Page 32 of The Don’s Omega

“Thank you,” I say politely.

“Elio, this is Salvatore Marchetti,” Marcello says. “One of my father’s oldest friends.”

“It’s an honor to be invited to your special day.” Salvatore takes my hand and covers it with both of his. “You’ve made a lot of people very happy today, young man. Marcello’s father would have been proud to see this day.”

I smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth. I’ve known this family for forty years. Watched Marcello grow up. I’ve been telling his mother for months that Marcello needed to settle down.” He winks at me. “Now all you two need to do is to start a family, capisce?”

My face heats as a few of the other men give leering laughs and nod enthusiastically. One of them, a broad-shouldered alpha with a neatly trimmed white beard, raises his glass toward me. “You’re one of us now, Elio. You ever need anything, you come to us. Marcello’s people are our people.”

“Thank you for being so welcoming,” I say, even though I know he’d probably poison my drink if he knew the truth.

He shrugs. “Marcello is a great don and a natural leader.”

Marcello is smiling. Shaking hands. Accepting congratulations from these men with the easy confidence of a man who belongs at the center of everything. But I’m standing close enough to feel the slight tension in his fingers against my back. Not directed at me. Directed at something I can’t see. These men seem sincerely fond of him and they’re clearly delighted that this wedding is happening. Marcello receives their attention with perfect grace, but I sense something beneath it. Something dark. Coiled.

An older alpha named Ettore with kind eyes and a pewter pinky ring takes my hand and pats it gently. “You take good care of him,” he tells me, nodding toward Marcello. “He works too hard. His father was the same way. Maybe now he’ll slow down a little, eh? Now that he has something worth coming home to.”

My smile feels stiff as I say, “I’ll do my best to be worthy of him.”

Marcello turns to me, putting a finger beneath my chin. “You’re already more than worthy, caro.” He leans in and presses his lips to mine.

The older alphas chuckle.

My cheeks are hot as he straightens. I know it’s all an act, but the feel of his warm mouth on mine is arousing, even if this is all for show. I’m self-conscious as the older alphas stare at me, elbowing each other. They have decades on me, but it all feels a little like we’re in high school.

The group of them chat a bit more, and then Marcello leads me away. When we’re some distance from them, Marcello says under his breath, “Phony, backstabbing bastards.”

I look at him in surprise. “But, they seemed to adore you.”

He lets out a harsh breath. “We aren’t the only ones putting on a show, Elio.”

His comment makes me uneasy. I definitely thought they all loved him. I don’t understand his world at all, which isn’t reassuring. I’m usually very good at reading people. It’s handy in my line of work. But I obviously missed a lot of silent cues back there. How am I supposed to safely navigate three years of this? But I have to push my worried thoughts aside because there are more people approaching with handshakes and congratulations.

At one point, Marcello steps away to talk to a group of women who are standing with his mother. I slip behind a planter that holds a large olive tree, attempting to hide behind the glossy leaves. I’m socially drained and in need of some space from people. Unfortunately, Carlo finds me.

He’s holding two glasses of champagne, and he hands me one. “How are you holding up?” he asks. Up close, he’s handsome in a rakish, slightly disheveled way that contrasts sharply with Marcello’s smooth perfection. His smile is quick and genuine and it reaches his eyes, which is more than I can say for most of the smiles I’ve received today.

“I’m still standing.” I sip the champagne.

He glances around. “So far, everyone is buying what you two are selling. I’ve heard nothing but good things.”

“That’s great. I’d hate to think this was all for nothing.”

He studies me. “Marcello can be a lot. I’m his best friend and even I sometimes don’t know what to do with him. He’s moody, but it never lasts long. You probably already know that.”

“I don’t know him well enough to know anything about him yet,” I admit.

“No? Well, he’d hate for me to tell you this, but he’s not nearly as hard as he pretends to be.” He grimaces. “I mean, yeah, he can off a guy and not lose any sleep, but he wants his loved ones to feel safe and happy.”

I squint at him. “Did you forget our relationship is fake? I don’t think he gives two shits about me, Carlo.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But he’s weird about you.” He gives a quiet laugh. “He gets this look when he sees you. It’s like he’s excited, but he’s fighting the feeling. I’ve known him since we were four years old, but I can’t figure him out where you’re concerned. But you make him feel something.”

“Maybe it’s indigestion. I suspect I give him that.”

Carlo laughs. “Maybe.” He glances at me. “I will tell you this, if he decides he likes you, there’s no one more loyal.”