I let out a slow breath, smoothing a hand over my belly.
“We’re really doing this, kid,” I say. “You and me, making history. Petrov and Bellacino, forging a legacy that’ll keep everyone from shooting each other. No pressure, right?”
I’m not big on fairy tales, but I am starting to think life decided to hand me one anyway—mafia style.
I’m perched on a small, cushioned bench in the bridal suite that’s been set up just for me, adjusting my ivory gown around my very pregnant belly. The baby’s turning lazy somersaults, as if it’s excited for the upcoming festivities too.
Today is my wedding day.
The suite I’m in is surrounded by cream walls, gilded accents, and a vanity covered with flowers. Roses, lilies, and a few exotic blossoms I can’t even name. From the big bay window, I catch a glimpse of the sunny courtyard below where multiple Italian families and guests mingle amid high-top tables and artful flower arrangements. A string quartet plays while servers walk around with trays of hors d’oeuvres.
I spot a few Russians in tailored suits, looking entirely too comfortable around the Bellacino men. A sign of the times, I guess.
I take a look in the floor-length mirror. My reflection smiles back at me, lips painted a soft rose color. My hair is pinned up, a few loose curls framing my face.
A light knock sounds at the door. Halsey peeks her head in, eyes shining. She’s wearing a sleek lilac bridesmaid dress she absolutely hates, but she’s doing it for me.
“You ready?” she asks. “The ceremony’s about to start.”
I grin. “I’m as ready as a very pregnant bride can be. You’d think the baby might chill out for my wedding day, but it’s in there getting a head start on the dancing.”
Halsey laughs. “You look incredible. You’re going to wow the crowd. The mafia and Bratva royalty outside are dying to meet you. The pregnant Petrov princess marrying the Bellacino Don. They’re totally scandalized.”
“Good,” I say with a smirk. “Scandal is my favorite accessory.”
She adjusts my gown’s train, smoothing any wrinkles. “Dante is going to lose his mind when he sees you walking down the aisle. He’s been prowling around all morning, snapping at anyone who so much as mentions your name.”
A surge of warmth fills me. “That’s sweet. In a very Dante way.”
The wedding is being held in the grand courtyard of the Bellacino Long Island estate. Rows of white chairs are placed evenly in front of an altar decorated in gold and pink roses, soft greenery, and white satin. A slew of powerful figures, wealthy families, and stoic bodyguards stand along the perimeter.
Front and center, near the altar, is Dante, flanked by his lieutenants.
My breath catches when I see him. He’s wearing a crisp black suit, no tie—just a sleek open collar that shows a hint of his sexy collarbone. He looks commanding yet vulnerable, confident yet nervous.
His eyes lock on me the moment I appear at the end of the aisle, a wave of intensity passing between us.
I carefully walk down the aisle, focused on Dante the entire time.
Halsey is by my side, helping me navigate the tricky satin pathway covered in fresh rose petals.
When I reach the altar, Dante steps forward and takes my hand, tucking my arm into his. Halsey reaches for my bouquet, then moves off to the side. The officiant begins the ceremony with a calm, gentle voice. When he reaches the words “to have and to hold,” Dante raises a hand, signaling for a pause. His grip on mine tightens, steady and warm.
“I’d like to say something,” he says.
I blink, caught off guard. This wasn’t planned. My brows lift in surprise, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You’re winging it at our wedding? Should I be worried?”
“I’m not winging it,” he says quietly. “I wrote this.”
I’m speechless.
There’s a slight rustling as the guests lean in, sensing something profound and real is about to happen. Dante clears his throat, then begins to speak.
“Eva, from the moment you came into my life—brilliant, fearless, and impossible—I knew you’d be the one to undo me. And I knew I’d let you.”
A hush falls over the crowd. He continues, steady and slow.
“You made me feel things I’d never felt. You saw through walls I spent decades building. You challenged me. You called me out. You stood toe to toe with a man most people fear, yet you were never scared. That terrified me at first. But then it saved me.”
He pauses, breath catching a little.
“I won’t promise perfection. I won’t promise I’ll never screw up. I’ll carry the scars of my past until my last breath. But I do promise this: my hands will never harm you. My loyalty will never waver. And no matter what difficulties or enemies come into our lives, I will burn the world to keep you and our child safe.”
My throat tightens.
“You are my home, Eva,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And I vow to be yours, until the very end.”
There’s a second of calm. The kind that makes your heart stand still for a moment, like it’s listening in. I hear a few sniffles from the crowd. Even the most hardened among our guests have been moved.
I let out a weak laugh, blinking hard against the tears threatening behind my eyes. “Damn it, Dante,” I say, my voice shaking just enough to betray how hard he’s hit me. “How am I supposed to top that?”
Dante smirks. “You already do, every day,” he says, brushing his thumb over my knuckles.
A tear trickles down my cheek.
The officiant continues with the ceremony, and by the time I slip the ring on his finger, I’m trembling with emotion.
The kiss is on another level and applause erupts as cameras flash. My heart bursts with joy.
We’re married.
Dante tucks me under his arm, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I love you, Mrs. Bellacino.”
After the ceremony, the reception bustles with clinking champagne glasses, trays of hors d’oeuvres, and an undercurrent of guarded conversation about which alliances were sealed. The mood is thick with respect for Dante, cautious curiosity toward me.
Looks like I’m the new star on the grand mafia stage.
I’m greeting a group of older men—longtime Bellacino allies, apparently—when a hush falls over the courtyard. I turn, spotting a group of elegantly dressed Russians stepping in. The Abramovic crew, plus a few other big names I recognize from Halsey’s gossip update. They approach me with carefully schooled expressions.
A tall man in a charcoal suit nods politely. “You must be Eva Petrova.” He says it in Russian, the rolling accent thick on his tongue.
I offer a slight smile, switching to Russian smoothly. “Actually, it’s Eva Bellacino now.”
His eyes flick to my belly—rather impossible to miss at seven months pregnant—and a faint smile cracks his stoic features. “Quite the alliance. The entire Bratva is intrigued.”
I arch a brow. “I bet they are.”
He hesitates, then extends a hand. “We came to see you officially, to shake your hand on behalf of the Russian families. It’s customary to offer you a seat at our table, if you choose to represent Petrov interests in future business negotiations.”
I feel the tension radiating off of Dante, standing beside me, arms folded. He’s not interfering—he’s letting me handle it.
Good. That’s exactly what I want.
I square my shoulders, offering my hand in a quick but firm shake. “I appreciate the gesture, truly. But I’m a Bellacino now. I’m not looking to sit at the Bratva table. That said—” I lean in with a hint of a sly grin “—I am quite skilled in cybersecurity, hacking, and data forensics. If your people need that kind of specialized help, I might be available. For an appropriate fee, of course.”
He blinks, a ripple of surprise crossing his companions’ faces. Dante smirks, and I can sense the pride rolling off him. He knows enough Russian from his business dealings over the years to follow the conversation.
The man in the charcoal suit nods slowly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I see. Business-minded indeed.”
I grin. “Someone’s got to keep the lights on around here. And babies aren’t cheap. We’ve got a college education to pay for.”
He chuckles, taking a step back. “We’ll keep that in mind. Congratulations on your marriage, Mrs. Bellacino. And the child to come.”
They walk away and start to mingle with the other guests, presumably satisfied.
Dante slips an arm around me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Nice job. You were perfect.”
I smile up at him. “Shocked them a little bit, didn’t I?”
He grins, eyes twinkling. “Utterly. And I loved every second of it.”
Isabella approaches, gliding across the courtyard with the kind of elegance only she can pull off—controlled, composed, regal. Her gown is a deep, slate-blue silk, fitted to perfection. Understated but exquisite, with subtle embroidery at the sleeves and hem.
She stops in front of us, hands clasped together, eyes soft. “You both look radiant.” Her gaze moves from me to Dante, pausing for just a second longer on her son. “Truly.”
Then she steps forward and pulls Dante into a hug, catching both of us off guard. His eyes widen for a split second, his arms tightening around her. When she pulls back, there’s a slight sheen in her eyes. Nothing dramatic, just a single, silent tear slipping down her cheek before she brushes it away like it never existed.
She then turns to me. “Eva,” her voice warm and genuine, “Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.
“There’s much to do in the months ahead,” she adds. “If you ever wish to play a role in this family’s affairs, I would be glad to have you. There’s no shortage of work.” She lifts her chin, the corner of her mouth tilting ever so slightly. “I’ll leave you two to enjoy one another’s company. You’ve earned it.”
Dante smirks, sliding his arm around my waist. “We plan to.”
Isabella’s eyes narrow just a fraction, amused but clearly choosing not to comment.
She straightens her gloves, then asks, “And where are you going on your honeymoon?”
“Bali,” Dante replies smoothly.
My head snaps toward him, eyes wide. “Bali?”
He gives me a knowing look. “I thought you might like that.”
Like it?
Bali. The beach. The sunlight. The private villa. The recurring fantasy I’ve been having for months—the one where I wake up tangled in Dante’s arms, the scent of ocean and heat in the air, his mouth trailing down my throat while he murmurs things I really shouldn’t be thinking about in front of his mother.
I blink rapidly and force a smile, hoping neither of them notice the blush blooming across my face.
Isabella does. Of course.
She chuckles. “A fine choice. Romantic, secluded, and far enough away from the family business. Enjoy. Both of you. And once you return, Eva, if you’re ever ready, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
She gives one last, elegant nod before drifting back toward the crowd, disappearing with the kind of quiet command only Isabella Bellacino can pull off.
Dante and I watch her go, his hand finding mine. He leans down, voice low. “You know you don’t owe her anything. Not forgiveness. Not even civility.”
“I know,” I say, eyes still on Isabella’s retreating figure. “But I also know she’s sincerely trying. I saw it in her eyes.”
Dante turns to face me, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “If you ever want to work with her officially, I wouldn’t stop you. But I’d never ask it of you.”
I tilt my head, my smirk returning. “Maybe someday. I’m a sucker for complicated power dynamics.”
He laughs.
“But for now, I just want to enjoy our wedding night.”
He leans in, kissing me slow and deliberate, his palm curling against my cheek. “I love you so much,” he murmurs.
“I love you, too.”
