Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 92

Aria’s POV

The applause for the foundation announcement was finally dying down, but my heart was still racing from the overwhelming revelation. Jessica would have the best possible care, and that thought alone should have brought me peace. Instead, I found myself fighting waves of nervous energy, desperately trying to avoid prolonged eye contact with Benedetta Russo.

Every time I caught sight of her directing the service staff around the ballroom's edges, I felt that familiar chill run down my spine. There was something about the way she looked at me—not with the casual interest of a servant observing their master's guests, but with the focused intensity of someone trying to solve a puzzle.

Stay calm, I told myself firmly. She doesn't know you were the one who saw her with Ricardo. She can't possibly know.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't shake the memory of that moment in the garden when our eyes had met across the ballroom. The shock in her expression hadn't looked like simple surprise at seeing the evening's honored guest. It had looked like recognition.

"Aria, my dear," Antonio's warm voice drew my attention back to the conversation at hand. "I've been thinking about your living arrangements."

My stomach dropped. "My living arrangements?"

"Well, naturally you should move to the Montrosso estate now that you're officially family." Antonio's eyes were bright with paternal enthusiasm. "We have plenty of room, and it would be wonderful to have you close by. You could have your pick of the guest suites—the rose room has a lovely view of the gardens, or perhaps the blue room if you prefer something more private."

The gardens where I witnessed Ricardo and Benedetta's affair. The estate where both of them live under the same roof as Antonio, carrying on their secret relationship right under his nose.

The very idea of sleeping under the same roof as those two, of navigating daily life while knowing their dangerous secret, made my mouth go dry with panic.

"That's incredibly generous," I said carefully, "but I wouldn't want to impose. I know how busy everyone's schedules are, and I'm still adjusting to all these changes. Perhaps it would be better if I maintained some independence for now?"

Antonio's face fell slightly, and I immediately felt guilty for disappointing him. But before I could backtrack, Damian stepped closer and placed his hand on the small of my back.

"Actually, nonno," Damian said, his voice carrying just the right note of respectful disagreement, "I think Aria has gotten quite settled at my estate. The transition to this new family dynamic has been overwhelming enough without asking her to relocate again so soon."

Antonio's expression shifted as he considered this, and I could see him weighing his desire to have me close against his understanding of what might be best for my wellbeing.

"You make a fair point," he conceded. "And I suppose there's no rush. We'll have plenty of time for family dinners and visits now." His smile returned, warm and genuine. "Perhaps we could arrange for weekly family meals? Sunday dinners, perhaps? It would be wonderful to maintain that tradition."

"That sounds perfect," I said, relief flooding through me. Weekly dinners I could handle. Living under the same roof as Ricardo and Benedetta while knowing their secret—that would have been impossible.

As if summoned by my thoughts, I caught sight of Benedetta approaching our small group. She moved with that same professional grace I remembered from earlier, but there was something different about her demeanor now. Something more focused, more purposeful.

Oh God. She's coming over here.

"If I may," Benedetta said, addressing Antonio with perfect deference, "I wanted to congratulate the young lady on her adoption and offer to help her with any adjustments to her appearance that might be appropriate for her new station."

"That's very thoughtful, Benedetta," Antonio said approvingly. "Though I think Aria looks perfectly lovely just as she is."

"Of course, sir. I simply noticed that her gown seemed to have sustained some minor damage during the evening's festivities." Benedetta stepped closer, and I had to fight every instinct to step backward. "Perhaps I could help make some small adjustments?"

Before I could protest, she was kneeling beside me, her hands moving to examine the hem of my dress with professional efficiency. Her touch was light, impersonal, but I felt frozen in place as she worked.

"This fabric is exquisite," she murmured, her voice carrying to the small group around us. "Italian silk, if I'm not mistaken. Very expensive. It must be quite new—I can tell by the way it holds its shape."

"Yes," I managed, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. "It's new."

"And where did you acquire such a beautiful piece?" The question sounded casual, but I caught the sharp interest in her tone. "I ask only because I have some experience with high-end boutiques, and I might be able to recommend someone for future alterations."

Why is she asking about my dress? Why does any of this matter?

"It was a gift," I said carefully.

As she continued to work on the hem, I felt her fingers brush against my ankle.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, so quietly that only I could hear her. "But I couldn't help noticing—don't you usually wear some sort of decorative cord around your ankle? I thought I glimpsed something red earlier in the evening."

My heart stopped beating entirely.

The red bracelet. The one I'd worn since childhood. The one that had broken during my panicked flight from the garden and left its fragments scattered on the stone path.

She knows. Somehow, she knows about the bracelet.

I tried to speak, tried to formulate some casual response, but my throat had closed completely. All I could do was stare down at this woman who was looking up at me with eyes full of terrifying knowledge.

"I... I don't know what you mean," I whispered.

But we both knew I was lying.

"Of course not," Benedetta said smoothly, rising to her feet with the same professional grace she'd displayed all evening. "My mistake. The lighting in here can play tricks on the eyes."

She stepped back, dusting off her hands with deliberate care, but I could feel her watching me with that same intense focus. As if she were memorizing every detail of my face, cataloging every reaction, filing away information for later use.

Before the conversation could continue, Adriana's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"How touching," she said, her words dripping with venom. "The new princess getting fitted like some kind of dress-up doll. Though I suppose that's appropriate, given where you come from."

I turned to face her, trying to summon some dignity despite feeling like I was slowly drowning in quicksand. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, don't play innocent with me," Adriana continued, her eyes blazing with malicious satisfaction. "We all know you're nothing but an orphan who got lucky. A charity case who happened to catch the right person's attention. It's quite the fairy tale, really."

The words hit exactly as she'd intended them to—like daggers aimed at every insecurity I'd ever carried about my background, my worthiness, my place in this glittering world of wealth and power.

But before I could respond, before the humiliation could fully take hold, Benedetta spoke again.

"Miss Adriana," she said, her voice carrying quiet authority, "I think that's quite enough. Everyone has a past, and what matters now is the young lady's present circumstances and her place in this family."

I stared at her in shock. Why is she defending me? After that probing conversation about my dress and the bracelet, why would she protect me from Adriana's attacks?

"But surely you of all people understand the importance of proper breeding," Adriana pressed, clearly frustrated by this unexpected opposition. "This girl has no family, no background, no—"

"She has family now," Benedetta said firmly. "That's all that matters. Perhaps you should focus on welcoming your new cousin rather than questioning decisions that have already been made."

Adriana's face flushed dark red, and I could see her struggling to contain her fury. Being contradicted by a servant in front of a crowd was clearly more humiliation than she could bear.

The tense moment was interrupted by Damian's voice, low and controlled but carrying clear undertones of warning.

"Is there a problem here?"

He moved to stand beside me, and I felt the solid warmth of his presence like an anchor in the storm. Whatever else Damian Cavalieri might be—criminal, manipulator, dangerous man—in this moment he felt like safety incarnate.

How strange, I found myself thinking with detached clarity. I feel safer with the most dangerous man in Italy than I do with these people who are supposed to be my new family.

"No problem at all," Benedetta said quickly. "I was just offering to help the young lady with some minor alterations to her gown."

"How considerate," Damian replied, but there was steel beneath the silk of his voice. "Though I believe Aria looks perfect exactly as she is."

His hand found mine, and I was grateful for the anchor of his touch. Whatever complicated feelings I had about our arrangement, whatever uncertainty I carried about the physical intimacy that would eventually be required between us, right now he represented protection and stability.

Maybe sleeping in the same bed won't be so terrible, I thought, heat creeping up my neck at the mere idea. If tonight has taught me anything, it's that he's probably the safest person in this entire room.

The thought of sharing his bed, of the intimacy that would inevitably follow, sent a confusing mix of nervousness and anticipation through me.

When will it happen? I wondered, my cheeks warming despite my best efforts to maintain composure. Tomorrow? Tonight when we get home? How does one even begin such a conversation?