Page 17 of My Wedding Mafia Style

Adriana doesn’t look up from her phone. “Two of those have happened.”

My eyes widen. “Which two?”

Bianca slips an arm through mine before anyone answers. “Don’t worry. If it’s the engagement, we’ll tell you before the invitations go out.”

“Bianca,” Adriana warns.

“What? I’m only answering Lucy’s question.”

I look at Luca for help. He is smoking his cigar and looking amused. Not helpful, but very handsome.

Sofia smiles at me. “We’re going to continue the evening on the water.”

“The water,” I repeat.

“Yes.”

“Like… metaphorically?”

Isabella snorts.

Adriana finally looks up. “How would one continue an evening on the water metaphorically?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Rich people have phrases.”

Alessandro laughs under his breath.

Luca’s gaze finds mine through the smoke and lantern light. “It’s just a walk down the dock.”

Or the plank, possibly. I’m not ruling anything out.

Bianca gives my arm a squeeze. “Come on, Lucia.”

I glance at Nonna. She looks pleased. I am never getting my original name back.

The group begins moving along the terrace toward a stone path that curves around the side of the restaurant. I keep waiting for a moment to excuse myself. To say I should check on Celia, text my mother, confirm I haven’t joined a maritime cult. But every time I think of pulling away, Luca is there beside me.

We reach the path, and the music from the reception fades even more. The restaurant glows behind us, all glass and golden light. Ahead, the dock stretches into the dark water, lined with low lamps that make everything look cinematic and suspicious.

My heels click softly against the stone, then tap onto wood. I slow immediately. Because there it is … a yacht. Not a boat. Not a cute little rich-person hobby with cup holders. A yacht.

It rises from the dock like a floating mansion that has never once had to ask how much guacamole costs extra. White hull, dark windows, soft lighting along the rails. Polished. Quiet. Enormous without being flashy, which somehow makes it worse.

I stop completely. Luca stops with me. The rest of his family continues a few steps before Bianca notices and turns back with a grin.

I stare at the yacht. Then at Luca. Then at the yacht again.

“No.”

His mouth curves around the edge of the cigar. “No? I haven’t asked anything.”

“Exactly. That’s how I know it’s bad.”

Isabella appears beside Bianca. “She’s funny when she panics.”

“I am not panicking,” I say.

Luca lifts one brow.