Page 21 of Marrying the Mafia Daddy

While he seems completely at ease, sipping coffee like he didn’t just threaten me, the few bites of toast I had sit heavy in my stomach, a stone where hunger used to be.

Domenico stands, the movement fluid and commanding. He buttons his jacket with a quick, practiced motion and looks down at me, still seated, still wrapping my head around the fact that my favorite jeans have been deemed insufficient.

Before I can formulate a response to the shopping edict, the elevator dings from down the hall. The sound is subtle, a low chime that seems to vibrate through the walls of the penthouse. Domenico doesn’t look surprised as he gestures toward the hallway with one hand.

“Come on,” he says.

I push back from the table and follow Domenico down the hallway, my sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. The morning light has shifted, becoming sharper, more insistent through the windows.

We reach the living area just as the elevator doors slide open and a man steps out. He’s around six feet, athletic build filling out a dark tailored suit, clean-shaven with short dark hair.

He’s holding a paper bag in one hand. “Boss,” the man says, nodding at Domenico. Then his eyes shift to me, and something in his expression softens—not by much, just a fraction, but it’s there. “Mrs. DeLuca.”

“Kira,” I correct.

Domenico moves to stand beside me, close enough that his arm brushes my shoulder. “Kira, this is Vinny. He’s part of my security team. From now on, he’ll be with you whenever you go anywhere.”

I look up at him, confused. “I don’t need security.”

“You do,” Domenico says flatly. “You’re a DeLuca now. That comes with certain risks. You don’t go anywhere without him.”

The words land like bricks. I stare at Vinny, who’s still holding the bag. He’s watching me with an expression that’s professional but not cold.

“Either you take him with you everywhere, or you stay inside these walls,” Domenico declares, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Those are your options.”

I swallow hard. The reality of what I married into crystallizes in this moment—not just the man, but the life.

Before I can even attempt to form a response, Vinny steps forward and pulls a box from the bag, which he extends toward Domenico. “The new unit, Boss. Gio assured me it’s already been encrypted and geo-tagged to the security system.”

Domenico takes it and turns to me as he sets the box on the table near the elevator. Then he pulls out a phone—sleek, matte black, still gleaming with factory freshness. He powers it on with a thumb press, waits for it to boot, then holds it out to me.

“This is yours. You need to keep it on you at all times,” he says. “It’s already programmed with my number as well as Vinny’s.”

Call it intuition or whatever, but I already know there’s no arguing this. Not if I want to do more than just sit around and wait for Domenico to grace me with his presence. So, even though it feels like a tracking collar, I shove the phone into my jeans’ back pocket.

“Okay,” I agree.

At the same time, Vinny hands the paper bag to Domenico, explaining that my clothes are in there. I’m not surprised when my husband tells the bodyguard to wait here before making me follow him into the bedroom.

While I close the door behind us, he strides over to the bed and pours the contents onto it. He holds up each item, inspecting every single one with the level of scrutiny I’d expect a Mafia Don to reserve for, well, whatever it is he actually does.

Certainly not for clothes inspection. Again, I feel the need to point out how ridiculous it is, considering the wedding dress he forced me to wear.

As he drops a black, long-sleeved shirt with a very modest V-neck, I snatch it along with the dark gray pants he already deemed fine. I kick off my shoes and move toward the bathroom when his voice halts me.

“Where are you going?” I bristle at the amusement in his tone.

Turning around, I face him. “I was going to change,” I explain, puzzled as it seemed obvious to me.

“I’ve already seen you naked, Kira, and felt you come on my hand. You might as well get changed in here.”

My cheeks burn, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of averting my gaze as I shrug with forced nonchalance. I pretend not to notice him staring as I slip out of the t-shirt and replace it with the new black one.

I smile at how soft it is. Then I shimmy out of the offensive jeans before stepping into the new gray trousers. There’s a full-length mirror on the back wall, which I use to make sure the clothes fit me as well as I think they do.

If I’m honest, I don’t really need to since I can feel the fabric hugging me the right way. While I’m busy twisting this and that way, Domenico steps up behind me. Despite being close enough to touch, he keeps his distance.

“Is this okay?” I meet his eyes in the mirror.