Married to the mafia King

When I woke the next morning, Adriano wasn’t in bed beside me

And I didn’t hear the sound of the shower in the bathroom.

I had a second of panic

He left without me!

but I told myself that, no, he was probably talking to his brothers.

I showered, put on my clothes that the servants had cleaned, went downstairs, and found out I was right: Adriano and Niccolo were talking in the parlor over a cup of coffee.

Niccolo smiled when he saw me in the doorway. “Ah, bella come in. We were just discussing the details of your upcoming adventure.”

When I walked over, Adriano smiled at me

And pulled me down by my hand and kissed me on the mouth.

I was a little surprised that he’d done it in front of his brotherText content © NôvelDrama.Org.

But I was pleased.

Niccolo just grinned.

Then I sat down next to Adriano, and Niccolo went over the plan in detail.

When he finished, he shrugged. “It’s a gamble, I’ll admit… but I think it will work. And Adriano will be able to improvise if something unexpected happens.”

“And something unexpected always happens,” Adriano muttered.

“Having second thoughts?” Niccolo asked me.

“Yes, but I’m ignoring them,” I replied. “All I need to know is that you’ll keep my parents safe, no matter what.”

“You have my word as well as Dario’s,” Niccolo assured me.

“You won’t make them leave if…?”

My voice trailed off. I couldn’t bring myself to say If something happens to me.

Niccolo knew exactly what I meant. “They’ll live here as honored guests for the rest of their lives.”

“…alright.”

That was all I needed to know.

Before I left, I had breakfast with my mother and father.

As we ate, I struggled not to think of the words ‘one last time.’

My mother knew something was wrong… but she didn’t know what, exactly.

When she asked, I said I had to go to Florence to take care of a few things with Adriano and that when it was over, we’d be back.

I told her to have a good time while I was gone and that Alessandra would take care of her.

My father wouldn’t look at me. He seemed to be caught somewhere between anger and grief.

Finally, when it was time for me to go, he wrapped his arms around me and crushed me in a bear hug.

At first I hugged him back… and then I realized he wasn’t stopping.

“You have to let me go, Papa,” I whispered.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes were red with tears.

“Please… don’t…”

I smiled sadly. “I have to.”

And I kissed his cheek softly and walked out of the kitchen.

Adriano, Dario, Alessandra, and Niccolo were waiting for me at the front door.

“You can still back out if you want to,” Dario said.

I shook my head no. “Just keep my parents safe.”

“I must keep my wife safe, first and foremost but after her, I will put your parents’ lives before my own. You have my word.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

Alessandra took me by the shoulders and looked me deep in the eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? No one would think any less of you if you walked away.”

“I would,” I said softly.

She gave me a sad smile that barely held back her tears. Then she hugged me close.

“Be safe,” she whispered in my ear.

Niccolo shook my hand. “In bocca al lupo.”

It was an old Italian phrase for ‘good luck’ literally, in the mouth of the wolf. Sort of along the lines of ‘break a leg.’

I answered back with the customary reply: “Crepi.”

I hope it dies.

We Italians have a streak of fatalistic pessimism, if you couldn’t tell.

Niccolo smiled grimly…

And then Adriano took my hand, and we walked out to the waiting car.

It was just the two of us. He was quiet as we drove back to the main road.

“I don’t like that you’re doing this,” he finally said.

“Well, I don’t like that you’re doing it, either. But it has to be done, right?”

“Not by you.”

“If I don’t do it, my father has to and chances are he’ll die. Plus, you heard Niccolo last night. Either you fight them here, or you fight them out there. And I, for one, don’t want the fight anywhere near my parents.”

“So you’re just doing it for them?” Adriano asked, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“You asshole,” I said angrily. “Of course not.”

As soon as I said it, I felt a flutter of fear.

I expected his volcanic temper to suddenly explode

But he just looked depressed.

Then he said quietly, “I know.”

I grabbed his right hand and squeezed it.

He sighed heavily. “I wish I’d never said that thing about ‘ride or die.'”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t realize how crazy a bitch you actually are.”

I laughed out loud, and he cracked a smile.

“I think I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” I said.

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers hard. Like he was holding back an immense passion.

Then he looked at me straight down into my very soul.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

I smiled. “You’re welcome.”

I was expecting to get a dress for that evening.

What I didn’t expect was where I got it from.

“Who’s your favorite designer?” he asked, apropos of nothing, as we were getting close to Florence. “Oscar de la Renta?”

“Huh?”

“You mentioned him the other night.”

“Oh, right The Devil Wears Prada. He’s incredible, but I wouldn’t say he’s my favorite.”

“Who’s your favorite, then?”

“What now, or all-time?”

“They’re different?”

“Yeah. I mean, Alexander McQueen is amazing but I like him more for the idea of what he did than how his clothes look, if that makes any sense. His dresses really were art you could wear.

“I love Givenchy for how he dressed Audrey Hepburn. She’s one of THE great style icons of all time.

“I love Vivienne Westwood for her punk sensibility. I love Tom Ford’s work at Gucci ”

“You seem to love everybody,” Adriano said drily, “so let’s narrow it down. If you had to choose one dress from one designer, who would it be?”

“Mmmm… Valentino, I think.”

“NOT my brother,” Adriano said with one raised eyebrow.

“No,” I laughed, “definitely not him. Valentino Garavani. He did amazing things with the color red, and that’s my favorite color.”

“Valentino it is, then,” he said as he plugged the name into the car’s dashboard navigation.

I stared at him. “Adriano we’re not going to buy a Valentino dress.”

“Yes, we are.”

“That’s crazy it’s too expensive!”

“Number one, no, it’s not. And number two, let me worry about that.”

“No ”

He turned to look at me and spoke in that voice he used when he absolutely would not tolerate dissent:

“YES.”

I’d only heard him use it with his brothers before.

Hearing him use it on me…

About buying me a dress from my favorite designer…

It kind of turned me on.

“…okay, then,” I said with a smile.

“Okay, then,” he said, and suppressed a smile of his own.