Page 2 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
I sit up abruptly, the room spinning like a carnival ride. My stomach lurches, but it’s not just from the hangover anymore.
It’s from the growing certainty that I did something spectacularly stupid last night.
That’s when I see it.
The morning light streaming through the curtains catches something on my left hand, making it sparkle like a tiny star. I lift my hand, and my breath catches in my throat.
A wedding ring.
Huge diamond. Matching gold band. Sitting on my finger like it belongs there.
I stare at the rings, pulse thudding in my ears.
Did I really get married last night? To Lorenzo? A man I barely know?
I mean, I know I’m impulsive. I’ve made plenty of questionable decisions in my life.
Like the time I decided to learn how to ride a motorcycle on a whim, or when I booked that solo trip to Costa Rica without telling anyone. But getting married to a stranger in Vegas?
That’s a bit much even for me.
The sound of a key card in the door makes me freeze.
My blood turns to ice as the door swings open. Lorenzo walks in like it’s the most natural thing in the world, carrying two coffee cups, looking freshly showered and perfectly dressed, like he didn’t just survive a night of alcohol poisoning.
He’s tall, well over six feet, with salt-and-pepper hair that somehow makes him look distinguished rather than old. His smile is warm and familiar, like we’ve done this dance a thousand times before.
He extends one of the coffee cups toward me, his easy smile never wavering.
“Good morning, wife.”
2
LORENZO
My bride staresat me like I’ve just told her the sky is purple and gravity works sideways.
She doesn’t take the coffee I’m offering, some ridiculous fancy thing with enough caramel to rot teeth, but I’ve watched her order it every single day this week. I set it on the dresser next to her phone.
I take a slow sip of my own coffee. Black. No sugar. The way a man drinks it when he’s had to make decisions that would break weaker people.
“What the hell happened last night?” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. She waves her left hand at me, the diamond catching the morning light. “And areyouresponsible for this?”
The fire in her eyes makes something primal stir low in my gut. Most people look at me with fear or calculated respect. She’s looking at me like she wants to throw something heavy at my head.
I like it.
I hold up my own hand, showing her the black tungsten band that now claims me as thoroughly as it claims her.
“Congratulations,Mrs. Andretti,” The words taste like victory. “We got married just before midnight last night.”
She stumbles backward like I’ve physically struck her. Still wearing that bridesmaid dress in pale purple that makes her brown skin glow like she’s been kissed by sunlight, with her black hair wild around her shoulders. She looks like she’s trying to wake up from a nightmare.
I expected this reaction. Hell, I planned for it. What I didn’t plan for was how fucking gorgeous she’d look doing it.
“This is insane.” She shakes her head so hard I’m worried she’ll give herself whiplash. “It can’t be true. I barely know your name. I wouldn’t marry you.”
“You would if you were too plastered to remember your own middle name.”
