Page 1 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
1
MIA
I wakeup feeling like someone’s been using my skull as a piñata at a particularly violent Cinco de Mayo celebration.
My head pounds with each heartbeat. My mouth tastes like I’ve been licking the floor of a distillery, and swallowing hurts like hell. The sunlight streaming through the hotel curtains feels like tiny daggers stabbing directly into my brain.
I roll over with a groan, burying my face in the pillow. What the hell happened last night?
When the throbbing in my skull doesn’t magically disappear, I force myself to sit up and take stock of the damage.
My bridesmaid dress is twisted around my body like a lavender straightjacket, and my shoes are scattered across the floor like evidence of a very fancy crime scene.
I’m alone in my hotel room, thank god, but the state of things suggests I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders when I got back.
Jill’s wedding. Right.
The whole reason I’m in Vegas is to watch my best friend marry her tech mogul prince charming in a ceremony that was absolutely stunning.
I remember the ceremony. The way Jill glowed walking down the aisle, how her voice shook with emotion during the vows.
The reception was incredible. Crystal chandeliers, enough flowers to make a botanical garden jealous, and a dance floor that called my name from the moment I walked in.
And then...
The memories start trickling back like water through a broken dam.
I remember dragging Jill and Olivia onto the dance floor early in the night, already making questionable decisions with a drink in each hand. My sequined dress caught the lights with every spin, and the bride’s gown flowed like a white river as she twirled, laughing.
Then came the shots with the bridesmaids. Line after line of little glasses filled with liquid fire that burned going down but made everything feel loose and wild. Olivia trying to pace us, ever the responsible one. Me ignoring her completely because moderation has never been my strong suit.
And then…him.
Lorenzo.
The memory hits me like a freight train. Tall, dark, handsome in that dangerous way that should come with warning labels. Older than me by a good fifteen years, wearing the kind of suit you don’t buy off the rack. He had these intense dark eyes and a smile that made my knees forget how to function properly.
When he asked me to dance, the night took on an entirely different energy. The memories are coming faster now, fragmented but vivid. His hands on my waist. His voice in my ear, low and rough. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. More drinks. More dancing.
Running across the Strip.
Oh shit. That’s right. At some point, he and I had escaped the reception and somehow ended up on Las Vegas Boulevard. I remember the neon lights blurring together like a kaleidoscope, the feel of pavement under my bare feet because I’d abandoned my heels somewhere along the way. The two of us laughing like we’d discovered some incredible secret, stumbling between casinos like we owned the damn city.
The fountain.
The memory hits me with perfect clarity. Standing on the edge of the Bellagio fountain while Lorenzo watched from the sidewalk, his eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and fascination.
“You’re insane,” he’d called out, but he was grinning.
“Life’s too short to play it safe!” I’d shouted back, arms spread wide like I was embracing the whole glittering city.
When he’d looked at me like I was magnificent instead of crazy, something electric had shot through me. I’d jumped down and grabbed his hand. “Your turn to do something reckless.”
A chapel with neon signs and fake flowers.
Fuck.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
