Page 18 of My Wedding Mafia Style

“I am assessing,” I correct.

“Assessing what?”

“Whether I have accidentally wandered into the beginning of a true crime documentary with better tailoring.”

Bianca laughs so hard she grabs Adriana’s arm. Adriana, to her credit, only looks mildly betrayed by the contact.

Sofia gives me a kind smile. “It’s perfectly safe, Lucy. The captain knows the route well.”

“The captain,” I echo faintly.

Because of course there is a captain. Why would there not be a captain?

I look at Luca again. “You have staff for your boat.”

“Our boat,” he says. “Family.”

That clarification does not make me feel less overwhelmed. I catch Nonna observing me in her quiet wayonce more. Her eyes are gleaming this time. I’m going to assume she likes me again.

Luca steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear him. “You don’t have to come.”

The words are quiet and serious. And they change something. Because for all his amusement, for all the way he has guided this night with a confidence that makes me want to alternately trust him and kick him in the shin, he means it.

I don’t have to come. He is giving me a way out.

I look back toward the reception. Toward the life where I know the rules, even when they hurt. Somewhere in there, Celia is dancing with her new husband. Derek may still be lingering around, but he no longer feels like a storm. More like bad weather I already drove through.

Ahead of me waits a yacht full of Morettis, a grandmother who renamed me, three sisters who may adopt me or destroy me, and a man smoking a cigar under terrace lights like he stepped directly out of a fantasy I never admitted having.

This is a terrible idea. It is obviously a terrible idea. It may be the most terrible idea I have had all night, which is impressive, considering how the night began.

I look at Luca. His eyes hold mine without pressure or demand. Just invitation. And maybe that is what gets me.

“All right,” I say. “But if this boat leaves the dock, I reserve the right to say several dramatic things.”

Luca’s mouth curves. “I would expect nothing less.”

Bianca claps once. “She’s coming.”

“I am walking,” I correct. “Let’s not escalate verbs.”

Isabella grins. “Too late.”

Luca offers me his hand. I look at it. Then at the gangway. Then back at him.

“Do people ever fall off these things?”

“Yes. Not often,” he adds.

He holds my gaze, and there’s that warmth again, hidden beneath the control. “I won’t let you fall.”

His fingers close around mine and I step onto the gangway. The yacht shifts beneath me, barely at all, but enough that I make a small sound and grab Luca’s arm with my other hand. He does not laugh. His sisters do.

I point toward them without looking back. “I heard that.”

“We wanted you to,” Isabella calls.

“Welcome aboard, Lucia,” Nonna says.