Page 100 of Read This Before the Villain falls in Love with You

Adrian merely lifts an eyebrow at Matteo, completely unfazed, while Enzo snorts into his coffee mug. "She's right, cousin. You tripped over your own boots."

"Eat your bread," Nonna barks, brandishing her spoon toward the table, and the chatter grinds to a sudden halt under the weight of her scowl.

I chew my toast while staring out the glass doors at the empty yard. A month ago, right before Luca slipped away, my parents acted weird on our weekly video call. Dad stood in his restaurant apron, hiding his phone screen, while Mum peered through her glasses and whispered like someone had wiretapped the kitchen.

Tires grind against the stones outside. Heavy iron gates swing wide, and two long sedans roll onto the gravel driveway.

I drop my mug, push back from the table, and march out the tall double doors. My blood heats up with every step down the front staircase, ready to give the missing mafia boss an earful for disappearing for four weeks without a word.

The front door clicks open. Luca steps out onto the dirt in a dark tailored suit. He looks completely composed, but instead of walking up to me, he swings the rear door open and extends a hand.

My mother steps onto the gravel path, adjusting her spectacles and clutching a thick manuscript. "Oliver, look at this yard! A woman could set an entire assassin plot right beside these marble columns!"

"Mum?" I halt in the middle of the drive, blinking against the harsh sun.

My father steps out right behind her, his favorite knife bag tucked under his forearm. "Nora, pumpkin! Your young man spent three solid weeks in my kitchen prep line without a squeak."

Before my mind can register my English family standing on Sicilian soil, the passenger door of the second vehicle pops wide. Amelia falls out into the sun, clutching two thick binders to her chest.

Amelia totters over the uneven ground in low heels, gasping for breath. "Boss! Mr. Moretti settled our quarterly filings, bought out our office lease, and handled that awful yacht man. I have a whole desk set up in the villa wing!"

I whip around to face Luca, arms dropping as my jaw falls slack. "You vanished for a month, packed your bags, and flew to England just to stay with my parents?"

Luca brushes an imaginary thread from his sleeve. "Your father runs his kitchen like a military operation. He made me redo the tortellini four times before he let me leave the counter."

"His knife technique was dreadful at first, Nora," Dad chimes in, checking the blade case under his arm before offering a pleased grin. "Held the handle like a club. But he listened, kept his head down, and chopped twenty pounds of leeks without a word of complaint. That earns respect in my book."

Mum taps Luca's arm with her pen, beaming. "And he edited four chapters of my new thriller. Gave me lovely pointers on how to dispose of an unmarked body without raising red flags at the police."

I stare between them, completely lost. "You won over my mother with body-dumping notes and won over my father with sauce prep?"

Luca steps forward until his boots touch mine. "I did what was necessary. I had to secure their blessing before I asked you to marry me."

My pulse stutters hard. I latch onto his lapels and tilt my head up. "You? The scary head of a crime family went to England to ask my father for permission?"

His palms wrap around my waist while Nonna shouts greetings from the porch. "I do not leave loose threads," he whispers close to my ear. "They gave their word. You are not getting rid of us now."

"Ask me properly tonight," I whisper against his collar, "or I will renegotiate our terms just to make you sweat."

He chuckles low in his chest, pulling me flush against his coat. "There you are."

Dinner turns into an absolute riot of clattering platters, spilling wine, and Nonna aggressively refilling everyone’s plates whether they ask for it or not. Dad takes over half the stove while Nonna watches him like an eagle, sharing secret recipes until Dad makes it perfectly in one try actually makes her laugh out loud. Across the long table, Mum grills Matteo and Enzo about mafia crime methods, taking frantic notes on a napkin while Matteo demonstrates fake chokeholds with his butter knife.

Luca sits straight at the head of the table, cutting his meat with smooth, quiet strokes. Under the heavy white linen, his thigh presses hard against mine, pinning my leg in place. His hand moves under the cloth, fingers sliding up past the hem of my skirt to dig into the bare skin of my inner thigh. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, but I do not pull away. Instead, I slide my hand down between us, finding the thick bulge straining against his tailored trousers.

My fingers curl over the hard length of his cock through the fabric. I give him a slow, firm squeeze, massaging him with measured strokes while my father debates garlic butter with Nonna across the table. Luca’s hand on my bare leg tightens until his blunt nails bite into my skin. When he lifts his wine glass and looks right at me over the rim, his dark eyes don't blink, tracking the quick jump of the pulse in my throat while I stroke him into rock-hard agony.

By the time dessert plates clear and the laughter drifts toward the terrace, Luca catches my hand and pulls me upstairs without an ounce of subtlety. The heavy bedroom door clicks shut behind us, locking the chaos out.

I back away with a smirk. "Finally. I thought your Nonna was going to adopt my father and leave us both out of the will."

Luca closes the distance between us without a sound. His hand moves to his waist, the silver buckle clinking once before the thick leather pulls free through the loops with a dry hiss. He coils the strap twice around his knuckles, his dark eyes fixed on mine as my breath catches in my throat.

"Hands behind your back, Nora," he orders, stepping into my space with towering authority. "You spent the entire meal teasing me under the table while your parents sat right there. Now you listen to me."

I obey without a trace of hesitation, putting my wrists together behind my spine. The thick leather loops around my skin, pulling tight enough to anchor me completely. He backs me up until the backs of my knees strike the bed, tipping me back onto the mattress.

I arch my back as he strips my clothes with ruthless precision. "Still demanding control?"