Page 5 of My Wedding Mafia Style

His mouth curves slightly. “It is now.”

Before I can overthink it — and I really should be overthinking all of this — his hand moves, guiding me up from his lap with an ease that suggests he’s much stronger than he looks.

I smooth my dress while my pulse does something entirely unreasonable as his fingers slide down and lace with mine. He doesn’t let go even for a second.

We step onto the dance floor just as the music slows, the band easing into something softer, more intimate. Couples begin to gather, filling the space with movement and quiet laughter, but everything narrows the moment Luca’s hand settles at my waist again, this time deliberately, pulling me closer. Closer than necessary.

My free hand comes up, resting lightly against his shoulder, and I’m struck by how solid he feels beneath my palm. Despite the craziness of the situation, he somehow grounds me. He’s controlled and it seems like nothing about him is accidental. He acts like he truly could be my fiance. It’s in the way he moves, looks at me, and even the way he breathes.

“Still comfortable with ten minutes?” he asks.

His voice is calm, but it’s a ruse.

I swallow. “I think I might need twelve.”

That earns me a big smile, still showing his dedicated interest. We fall into rhythm easily, like we’ve done this before. Like we know each other. His hand adjusts at my back, guiding without force, and I follow without thinking, letting him lead me through slow turns and subtle shifts that keep us perfectly in sync. It feels effortless. Then, I see them. Derek and his date step onto the dance floor. Dammit!

My stomach tightens, but I force my expression neutral. They’re drifting closer and it’s not by accident.

Derek’s eyes meet mine over his partner’s shoulder, and there’s something in that look that sends a familiar chill down my spine. Not quite anger. Something worse. The look of a man who still thinks he has a claim — and wants me to know it.

Luca notices the dance floor intrusion. His hand at my waist tightens — not enough to hurt or draw attention, but enough that I feel it. Enough that something in me feels safe instead of spiraling.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs.

I nod, even though I already am.

We turn, shift, and somehow Derek and his partner are right there … way too close. Their path cuts just inside ours like Derek’s testing the boundaries on the dance floor.

My pulse spikes. We pivot again, but this time there’s no avoiding it. For a split second, it looks like we’re going to collide. Derek’s shoulder angles in … and Luca moves. It’s smooth — so subtle no one else would catch it. But I do.

His arm tightens around me, pulling me just slightly behind him as he adjusts our step, placing his body between mine and Derek’s with effortless precision. Not aggressive, threatening or with a scene. He’s protective and deliberate with a quiet line drawn. The near-collision dissolves into a smooth pass, but the message is clear.

Don’t.

I feel it in the way Luca holds me afterward. In the steadiness of him. In the calm control that replaces the brief tension. And something inside me does an about turn. Because this doesn’t feel like pretending anymore. This feels … safe.

Derek notices too. I see it in the way his eyes flash for a second, before he disguises himself once more. Whatever he expected to happen in that moment… didn’t. It’s rare, but I could swear he looks defeated and uncertain. He looks smaller.

The song begins to wind down, the music softening as couples slow their movements, drawing closer before the final notes fade.

I should step back and create some space. Say thank you and walk away before this gets any more complicated. Instead, Luca’s hand finds mine again the second the music ends. He doesn’t ask. He just takes it and keeps me there.

My fingers curl instinctively around his, my body leaning just slightly toward his before I catch myself. Too late. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks down at me, something unreadable moving through his expression before his attention shifts past my shoulder.

I follow his gaze and realize we’re being watched. But it’s not Derek this time.

A table in the room has gone noticeably quieter, the group seated there far more composed than the rest of the reception. Not church wedding quiet. Courtroom quiet. Like I have accidentally become Exhibit A.

They are well-dressed and definitely observing us. Not a single one of them looks surprised. They look … interested. A woman with striking features and dark hair offers a small, knowing smile.

Another older, with elegant, silver hair swept back flawlessly, doesn’t smile at all. She simply watches, her gaze sharp and assessing, like she’s already forming conclusions. A man beside her says something low, his attention never leaving us. And then there are the others — all women.Their faces show various reactions as they stare — a flash of amusement, curiosity, suspicion.

My stomach flips.

“Who are they?” I whisper.

Luca’s grip on my hand tightens just slightly.