Page 159 of Tempting My Mafia Monster

“I don’t know,” she replied with manufactured sweetness, meeting his navy eyes. “How long do you deem acceptable for a daughter to mourn her father?”

He studied her without answering, keeping us all waiting.

“If you’re asking about Italian tradition,” Alessio said. “The mourning period is forty days.”

Aleksandr gave a thoughtful hum but hadn’t taken his eyes off Lili. They seemed locked in a staring contest neither was willing to back down from. It dawned on me that Lili was far braver than anyone gave her credit for. Relief flooded through me that she might just be able to handle herself in Russia. But it was Aleksandr who worried me. He was clearly calculated and smart, but lethal too. Dangerous to be on the wrong side of. Lili shouldn’t push him too far.

“So unless you want me to wear black to the wedding,” she argued, arching a neat eyebrow. “The wedding will have to wait.”

“Black is my favourite colour.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How predictable.”

“So we’re in agreement? Forty days?” Alessio tried to ease the tension between them, but it was pointless. We might as well have cleared the room and left them to this battle.

“It’s already been four days, so that’s thirty-six days. I will plan the ceremony for day thirty-seven,” Aleksandr stated.

Lili let out a disbelieving laugh. “Wow. How considerate.”

“I thought so.”

“You clearly don’t understand how grief works.”

Aleksandr shifted in his chair, turned to face her, and rested one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table in front of her. She froze at the sudden proximity he’d created, though he wasn’t touching her.

“I know exactly how it works,” he husked, his voice remaining frustratingly calm. “You’ll still miss him on day thirty-seven. You’ll miss him on day three hundred and sixty-seven.”

We all stared at them, hanging on Aleksandr’s every word, because somehow, when he spoke, you couldn’t help but listen.

“You’ll miss him when you are seventy.” He tilted his head slightly, those assessing eyes sweeping over her pretty face and fluttering eyelashes. She looked like a startled butterfly caught in his net. “So if you are waiting until it stops hurting, we will never get married, Kotyonok.”

Lili opened her mouth. Then closed it again.

She had no response. She shot up from her chair and stormed out of the room.

“They want to fuck each other,” Maddox whispered in my ear. I gasped and shot him a glare that made him smirk behind his hand. “Rather her than you. I’ll let him live now.”

Honestly, this man.

Final Farewell

My family’s plot sat at the highest point of the cemetery, where rows of cypress trees stood like giants against the pale blue sky. A horseshoe of polished white Carrara marble enclosed generations of Buccinis beneath beautifully carved headstones.

I’d visited this place so many times in my life, changing the flowers on my papi’s grave, a man I never truly knew. I’d never told anyone how detached I felt from it, because I was the only one in my family who didn’t remember him. I felt guilty whenever my siblings talked so easily to his headstone, telling him about their daily lives and how much they missed him. I never spoke to his headstone. I never knew what to say. I couldn’t see the point in talking to a block of marble.

But as I stared through puffy, tear-filled eyes at my brother’s coffin, I knew that was about to change.

Fresh lilies and ivory roses spilled from the enormous urns around the graves, their sweet scent drifting through the crisp morning air. Hundreds of smaller bouquets had been arranged around Giovanni’s coffin, making it look as though he were about to be lowered into a sea of petals.

At the centre of the family mausoleum stood a towering marble crucifix, almost four metres high. This place was less like a cemetery and more like a museum of legacy. I always thought it was an eyesore, but beneath it, on a huge gold plaque, were old engraved names sitting beside new ones.

Vincenzo Buccini

Salvatore Buccini

Giovanni Buccini

One day, my name would be on there too, as would everyone I loved. The thought made me look away and study the faces around me. My family. Buccini soldiers. Barbieri soldiers. Friends of Giovanni’s. Faces I’d never met.