Page 51 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

Roman’s waiting at the bar. As I take a seat beside him, he slides me an amber-colored ale. “Well?”

I shrug, leaning on the dark polished mahogany. “It’s done. She’s not an idiot, even if her brother is. She sees there’s no other choice.”

“Did you work the Villani magic?”

“Something like that,” I say, picking up the glass and staring down at the thin foam on top.

“Congratulations.” Roman clinks his glass to mine. “You’re marrying up.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” I take a long sip of the cold beer. He’s being an ass, but this marriage will position me where I want to give mewhatI want.

My victory is going to be huge and nothing, no one, will get in my way.

Not even a redhead with emerald-green eyes and claws. One who tastes sweet, forbidden, and who will be mine.

For as long as I need her to be.

“There’s something more here,” Roman says in Italian as he toys with his glass. “What you had me do?—”

“Part of my plan. I’m moving things into position, that’s all. Making sure this is secure.” I place my glass on the coaster as a swell of noise and laughter rides over us. I lower my voice. We’re speaking our mother tongue, but I still don’t trust others around us. And my lies to Roman, well, he’s family and I protect mine. The less he knows the better. “This is a pivotal piece. The marriage is, as I said, important.”

That much is true.

“Matteo—”

“This is the right move—for all of us. It eliminates potential issues and keeps people safe.”

“And makes you a shit ton of money.”

“That, too.”

Roman swivels around, eyeing the blonde waitresses hustling around the place with drink trays. “You never marry a blonde.” He’s switched back to English. “You just fuck ’em. You marry the brunettes.”

“What do you do with the redheads?” I ask.

“You make sure to get out of the way of their temper, otherwise their fire will singe the hair on your ass before you can make a run for it,” a thick Irish brogue says behind us.

I turn in the direction of the voice. A middle-aged woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and laughing blue eyes hidden by big eyeglass frames stares at us. The one who’d been talking with my bride-to-be. She leans toward us. “We weren’t formally introduced in the kitchen.”

I turn on the charm and hold out my hand. “Matteo Villani, and this is my brother, Roman.”

She clasps firm fingers around mine and shakes, eyeing us both. “I’m Heaven’s Aunt Maura.” She looks up at me like there’s something she wants to say but is debating it. “May I have a moment, Matteo?”

“Anything for such a beautiful woman as yourself.”

Her eyes narrow a moment, and it’s almost like a sucker punch, how much she looks like Heaven in that instant. And I instantly recalibrate the charm to a lower level that borders on politeness and honesty.

“Not to mention astute,” I add.

This time she smiles, and I rise and follow her away from the bar, toward a hallway off the main dining room. Maura stops once we’re somewhat secluded.

“Matteo, I don’t know the reasoning for all this and I won’t ask. I know how things work.” Her tone is pleasant, face still smiling, but she’s all steel.

I don’t like many people, but I find myself liking her. Perhaps the intelligence quota in this family went to the females.

“You didn’t take me aside to tell me that.”

She lifts a thin eyebrow. “Heaven is a special girl, and Declan must either think very highly of you, or of your ability to keep her safe. That said, she absolutely hates the idea of this marriage, even if she did agree to it.” Her gaze moves over me. “Not that she had much choice.”

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