knows it. Though there’s no cocky air about him. No, he’s just quietly confident.
Just like he was all those years ago, too. Power, discipline, strength—it’s just who he is.
He was always so nice to me. And it didn’t feel put on, like he was forcing himself to be polite to a young girl whom every grown up saw as a nuisance most of the time. I’m naturally curious, and I ask a lot of questions, sometimes with no filter between my mind and mouth.
Leo never lost patience with me, always taking the time to answer, to explain if he could. If he couldn’t or didn’t know, he’d simply say so. He’s a man who’s always been secure and confident in himself, and kind to me.
He must’ve felt me staring, because he lifts his head up a little and looks at me, pins me with his dark eyes. A lock of dark hair breaks from the swept back mass to brush his forehead, and I hitch in a breath.
It gives him a boyish look, and suddenly, I remember the boy—no, young man—I kissed at sixteen.
The jawline is more striking now, freshly shaved, deliciously pronounced. Lips still more in a tight line than a smile. There’s also a small fanning of lines at the outer corners of his eyes.
Life’s taken a toll on all of us. He’s twenty-eight now. Fully a man.
Something makes me focus back on him.
He’s frowning, thick eyebrows furrowed.
“You okay?” he mouths.
I gulp back. He seems worried about me. Of course, I must’ve made him panic with my texts. Mattia and Hana have said their vows; they’re exchanging rings now.
I give Leo a small nod and a tight smile. I won’t breathe in relief until this ceremony is over and I know Hana’s not done a runner.
Finally, they’re pronounced man and wife. Is it just me, or is the kiss just a perfunctory press of closed lips like at a chaste medieval wedding?
What’s wrong with them? While they’ve never really given in to PDA, there’s a certain complicit air about them usually. Today, they look like strangers who just met at the altar in an arranged—or worse, forced—match.
They start down the aisle, and this time, as I settle behind Hana with her veil in hand, Leo steps beside me.
Right. We’re supposed to exit together. Thanks to who we are—prominent members of the Italian Mafia syndicate—there was no rehearsal to show us the ropes. Too risky to have every one of us present in the same spot twice in a row. The wedding itself is highly guarded.
“What’s wrong?” Leo murmurs.
“I…it’s nothing.”
I can feel the frown directed at me when I refuse to look up at him.
Thankfully, I fall onto my duties as maid of honor and settle Hana back inside the car. Except, Mattia’s to ride with her now.
A large hand closes on my upper arm when the bride and groom’s car takes off.
Tingles register on my naked skin, and I suck in a deep breath. Bad move. A hint of spice on a waft of hot leather fills my nose. It makes me think of warmth, musk, heat, passion—of strong, powerful flesh rippling with strength and power between my thighs, and I’m not thinking a horse here.
No. It’s man. Pure man.
Leo Pellegrini.
“You’re with me,” he says huskily.
Wait, what?
I can’t think as he keeps his hold on my arm and steers me to a waiting limo on the curb. I can hear a few men protesting, but Leo sends them packing right as he ushers me into the back seat, then gets in behind me, closing the door on us.
In these closed confines, the scent of spice is headier. It’s rushing to my head, and I close my eyes.
“ Dio santo , when’s the last time you had anything?”
A bottle of water is thrust into my hand.
“Drink,” he orders.
I don’t demur, and take a few sips.
I don’t know when I’ve drunk it all; I was parched.
My lips are wet—thank goodness I didn’t let any drip onto my dress—and I run my tongue over them to catch any lingering drops.
There’s an audible hitch next to me.
Everything inside me stops when I glance at Leo. His eyes are locked on my lips, two slashes of color on his defined cheekbones.
I can see his hand closing into a fist as his jaw tenses.
Why?
I can already picture him unfurling that big hand on my neck, his long fingers flicking off the pins, keeping my hair up as he tugs me closer to him, drawing my lips to his.
“Leo.”
My gasping his name seems to snap him out of a spell.
He blinks, then it’s like a mask falls onto his face. He’s now stern, severe, in control again.
Did I make him lose control?
Heady thing to envisage, but also the last thing I should think of right now. He could have kissed me if he’d wanted.
Except, he hadn’t wanted, it seems.
I swallow the disappointment back and steel myself.
Leo Pellegrini is five years older than me and my brother’s best friend. They grew up together, which means he knows me since I was a kid.
To him, I’ll probably always be a child.
So be it. It’s not like I could’ve done my all to change his mind. I’m destined to marry someone else. Soon, too. The next wedding in the family will be my own. To a man I know in name only.
It’s my duty, and we, daughters of the Mafia, know duty is expected of us even more than from sons. There’s literally no way out for me except through death.
“Bianca?”
His deep voice shatters the quiet in the limo and also the dismal thoughts in my mind.
I can’t let him know I was fantasizing about him kissing me, about me getting the guy, namely him. It’s been a running fantasy for me since the age of fourteen, and I’m sure I’m not the only girl thinking such thoughts. All the single ladies tonight will fight over him as much as they’ll jostle to get the bride’s bouquet during the toss.
“I really thought today wasn’t going to happen.”
“Why do you say that?”
I shrug. “Something Hana said.”
Or didn’t say, more like. Now that I think of it…
“Has Mattia ever told you he’s in love with Hana?”
Leo frowns. “Well, he married her, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but…”
“Hana’s never said it?”
I nod. “And their kiss wasn’t very convincing, was it?”
Leo stays silent, then his lips start to twitch.
Is he seriously laughing right now? And at me?
I huff and cross my arms in front of my chest.
Leo closes his eyes briefly and then averts his gaze.
Wait, was he looking at my breasts? My arms have propped them up, but…
Dead end, Bianca.
Yes, I should remember this.
“Mattia and Hana, they’re both very private people,” he says.
“But it’s their wedding day! If they’re not happy today, then when will they be?”
“Who says they’re not happy?”
He has a point. Getting married is something momentous, even when you’re doing it when not forced into an arranged alliance. They’re about to embark on a whole new life together. That’s daunting enough, and it surely hits bull’s eye on the wedding day itself.
“I’m being silly, aren’t I?”
“We’re all allowed to be silly sometimes.”
It’s a light quip, but the way Leo says it, I can’t help but feel there’s more to his words.
The limo stops, a valet opening the door. Leo climbs out first and gives me his hand. I take it to alight, not letting myself think of the warmth of his palm, the slight roughness of his skin.
I can’t let myself imagine how that calloused surface would feel on my body.
Ahead of us, Mattia and Hana are getting out of their car. She’s ditched the veil, which means I’m off that duty, at least.
Mattia whispers something in his new bride’s ear, and she turns to him with a soft smile, her gaze shy and demure when she peers up at him from under her lashes.
“They look happy together,” Leo states next to me.
They do. I was making a mountain out of a molehill.
“Today’s a day for fun, for celebration, Bianca.”
I turn to him, my gaze getting lost in his. He has such intense eyes. Any second now, I expect to see licks of fiery emotion lighting them up.
Will he burn me with those flames if I keep staring for long enough?
“Fun,” I hear myself saying. “I don’t know if I still remember what that means.”
I have no idea how this confession spilled out. Fun stopped the day my father called me in Paris four and a half months ago, telling me I was now engaged and he expected me to do my duty. The entire canvas of my life drained of color, like a grayscale filter taking over.
Except, now, I’m seeing flicks of burning orange and red in the depths of dark eyes. The first burst of color, of tone, of brightness in weeks.
And it’s all forbidden.
Fun. Life. Passion. Love.
Leo.
I should remember this.
I should never, ever forget it.