Bound by my blood

Chapter two

The second I step into the house, I'm ambushed.

Mamma's arms wrap around me in a vice grip, her warmth pressing into me, the faint scent of vanilla and freshly brewed espresso clinging to her like a familiar lullaby. She holds me so tightly that it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. For a moment, I just let her, allowing myself to sink into her embrace, because I know what this is about.

She knows.

She must have found out that I knew about the wedding before she had told me.

Her fingers tighten slightly against my back, as if she can physically shield me from the reality looming over us. When she finally pulls back, her sharp brown eyes, so much like my own, search my face for any sign of upset, any crack in the carefully constructed façade I've been wearing since I left Jax standing alone in the café car park.

"You don't have to do this," she whispers, her voice laced with worry, her fingers still gripping my arms as if she's afraid I'll be taken away from her, "you know your papà and Nico would go to war for you. You know they would tear this entire city apart if you asked them to. This whole thing is so old-fashioned. What happened to just signing a damn piece of paper? I swear, these families get weirder every year."

I let out a small, breathy laugh—one that barely reaches my eyes. "It's fine, Mamma. I don't want Babbo or Nico doing anything reckless. I'll do it, even if it is old-fashioned."

I try to smile, but she sees right through me. She always does.

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed, before shaking her head and murmuring, "Bugiarda."

I press my lips together, but before I can say anything, her expression softens. A new question lingers on the tip of her tongue, one she hesitates to ask before lowering her voice so only I can hear.

"What about you and Jaxon?"

I freeze.

Mamma knows about me and Jax. She walked in on us kissing after my graduation but swore to keep it a secret. She knew that if Nico ever found out, there wouldn't be enough body bags in New York to contain his rage.

I swallow hard before answering, "I already told him. He understands."

She studies me for a moment before nodding. Then, without another word, she lifts one of my hands and presses a gentle kiss to my knuckles, as if sealing a silent promise between us.

She doesn't say it, but I know what she's thinking.

If you ever change your mind, I'll be the first to help you run.

But we both know I won't.

Before I can linger too long in that thought, she tugs me toward the kitchen. The moment we step inside, the energy in the room shifts.

Nico, Gio, and Babbo sit at the kitchen island, their presence heavy with expectation. Ameena—Gio's wife and a force of nature in her own right—moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, the rich aroma of simmering sauces and roasted garlic filling the air.

The second Nico sees me, he moves towards me, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting and protective gesture.

"Alexa." His voice is low, desperate, "tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it. You don't have to marry that jackass."

I sigh, pushing away from him as if this is completely normal behaviour because, honestly, it is. Nico has always been the dramatic one.

"Nothing," I reply smoothly, "I'll marry him if that's what will keep the peace."