Page 142 of The Wrong Man

“You look handsome,” Dylan says from the doorway.

I turn to find him leaning against the frame, watching me with those hazel eyes that still make my chest tight. He’s dressed for the wedding too, in a suit that brings out the color of his eyes and makes his strawberry-blond hair gleam.

“You look better,” I say.

He grins and crosses the room to straighten my tie, even though it doesn’t need straightening. “Nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous? It’s not my wedding.”

“No.” His hands linger on my chest. “But it’s Dario’s. And Molly’s. That means something.”

It does mean something. More than I know how to articulate.

Not that long ago, Dario was trapped under his brother’s thumb, watching the man he loved from a distance, because getting close would put Molly in danger. Then everything changed. Dario made a choice. The hardest choice anyone could make. He killed his own brother to keep Molly safe, and in doing so, he took control of everything.

It wasn’t about power. It was about love. The mafia empire was just a side effect, a responsibility Dario inherited because he chose to act. But he’s risen to it. Made it something better than what his brother built on cruelty and fear.

I’m proud that I helped him through it. I’m pretty sure Carlo and Nicolo don’t have any regrets either. We stood beside him when he needed us, not because we were ordered to, but because it was the right thing to do. Because love was worth fighting for, even in our world. Especially in our world.

I didn’t understand it then. Not really. I went through the motions, did what needed to be done, but the concept of killing for love rather than duty was foreign to me. Abstract. I loved the idea of it, but I didn’t really understand it.

Now, looking at Dylan, I understand completely.

“We should go,” Dylan says. “We don’t want to be late.”

He smiles at me, takes my hand, and together we head out to the biggest wedding of the year.

The venue is spectacular. A country estate outside London, all manicured gardens and ancient stone, decorated within an inch of its life. Ginni’s influence is unmistakable in every detail, from the precise arrangement of white roses to the color-coordinated table settings to the way the afternoon light catches the crystal champagne flutes.

I’m surprised Molly listened to his advice, that boy has opinions. But maybe that’s what love does to you. Calms you down. Makes you wiser.

“Your apprentice outdid himself,” Dylan murmurs as we take our seats.

“Ginni doesn’t know how to do anything by halves.”

The ceremony itself is beautiful. Molly walks down the aisle looking radiant, blond hair bouncing with each step, practically glowing with happiness. When he reaches Dario at the altar, I watch my boss’s face transform.

I’ve known Dario for years. I’ve seen him cold, calculating, ruthless when he needed to be. I’ve seen him order men’s deaths without flinching. But I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at Molly. Like the rest of the world has ceased to exist. Like Molly is the only thing that matters.

That’s true love. That’s what it looks like when you’d burn down everything you’ve built for one person.

I understand that now.

Dylan’s hand finds mine in my lap. I glance over at him and catch him watching me with a soft expression.

“What?” I murmur.

“Nothing.” He squeezes my fingers. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

He smiles, that bright smile that still catches me off guard. “And I’m still trying to get my head around the fact I’m at a gay mafia wedding.”

I bring his hand up to my lips and give him a soft kiss. He is smiling, but there are old wounds in his eyes. His birth family disowned him. They could never accept him like this.

It’s their loss, and they don’t deserve Dylan anyway. But I know the rejection still stings.

His smile deepens at my acknowledgement of his pain, and he turns back to the ceremony.