She Found Her Maid of Honor’s Ultrasound in Her Fiancé’s Tuxedo—Then Chicago’s Most Feared Mafia Boss Walked Into Her Wedding and Claimed Her Before Everyone

The cold night air on the balcony was crisp, sweeping away the heavy perfume and stuffy heat of the ballroom.

Maeve leaned against the stone balustrade, looking out at the glittering skyline of Chicago. She was still breathing fast, the lingering rush of adrenaline from her confrontation with Victoria humming through her veins.

Mateo stood behind her, his large hands resting gently on her waist, pulling her back until her shoulders rested securely against his broad chest.

"You handled my aunt with remarkable violence," Mateo murmured into her hair, his deep voice vibrating against her back.

"She insulted my grandfather's shop," Maeve said, turning her head slightly to look at him. "I don't let people attack my work."

"I know," Mateo said quietly. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck, right above the emerald necklace. A shiver ran down Maeve’s spine, her breath catching in her throat. "You were magnificent tonight, Maeve."

"Mateo..." she whispered, her hands coming up to rest against his arms wrapped around her. "This was supposed to be a business arrangement."

Mateo turned her around in his arms until she was pressed against the balustrade, trapped securely between the stone wall and his formidable frame. He looked down into her eyes, all humor gone from his face, replaced by an intense, dark hunger that made her core melt.

"It stopped being a business arrangement the night I saw you standing in that rain-slicked alley with blood in your eyes," Mateo said softly, his long fingers trailing up her throat to cup her cheek. "I didn't bring you into my life to play a role, Maeve. I brought you into my life because I wanted you."

Maeve’s heart hammered frantically against her ribs. "You... you barely knew me."

"I knew everything that mattered," Mateo said firmly. "I knew you were strong enough to design your own life. I knew you were fierce enough to protect what belonged to you. And I knew that if I let you walk away that night, I would spend the rest of my life watching other men fail to appreciate the sun."

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow, deep, and intoxicating. It wasn't the tentative, careful kisses Brandon had given her—kisses that felt calculated and restrained. Mateo kissed her like a man claiming a kingdom, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his strong hands sliding down her back, pulling her plush, curvaceous body tightly against his hard, muscular frame.

Maeve let out a soft gasp against his mouth, her arms winding around his neck, her fingers tangling in his thick dark hair, surrendering completely to the heat consuming them both.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together in the dark.

"Mateo," a low, urgent voice interrupted from the balcony doorway.

Marcus, Mateo’s head of security, stepped out onto the terrace, his face grim.

Mateo didn't release his hold on Maeve, but his eyes instantly hardened as he looked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"We have a problem at the Metropolitan Correctional Center," Marcus said quietly. "Brandon Hayes was transferred to the medical wing twenty minutes ago after a fight in the yard."