Page 153 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

A flutter of excitement runs through me, but there’s also an undercurrent of worry. The past six weeks with Dante have been a blissful bubble, but the uncomfortable fact still hangs in the air—Owen Novak died before he could talk. Someone is still out there, waiting, watching.

It’s the same reason why Orlando’s protective instincts have been in overdrive this past week. Just this morning he insisted on beefing up the perimeter again, not caring that it pushed the ceremony back by a couple of hours.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I think of my father’s dedication. In the short time since discovering my true parentage, we’ve grown remarkably close. I still catch Dante bristling whenever De Luca drops by the house with flowers or gifts, which seems to be happening with increasing frequency. The man is not used to sharing me with an overenthusiastic daddy.

A gentle knock at the door breaks through my thoughts. “Come in,” I call.

The door opens, bringing with it a rush of cooler air from the hallway. Sophie enters first, resplendent in a floor-length gown of powder blue. The empire waist accommodates her pregnant belly beautifully, the chiffon fabric flowing gracefully as she moves.

Kira follows, her steps light and graceful in a halter-neck dress of the same light blue. The silk hugs her curves before flaring out at the knee, a subtle mermaid style that suits her perfectly.

Finally, Bianca enters, her heels clicking decisively on the hardwood floor. Her dress, also in blue, features a one-shoulder design with intricate beading that catches the light with every movement.

“Oh, Addy, you look absolutely unreal,” Sophie gushes, her voice thick with emotion. Her fingers, cool and gentle, adjust my veil, the gossamer-thin fabric settling around my shoulders like a cloud.

Kira hums in agreement, her hazel eyes shining as she reaches out to finger the intricate lace of my sleeve.

Bianca moves around me, her experienced hands making final adjustments to my dress. Her touch is sure and motherly as she smooths out invisible wrinkles. If there’s anyone I’m most grateful to, it’s her. She’s had to give up so much to accommodate me. Here I am, the daughter she never asked for, about to marry the man she wanted for her own daughter.

I catch her eye in the mirror, returning her smile with a grateful one of my own.

Finally satisfied that I look perfect, Bianca pushes a black case into my hand. “Orlando wanted to give this to you himself, but I don’t think he trusts himself not to break down. He says it was the last gift he bought . . .” she hesitates, swallowing hard, “Naomi. One he never got to give her before she died.”

I take the box and open it with trembling hands, and that’s when the tears, hot and salty, start to fall.

There is a collective gasp in the room. I hear Sophie softly whispering to Kira, telling her what’s got them spellbound.

A pair of diamond and sapphire teardrop earrings nestle in the rich black suede lining. A name engraved inside the case: Naomi. And then a folded note, the ink of the scrawl not completely dry.

Here is something borrowed and something blue. An old flame that refuses to die and a new one to burn for all time. All my love, Orlando.

A sob escapes me.

“Ah ah ah.” Bianca’s curt command and her single finger held up somehow repress the dam of tears about to burst through me. She dabs at the corners of my eyes, then clasps the earrings on me while I try hard to hold in the sobs. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to my mother.

I want nothing more than to share the moment with Dante.

“I can’t believe Orlando kept it all this while,” Sophie whispers in disbelief as she dabs at her own eyes.

As they continue to fuss over me, my fingers find the teardrop earrings nestled against my neck as I just stare at the mirror. Orlando says I look just like her. I close my eyes and imagine if she was here today. What would she think of me? Of Dante? A pang of longing shoots through my chest, as grief threatens to overwhelm me.

“Adele?” Bianca’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts. “Are you alright, dear? You look a little pale.”

I blink, realizing that at some point I’ve sat down heavily on the arm of the nearby chaise longue. The other women have paused in their ministrations, their faces now etched with concern. Bianca’s hand rests gently on my shoulder, a warm, comforting weight.

“I’m fine,” I manage, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my lips. “Just a bit overwhelmed, I think.”

The room suddenly feels too small, too warm. The floral scent that earlier seemed pleasant now is starting to choke me. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself, but the corset restricts my movement, adding to my discomfort.

“I just want Dante,” I blurt out.

Bianca’s face softens with understanding, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “Oh, you’ll have him in no time, cara. Orlando will take you to the altar in another . . .” She checks her watch. “Ten or fifteen minutes. What I do think you need right now is a moment to yourself,” she announces, her tone gentle but firm.

“Come along, ladies. Let’s give Adele some space to breathe and take it all in. The ceremony is almost starting anyway. We should go take our places.”

Relief washes over me at her words. As much as I appreciate their support, the solitude suddenly seems like a lifeline.

Sophie squeezes my shoulder before waddling toward the door, one hand on her swollen belly.

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