Chapter 2: Domenico - Marrying the Mafia Daddy

As we walk back down the aisle, my hand squeezes Kira’s. She’s trembling—just enough that I can feel it through her fingers.

My men clear a path without being told. I nod at two of my enforcers positioned near the doors. Outside, the air carries the first hint of fall, crisp enough to cut through the cloying heat of the packed church.

The car waits at the curb, my driver already holding the door open. “Mr. DeLuca,” he says, bowing his head. “Mrs. DeLuca,” he says, proving he already knows what went down inside the church.

When he reaches for her hand, I quickly slap him away. “Don’t touch my wife,” I growl, ignoring the amusement curling his lips upward. Nudging Kira forward, I tell her to get in.

As she climbs inside the vehicle, her fingers clutch the bouquet like it’s the only solid thing in the world. She crushes the red roses against the bodice of that dress—the one I chose. I knew it would be stunning on her curvy body. But now the word doesn’t feel accurate.

Lethal might be a better descriptor. Absolutely fucking lethal.

The white is a stark contrast to her long dark brown hair, which makes it pop even more where her strands fall around her shoulders and down her back. Not to mention how much the tight fit is playing with my self-control.

This woman, who couldn’t meet my gaze when I first met her, has been on my mind more than I care to admit. A part of me wanted to make her mine instead of giving her to Paolo.

But the age-gap made her more appropriate for my son, and he needed the opportunity to show me he was a man, one ready to take on responsibilities. Turns out he wasn’t ready, and as a result, I got her.

Back Bay crawls with traffic at this hour, but my driver knows the shortcuts. Kira sits opposite me, her shoulders squared, her gaze fixed on the window. The silence between us is thick enough to choke on. But I don’t shatter it.

She needs time to process what just happened. I can be patient, for now at least. It might even do both of us some good, if I’m honest.

As we reach the venue for the reception and walk through the double doors, I gesture her ahead of me. I don’t mind admitting it’s partly so I can stare at her phenomenal ass.

Fuck!

The lace panels across her back catch the light as she walks, sheer enough that the curve of her spine is visible beneath the fabric. Below, the skirt sweeps behind her, catching the air with each step. The heels put a sexy as fuck sway in her hips, and my cock hardens so fast it’s almost painful.

My son’s an idiot. Not for not wanting her—arranged marriages are what they are—but for rejecting her the way he did. Public humiliation like that is a weak man’s game. Definitely not worthy of someone who thinks he has what it takes to become the next Don.

A man who can’t control his impulses in front of his own men is a man who doesn’t deserve to lead them.

Even though I suspected he’d do something like this, I can’t claim I was completely sure. Not even when I walked in on some bitch bouncing on his dick this morning. But here we are, and his loss is my fucking gain.

I reach forward and catch Kira’s wrist, pulling her back to my side. Her eyes flick up to mine, wide and questioning.

“You walk with me,” I state.

She nods, and I tuck her hand into the crook of my arm, my palm covering her fingers. The men at the door dip their chins as we pass. Inside, the room is already half-full with the necessary faces.

A server appears with champagne flutes on a tray. I take two and hand one to my wife. “To us,” I murmur, clinking my flute to hers.

“Y-yes,” she stammers. “To us.”

I don’t let go of her as we make the rounds. Congratulations are delivered with varying degrees of sincerity, some even with amusement. I keep my responses short. Kira handles it better than I expected—soft-spoken, polite, her smile never quite reaching her eyes but convincing enough.

She looks around as much as she can between conversations. I try to look at the room through her eyes. But I have no idea if she’s disappointed there’s no food arranged, well, apart from the hors d’oeuvre the servers carry.

Sit-down meals have never been Paolo’s idea of a good time. That boy is all about the booze and then getting out of here as fast as possible. Which is also why there was no traditional announcement when we arrived, and there’ll be no first dance.

As the hours tick by and the light outside turns to darkness, I’m feeling restless. I’ve had enough, and I just want to leave.

Speaking of which, I look around for Kira. She went to the bathroom almost twenty minutes ago. Ignoring the man who is trying to get my attention, I go to find her. Reaching the women’s bathroom, I pause when I hear soft cries coming from inside.

Slowly, I open the door to see Kira standing by the sink. Tears stream down her face as she hiccups into her hand. It’s the most beautiful and breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen.

Even though I want to march over there and kiss the tears from her lips, I decide against it. She’ll need time to get her head around her new reality. But she better not be fucking crying because Paolo left her.

That I can’t tolerate.

I slowly back away and go to find Gio, my second in command.

“Boss.” He grins when I find him outside. “That was the least boring wedding I’ve ever been at.”

Shaking my head, I take the cigar he’s offering me. “You know I don’t do boring,” I reply dryly.

His wife, Carly, stands next to him. “Congratulations, Don DeLuca.” She smiles. “How’s your beautiful wife doing?”

“Crying in the bathroom,” I reply with a shrug.

Carly’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?” When I nod, she scoffs. “I’ll go find her.”

As soon as Carly’s gone, Gio asks, “No disrespect, Boss…” I smirk, knowing disrespect is absolutely coming. “But what the fuck possessed you to take Paolo’s place?”

It’s a good fucking question. “A DeLuca wedding was announced,” I say.

“And? Are you honestly telling me you got married just because people expected a DeLuca to get married?”

“Partly,” I reply. “And her dad was blaming her. I didn’t actually consider it until he was about to hit her.” And that’s the truth. Something in me snapped when he raised his hand.

Gio just chuckles and shakes his head. “Never took you for one to have a hero complex,” he retorts.

“You know the saying,” I say, smirking again. “Not all heroes wear capes. Some of us prefer Brioni suits.”

He snorts. “No, but apparently some marry a twenty-one-year-old virgin.”

“Careful,” I growl.

My wife’s virginity isn’t exactly a secret since it was part of her dad’s sales pitch, and Gio was there when we heard it. But that doesn’t mean it’s any of his business now that I’m the one she married.

“Besides, aren’t you the one who told me I should get remarried?” I question, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Gio confirms. “I guess I brought that up a few times. But how real is this marriage, Boss?”

“Real enough.”

“So that’s what you want me to tell the men when they ask questions?”

I scoff. “They should mind their own goddamn business.”

“They’re minding your business,” he retorts. “They were there for one wedding and saw another happen. It’s only natural for them to have questions.”

Fuck, I hate when he makes sense like this. “Tell them it’s real,” I growl. “Kira is my wife. She’ll live with me and accompany me when it makes sense. The marriage is as real as it gets.”

He looks as though there’s more he wants to say, but his phone chimes from his pocket. I watch as he pulls it out and reads whatever text just came through. His expression is grim as he tells me he’s ordered men to keep an eye on Paolo until I decide what to do.

My son was born and raised here, and he isn’t exactly swimming in family members. His maternal grandparents disowned his mom when she married me. Even when Paolo was born, they wanted nothing to do with their daughter or grandchild.

The coldhearted vipers even refused to show up at her funeral.

So, if Paolo’s leaving Boston, I know exactly where he’s going. “Just let him go,” I reply. “I know where he’ll go, and it’s for the best.”

I’m almost done with my cigar and wondering what the fuck is taking my wife so long when Kira and Carly join us.

“Are you two still smoking?” Carly asks, laughing softly.

I meet Kira’s eyes, noting they’re slightly red-rimmed. “You okay?” I ask. At her nod, I take her hand and pull her closer. “Do you want to cut the cake before we leave? Or just get out of here?”

“There’s cake?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She worries her bottom lip while wringing her hands in front of her. “I’d like to get out of here if you don’t mind.”

That’s music to my ears. “Let’s go then,” I say, taking her hand and pulling her out of there. As soon as we’re back in the car, I tell my driver to floor it.

While he zigzags in and out of traffic, I notice Kira peeking at me through her periphery. Every time I meet her gaze, she hurries to look away as though she doesn’t want me noticing. It makes me chuckle. I’m way too old for such games.

“Spit it out,” I demand.

“Spit what out?”

“Whatever’s on your mind,” I clarify, leaning forward so I can squeeze her knee. “You look like you have something to ask me.”

She looks down at my hand on her knee, but wisely doesn’t remove it. “I was just wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Where’s my dad? I thought he would come to the reception,” she finally rushes out.

Chuckling, I squeeze her knee. “I’m imagining he’s at the hospital getting his wrist looked at.” It’s been hours, but considering Harry’s penchant for gambling, I don’t expect him to have good enough medical insurance to cut the line.

Nodding, she mumbles, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I mean, I’m grateful you stopped him, and I’m not trying to protect him,” she hurries to clarify, and that intrigues me. “But now he might take it out on my mom. And I already did everything I could to help her. So now I just need—”

“What do you mean he’ll take it out on your mom?” I ask, genuinely confused.

From the research I did, I thought Paige Adams was in the hospital after a car accident almost a year and a half ago. If I remember correctly, she was diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury.

Kira looks down at her steepled fingers. “My mom requires life support and continuous specialist neurological care.” Squaring her shoulders, she finally meets my gaze. “And Dad keeps threatening to just… stop it all so he can cash in her life insurance.”

Ahh, and now it all makes sense. Why Harry Adams proposed the marriage deal, why he was so eager for half the money upfront, and why Kira agreed to marry my son.

What a tangled web we weave.

“So you’re here, in your wedding dress, to save your mom,” I say out loud, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“Are you, um, disappointed?” she asks nervously.

I can’t help laughing. “Disappointed?” Leaning closer, I catch her gaze. “It doesn’t fucking matter to me why you put that dress on, walked your sweet ass down that aisle, or why you said ‘I do’ to me.”