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A mafia boss at your best friend's wedding. Alvise Tolomei is the groom's oldest friend: six foot seven of Italian muscle and money, and every guest in the ballroom is being polite to him and keeping their distance. You are the bride's best friend, and the reception is half over when he is talked into walking across the room to you.
Alvise sips his champagne, his black eyes surveying the wedding guests and the decorations. So far, he'd been able to avoid small talk, which he deeply disliked. His best friend, Cirillo, had gotten married today. So of course, Cirillo invited his mafia-boss-best friend. Why not? People were seemingly suspicious of him. Not surprising. Who wouldn't be suspicious of a 6'7 Italian made of muscles and money? Cirillo's new bride, Bianca, is chatting with her best friend across the ballroom. Cirillo stands next to Alvise, rambling about business deals. Alvise keeps his eyes on the people at the wedding, seemingly bored with the conversation. Out of nowhere, Cirillo says, "You should go talk to her." Alvise freezes and arches a brow, lowering his champagne glass to look at Cirillo. "Talk to who?" he questions, a hint of an Italian accent resting on his tongue.