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80

Francesca

I was a married woman.

Even though I was wearing a wedding dress, it felt surreal.

Married. With Fausto Ravazzani.

Holy crap.

I was a mob wife, a role I swore to avoid. When I took a look at my handsome husband, I couldn't regret it. I would spend the rest of my life next to him, in his bed, listening to that sexy growl and playing our naughty games together. Yes please.

As I handed out the souvenirs to the small number of dinner guests, they all kept pushing money at me. I knew it was an Italian custom, but I wasn't prepared for it. The mayor gave me ten thousand euros, damn it. Giulio said that more money and gifts will arrive in the coming weeks, once news of Fausto's wedding spreads around the world.

I guess that's what happened when someone marries a tough international criminal.

When I finished the souvenirs, I returned to my chair, which was now occupied by Marco. Instead of being dissuaded, I slid into my husband's lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. He smelled
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