The Mafia's Pet

Chapter 42

Vanessa

The wedding is moved from the sanctuary to the reception area, where the room is nearly as large as the previous one. As the guests fill the space, finding their designated seats, a team of attentive waiters' weave through the crowd, presenting trays laden with an array of mouthwatering dishes. Each circular table is adorned with an elegant glass bowl filled with colorful Mexican candies. Meanwhile, the mariachi band continues to play covers of popular songs in the background.

Surrounded by this many people for the first time since my mom's funeral, I sense my social energy depleting rapidly. Staying close to Diego, we navigate through a sea of greetings and congratulations from a multitude of strangers.

Honestly, who are all these people? I understand Hispanic families are known for their size, but damn! I'm guessing there are some distinct cousins here or something. A fuck load of them.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes," a well-dressed man exclaims with a broad grin that stretches across his face. "My wife and I are looking forward to the future dinner parties."

God. I'm never going to get used to being addressed like that, even though I've heard it a few hundred times tonight alone.

As we inform the waitstaff of our preferences, they swiftly deliver the plates to our table at the front of the room. Having Alicia and Camila join us brings a welcome sense of familiarity to this otherwise long ass evening.

"So, that last guy... was he, like, a third cousin removed or something?" I ask, popping a blueberry into my mouth. I'm sticking to snacking on fruit because I know that if I eat anything heavy, I'll instantly throw it up because my nerves are still bad.

"No, that's the police chief," he says, amusement coloring his words.

Wow. He really does have the entire city in the palm of his hand.

"So, if I would've run and told them about you?" I ask, the question hanging in the air, my eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"You would have been returned right back to me." His tone carries a hint of assurance that sends goosebumps along my skin.

I grind my molars. "So that first punishment was for nothing then."

He smirks, savoring a calculated sip from his glass of champagne. "I think we know better than that now, Mama. Did you not learn a thing or two about loyalty and obedience?"

I roll my eyes, a reluctant smile playing on my lips. "Whatever."

An older woman walks up to the table, her eyes locked on Diego. She shares the same brown eyes as Camila, making me ponder whether Diego resembles his father because, at first glance, they don't look related. "Diego, why wasn't I invited to your wedding?" she demands, planting her hands on her hips.

"Celeste," Diego replies, his tone carrying a bitter edge.

"Don't 'Celeste' me!" she whisper-yells, ensuring not to draw attention from the people around us. "I am your mother. Now, introduce me to your beautiful wife."

Leaning on the table, he massages his temple with two fingers. "Celeste, meet Vanessa, my wife. Vanessa, this is Celeste, my stepmother," he grumbles.

"His Mamá," she corrects. Gracefully, she circles the table and embraces me, leaving a peck on my cheek. "I never thought I would see Diego get married. It was quite a beautiful ceremony."

"Uh, thank you," I reply shyly.

She gestures for Camila to scooch over so she can sit beside Diego and signals the waiter to serve her.

Is there something I'm missing? Celeste seems pleasant, but perhaps it's just for public appearances. The way Camila made it sound, she's an evil bitch. I guess I'll remain on guard and wait for her to reveal her true nature.

The arrival of his stepmom has transformed Diego into a tense statue, every muscle seemingly locked in place. Once I finish the last handful of fruit from my bowl, he rises from his seat and gracefully extends his hand. "Can I have this dance with my wife?" he asks, a warm smile softening the intensity in his eyes.

My stomach flips at the request, but I stand, and he takes my hand as we walk to the center of the dance floor. He wraps his hands securely around my waist, pulling me gently into the rhythm of the music. In a moment of clumsiness, I accidentally step on his foot. However, he responds with a soft chuckle, the sound resonating warmly in my ear.

"Sorry. I've never danced before," I admit in a small voice, chewing on my bottom lip. With a laugh, I add, "At least not since I was five years old standing on my father's toes."

He smirks. "I see why. You have two left feet."

"Don't," I squeal, a playful protest escaping my lips as he lifts me onto his expensive dress shoes. We twirl around the floor, his smirk evolving into shared laughter.

The rhythm of the music guides us, and soon, the awkwardness of the earlier misstep is replaced by a newfound ease. The room seems to blur, leaving only us in an enchanting dance.