Married to the mafia King

As we pulled up to the pier outside Ca’ Foscari University, one of the Widow’s men jumped out to tie up our boat.

‘Ca’ was short for ‘casa,’ or house. Ca’ Foscari basically meant House of the Foscari family.

However, ‘house’ was a little misleading. Every ‘casa’ was actually a giant palazzo, once owned by some of the richest families in Venetian history.

For instance, the Foscari family had ruled the city in the 15th century. Now their ancient palace housed a university or at least part of it.

The front of the building was impressive. Four stories of Gothic splendor towered over the Grand Canal. Dozens of elegant, arched windows were framed in lace-like curlicues. The overall effect was both beautiful and whimsical like Ca’ Foscari was a giant gingerbread house assembled by the greatest architects of the Middle Ages.

As we stepped off the boat onto the dock, I couldn’t help myself: “And we didn’t even run into any police.”

Roderigo just grunted in irritation.

We proceeded to the cavernous main hall on the ground floor, where dozens of curious students watched as we strode past. In a sea of hoodies and jeans, six guys in $5000 suits stood out like a sore thumb.

“Shit, they’re between classes,” Roderigo grumbled.

“So?” I asked.

“So she won’t stay still. Look, she’s on the move.”

He held out his iPhone, which was displaying the Find app.

I immediately saw what he meant: the little blue dot signifying Lucia’s phone was moving slowly across the screen.

Only problem was, there was no way to tell which level of the building she was on.

“There are four floors and six of us,” I said. “We should split up.”

“Who can track her on the app?” Roderigo asked his men.

Only two of them raised their hands.

“Great,” he muttered. “Manfredo and Arnoldo, you two take the ground floor. Nino and Terancio take the second. I’ll take the third floor, and you take the fourth.”

By ‘you’ he meant me.

“Shouldn’t I go with somebody who has the app?” I asked.

“I doubt she’ll be on the fourth,” Roderigo said with a smirk. He pointed at a directory posted on the wall. “It’s mathematics and sciences not exactly her thing. Plus, you know what she looks like from her Instagram. If I can’t find her on the third floor, I’ll come join you on the fourth.”

“Okay,” I said. Seemed reasonable. “What’s your number in case I need you?”

As he said it out loud, I dialed him and hung up so it would be in my cell.

Manfredo and Arnoldo stayed on the ground floor while the rest of us ascended the palazzo’s giant central staircase. Terancio and Nino peeled off on the second story. At the third-floor landing, I took one last look at Roderigo’s app to get my bearings, then continued up to the fourth floor alone.

As I strode across the marble floor, the students watched me pass, their faces curious. I stood a head above even the tallest guys, and 12 to 18 inches above the rest.

Which made it easier for me to scan the crowd… although Lucia was so short that she could easily be hidden behind someone else.

I tried to pinpoint where I’d last seen the dot on the app

And then I saw her.

Not in the hallway, but on an exterior balcony looking down on a central courtyard. I could see her through the ornate glass windows separating the balcony from the palazzo’s interior.

She was just as beautiful as her photographs and even tinier than I’d imagined.

She wore a white silk blouse with a red leather jacket, a black skirt, sheer black stockings, and black stilettos. Her hair was done up on the top of her head with two curled tendrils framing her face.

Since she was in profile, my eyes traveled down her body.

Madonn…

What a fucking ass she had!

The rest of her was petite, but she had a gorgeous derriere under her little black skirt full and shapely.

I pulled my eyes away though it was difficult, seeing as I’m an ass man.

But I reminded myself I had a job to do.

Be professional.

Suddenly she raised her arm into the air.

She had it angled above her, with her phone in her hand

Because she was taking a selfie.

Of COURSE she was.

It was the perfect spot for it. Plenty of reflected sunlight on the balcony, yet enough shadow from the ceiling above her so she wouldn’t have to squint.

I sighed and hit Roderigo’s number in my phone.

“Yeah?”

“Found her. She’s on the balcony on four.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

I hung up and considered whether I should approach her. Probably best to wait for Roderigo so he could handle her.

I scanned the crowd.

All students… no gun-toting mercenaries in black.

I looked back at the balcony

She had finished her selfie and was walking away from me.

“Shit,” I muttered.

I walked over to intercept her as she opened the door to the hallway.

Guess I was going to have to delay her until Roderigo got there.

Lucia

The light was absolutely perfect out on the balcony, and I got a great angle that hid that dimple in my chin I hate. Ever since I heard that hot American comic on TikTok talk about dating a girl with a butt chin she was from Texas, and his friends called her the ‘Texas Chinsaw Massacre’ I have been lowkey obsessed with trying to hide mine. I hate it. I’ve been thinking about plastic surgery, even though the thought of somebody cutting into my face freaks me the fuck out.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

But I loved my outfit today. That much was a plus. Dior top, Cartier necklace and I adored my Prada jacket. It really set off the whole ensemble.

And my Louboutins. Gotta have the Louboutins.

I was thinking about what I should put in the caption for my Insta post when the tallest guy I’d ever seen walked up to me.

I mean, the dude was huge.

Ever see Game of Thrones?

Pedro Pascal as Oberon Martell is my all-time hot internet boyfriend

So the one guy that stands out is the man who killed Oberon Martell.

(Retroactive spoiler alert. But it was 10 years ago, so… come on.)

It was Cersei Lannister’s private bodyguard. They called him la Montagna the Mountain. He was played by some Icelandic bodybuilder and was almost seven feet tall.

This guy reminded me of the Mountain…

But a lot hotter.

He had these soft brown eyes… wavy, dark brown hair… and a neatly trimmed beard over a solid granite jaw.

His shoulders? SO broad and muscular.

And his suit? Amazing. I think it was bespoke I didn’t recognize the brand, and he was so gigantic that I doubted he could get something off the rack but it was beautifully cut. Perfectly tailored to his enormous, huge, absolutely delicious arms.

I stared up at him with my mouth slightly open.

If we’d been outside, he would have blotted out the sun.

“Signorina Fioretti? My name is Massimo Rosolini.”

Ohhhhh…

That voice…

It was sooooo deep.

And his name… Massimo…

It made me think ‘Massive’ just like him.

I’m not gonna lie: between his face, the height, his shoulders, and that voice… I got a little turned on.

And then he went and fuckin’ ruined it.

“I’m here to take you back to your grandmother.”

Shit.

Of course he was.

Just another mafia clown in a nice suit.

“Not interested, thanks,” I said as I breezed past him

Or tried to, anyway.

He put a gigantic hand on my shoulder.

His paw was as big as a ham hock and about as welcome as getting touched by raw meat.

“HEY,” I snapped, “GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME.”

I’d had enough mafia goons trying to order me around to last ten lifetimes.

I didn’t need yet another idiot thinking he was the boss of me just because he worked for Nona.

I tried smacking his arm away

But it was like hitting a big tree branch. Didn’t budge a millimeter.

“Signorina ”

“It’s Lucia, asshole. And LET GO OF ”

“Your grandmother was attacked.”

Suddenly the entire world buckled beneath my feet.