Chapter 18
Present
Long Island, New York City
“NO WAY. IT’S TOO SOON.”
“The longer we put it off, the weaker we look. We already told the others you two have been engaged for six months.”
I turned my head, death glaring at Gìovanni for even daring to speak after getting me into this mess.
“I’m not getting married in two days, Gìo!”
“Why not? This Sunday or the next, same shit.”
“Why are you being such a–”
“Alright. Alright. Both of you, calm down,” Dad cut in. “Francesca, you agreed to move forward with this. Therefore, I expect you to be cooperative and do everything in your power to pull this deal through.”
Taking a deep breath, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
“Now…” Dad clasped his hands on the dark wood desk between us, behind him the view of the city from my family’s penthouse. “How about we ask the groom what he thinks?”
I glared into the side of Matteo’s face. Why did he have to be so… So…
When he turned to look at me, I focused my eyes back on the oak desk in front of us.
He’d flown in from Miami one week ago.
But he didn’t bother to call me.
Not before or after our little spectacle at Zach’s birthday.
I hadn’t seen him in over a month, and the first time we were in the same room since, was when he showed at my family’s mansion in Long Island an hour ago.
He came over with flowers and wine for the lunch we were going to have and handed them to my mom, who seemed a little too happy for me when I told her about what Matteo and I were doing for the next year.
She’d always been close the Trevor’s parents, the Sus, who’d also raised Zach, Matteo’s younger brother – the details unclear to me. But she’d always loved Zach, and I guess by default his family. I knew my parents had known the Di’Ablos before they passed, though I hadn’t known how much.
“Whatever Francesca decides, I am good with.” Matteo replied, his gaze burning into the side of my face.
I bit down hard on my cheek.
Now, we were sitting next to each other, our previous roles entirely switched.
Him, cool, calm, and collected.
Me, my heart beating out of my chest, and my eyes darting from time to time to the bulge in his trousers, knowing I’d ruined a pair just like that less than a month ago.
I frowned. Did he still have my panties? No. The asshole probably threw them in the trash as soon as I left. I knew I should’ve taken them. They were Limited Edition Victoria’s Secret.
“That’s nice.” My dad raised a brow. “Right, Francesca?”
I smiled at father, though made no effort to acknowledge my groom. We had yet to say a word to each other.
Nice.
Nice.
The damned word burned in my chest.
That was all anybody seemed to say and think of him.
News broke out last week that I was engaged to Matteo Di’Ablo. He’d gotten down on one knee, and I’d said yes with happy, happy tears in my eyes.
Even now, a week later, I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling.
All week, people stopped me just to congratulate me and wish us, the enamored couple, nothing but happiness. Some even went on small rants about how happy they were for me, to end up with such a nice guy like Matteo Di’Ablo after years of being single.
I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to violently murder my groom and everyone who basically called me a bitch through a twisted round of backhanded compliments.
“I know you have already threatened the poor guy,” My father tried easing me into the situation a few days ago.
“But I wanted you to know I spoke to him myself as well. I’ve known him for a long time.
Nice guy. I used to know his parents for a very long time before they passed.
I want you to know you will be safe with Matteo. ”
Even our driver and maid stopped me to say they were happy to finally see me in love.
“I know this isn’t ideal, but Matteo is a real nice guy,” Tony said to me while we watched the newest action movie last night. “Give him a chance.”
“Isn’t he nice, Francesca?” My mother had whispered with a smile as she walked into the kitchen earlier today, carrying the two bouquets of Carnations Matteo had brought.
I refused to welcome him at the door and instead chose to hide until it was absolutely necessary to talk to him.
“So sweet of him to bring you flowers. I can’t believe you didn’t come say hi. You’ll have people think us animals.”
“You’ll be fine,” Gìo tried comforting me in a low voice just before we entered the dark office an hour ago. “Matteo’s a nice guy. You two will get along just fine.”
If I heard the word one more time, I was going to pull a trigger.
Though, my chest tightened for a different reason.
I didn’t want my wedding to be fake. I didn’t want to do the dress and venue and flowers like this… Knowing it was going to end by the end of the year. Knowing my celebration of love and vow in the church would be nothing more than just business.
“Let’s just do it at the courthouse.”
“What?” Gìo turned to me like I was crazy.
“We can go and get it all done today since the contracts are already drawn. And we don’t even have to invite anyone, so that saves us the time.”
“No one will believe the Francesca DeMone, spoiled princess of the Cosa Nostra, got married like that.”
“Yes, they will. Because…” I softened my eyes and pitched my voice a little higher. “We were so in love, we just couldn’t wait anymore!” Relaxing my face, I gave my brother a triumphant sibling ‘fuck-you’ look.
When I turned to Matteo, he looked impressed. Maybe even pleased. “Alright.”
I nodded. “Alright.”
“No.” The definite tone of my father shattered the agreement. Even Matteo frowned.
“Dad!”
“The two of you will get married next Sunday. If you don’t work out the details yourselves, I’ll do it myself.”
“As in hire somebody to.”
“No, Francesca. I will sit in my office all day having cake tastings and looking at dress designs.”
“Ha ha.”
My father smiled, but within a second, he was already standing at heading out of the office with an arrogant-looking Gìovanni. “I want the invitations sent this weekend, the latest, cara!”
I sank back into the leather chair the moment the door closed behind my father, the sound of it clicking shut echoing like a verdict.
The study smelled of old mahogany and cigars – every inch of it masculine, imposing, suffocating.
Golden light from the window spilled across Matteo’s sharp profile as he stood by the desk, one hand buried in his trouser pocket, the other adjusting his cuff link like none of this fazed him.
Matteo turned, his mouth curving into that signature half-smirk that somehow made me want to hit him and kiss him in the same breath. “Don’t look so happy, princesa.”
“Excuse me if I’m not exactly thrilled about my father deciding my marriage like it’s a board meeting.”
He chuckled lowly, the sound rich and unbothered. “Oh, trust me, I didn’t jump at the idea either.”
I tilted my head, meeting his gaze. “Then why agree to it?”
His smirk softened, just slightly. “Because your father knows how to negotiate. And I’m not one to say no to opportunity.”
I frowned, crossing my arms. “What kind of opportunity requires a wedding ring?”
Matteo leaned in closer, slow and deliberate, the way a predator moves when it’s not hungry – just amused. “Money.”
“Money?” I repeated flatly. It… Really had been true.
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Money. Men. Trade routes. Call it what you want. It’s business, Donna.”
I looked away, out the wide window to the gray Long Island gardens, where the autumn wind moved through the trees like a quiet warning. “So that’s all this is,” I said softly. “Money and business.”
“Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
My gaze snapped back to him, sharper than I intended. He wasn’t mocking me – not exactly – but he was challenging me. Matteo always did.
He threw his arm around the back of our armchairs, the sunlight glinting off his watch, his golden-brown hair catching hints of copper in the light. “You get your title,” he continued, voice low. “Underboss Francesca DeMone. And I get a check. Everyone wins.”
“Except the bride,” I muttered.
He smiled at that – small, knowing, dangerous. “Next time, princesa, maybe your family shouldn’t bite off more than they can chew. Then we wouldn’t be here.”
I stared at him, exasperated and a little breathless all at once. Matteo was impossible. Infuriating. Infinitely composed in the face of chaos my family created.
And yet, somewhere deep down, beneath the irritation and the exhaustion, a part of me already knew – if I had to be tied to someone in this world, it could have been a lot worse than him.
Still, I leaned back, folding my arms, chin tilted in defiance. “Fine,” I said. “Next Sunday, then. But don’t expect me to smile for the pictures.”
His eyes gleamed, a flash of amusement beneath something darker. “You’ll smile, Francesca. You always do.”
It lingered between us – thick, charged, humming like static in the air. I could still feel the faint echo of our last encounter, that kiss in Vegas neither of us had meant to happen. It had been heat and impulse and too much honesty in a moment that should’ve stayed business.
Now, sitting here with Matteo again, in my father’s office, it felt like all of it – Hawaii, the laughter, the water, the sunrise, Miami – had been a dream. A blip. Something I had no right to remember as vividly as I did.
“What’s wrong?”
Matteo’s voice startled me.
He always knew. He always saw through me, and I hated how easily he did it.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
“I just… I never dreamed about my wedding. Never cared.”
His brow lifted, subtle but curious.
I sighed. “But now that it’s actually happening, I realized… It’s not going to be anything close to what I’d want.” I gave a small, helpless shrug. “If I ever cared about that sort of thing.”
His frown deepened, soft lines creasing his forehead. “You can have whatever wedding you want. You know that.”