Page 38 of Mafia King of Lies

Her lips tilt up into a smile. “That is my job. To make your life easier.”

It is a little unnerving but I don’t let those words pass my lips. “Shall we go? I’m sure Matteo is waiting for me.”

Tony grunts in response and leads the way down the narrow hallway. I follow, clutching my bag for dear life. My palms are slick with sweat, and my heart hammers against my ribs. This isn’t just a party—it’s a battlefield dressed in silk and diamonds.

The idea of standing beside my husband in a room full of power-hungry sharks sends a chill down my spine. But if this is my fate, I have two options—sink or swim. And I refuse to drown.

12

MATTEO

Ihate these formal events, but what I hate even more is having to play nice when the taste of blood is still fresh on my tongue. I pull at my collar trying to loosen the bowtie. “Fucking hell.”

“You need to be calm,” Valerio mutters beside me. “You can’t look like you’re on the verge of killing someone.”

“I do want to kill someone.” I am still heated from the warehouse. “Two of my men were strung up on a lamppost like trophies.”

Valerio clears his throat as Mayor Collins walks past us with a smile on his lips. “We will get to the bottom of it, but for now can you please be calm. Where is your wife? Tell me, brother, is she allowed to drink yet?”

I elbow the man in the ribs and he doubles over, but instead of whining, he laughs. “Careful, Matteo. Your feelings are starting to show. And it looks like someone can’t take a joke.”

“I can take a joke—just not yours.” I give him an incredulous stare. “You are not funny, not back in high school or now. Now, where is my wife?”

I look down at my watch and see that she is late. I gave her strict instructions to be here on time. I’ll need to teach her about her tardiness.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and search for her number. But just as I am about to dial it, I hear the hushed whispers fall over the entire hall. I lift my head and look to the entrance where I see a woman dressed in all white, looking like an angel.

Wait, is that… Maria? The bartender places a whiskey in front of me, but I push off the hardwood and make my way to my wife.

My eyes move over her body while she is distracted by all that goes on around her.

My God. She is breathtaking in every sense of the word. The dress fits her body so well, like it was made for her. White is truly her color. But she could also wear Barbie pink and still look incredible.

Her makeup is striking, making the green in her eyes even more vibrant. A waiter passes me and I grab two flutes from off the tray, my heart doing little weird pitter-patters in my chest. I don’t miss the wandering eyes trailing over her body. An ugly green jealousy rears its head in the center of my chest. Then my eyes move from her face and down to her neck, and I still.

Why is she wearing that?

That necklace… It’s Beatrice’s. Something turns in my stomach as the flashes of brown eyes move within my mind. I push the feelings down, trying to regain my composure. I cannot afford to be so destabilized amidst so many enemies.

I roll my shoulders and make my way toward her.

Her eyes finally find mine and her lips part. I catch her eyes moving up and down my body appreciatively.

“Well, if it isn’t my wife,” I speak as soon as I get into earshot. I hand her a flute and she takes it with a small smile. I can tellfrom the way her eyes move from place to place that she is out of her depths.

“You didn’t wear the dress I sent for you.” My eyes remain locked on her neck.

She sips on the champagne and then looks at me. “Emily thought this one would suit me more, seeing as I am still a newlywed and all.”

“And the necklace?” I finger the pendant and a rush of memories fill my head. I remember placing that necklace on Beatrice’s neck and the way she had beamed at—no, I will not think of her tonight, her ghost already plagues me enough.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She looks down at the pendant. “I think it matches my dress perfectly.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. The necklace. I shouldn’t care but I do. It looks good on Maria, but it belongs to a ghost. A ghost that still lingers in my mind, in my bed, in my goddamn heart. The memories claw at me—Beatrice’s laugh, the way she tilted her head when she wore this very pendant.

I shove the thought away, but it sticks—like blood that won’t wash off.

I ball my fist at my side to hold myself together. That necklace should not be on her neck, but I can’t make a fuss about it now. We are too exposed here for me to blow a gasket.

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