Page 85 of Veil of Vengeance

“It’s perfect,” Mom and Gloria both say at the same time. They sound almost breathless, and it honestly makes me glad that they love the dress.

“Yes, it is. I think this is the one,”

My wedding dress is picked.Soon, I’ll be marrying the future drug lord of one of the most notorious Colombian drug Cartels in the country. ??

* * *

Six months later

Today is my wedding day.

The whole house is in wedding mode, and everyone is freaking out. I can hear my wedding planner screaming down the hall from my room. My hairstylist, Melissa, is working on getting my up-do perfect and making sure that it’ll last through the fourteen-hour wedding day. It’s only 7:30 and we have around two hours before the wedding ceremony.

Mom’s running around like a headless chicken, trying to make sure that Violette and Monica are ready. She’s also chasing Marcello to get him to put on a tie, but he keeps dodging her; that is, until Dad gives him a look that could make a grown man shit himself.

The last couple of steps for my look are lipstick, dusting off the setting powder, and setting spray. With Melissa nearly done, she rushes over to the other girls to get them ready before they leave to go to the church.

“Come on, Monica. You don’t need that much makeup, sweetie, you’re fourteen.” Mom urges Mon to stop trying to add more makeup, but she doesn’t listen.

“I’ll see you at church, Mom. I'm going to go change in the other room.” I kiss Mom’s cheeks, and she pulls me into a hug, sniffling.

“When did my little girl grow up? I remember when you were a little girl running around, asking everyone to play with you.” She pulls back, dabbing the corners of her eyes with the edge of her fingers.

I give her a small smile, wishing I can be that young again and not feel like the weight of a mountain rests on my shoulders.

“Don’t cry, Mom. I’m getting married, not dying,” I say. Although I’d much rather the latter of the two.

“Yes, I know. I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, sweetie?”

The knot in my throat intensifies, and I really don’t want to lie to my mom, but I just nod my head and kiss her cheek. Her palm cradles my cheek for a second before she turns to my sisters.

“Come on, girls, we need to go, and Marcello, come on, caro amico, we have to go to the church.”

They all rush out the door, the makeup artist and hairdresser behind them. I stare at the closed mahogany door for a beat before going into the second room to get dressed. The only people in the house now are Dad, me, and four bodyguards. Everyone else is at the church and most of the guards are guarding the church with Guerrero’s guards.

It’s quiet. It's almost eerie how quiet it is, but I shake it off and try to ignore the small lead ball in the bottom of my stomach, telling me something is off. I open the closet door that holds my wedding dress, heels, Nicholas’ family heirloom necklace, and the long veil. I had the dress designed to have a zipper on the side instead of the back since I wanted to get dressed by myself, refusing to have anyone in here with me.

The dress slips on easily and the zipper glides up smoothly. I take the white kitten heels out of their box and place them on the ground, lifting the dress. Putting on the shoes, I move to the necklace and then the veil. The sound of my heels against the marble floors echoes around in the room as I go to stand in front of the long mirror. In the reflection, I find something that resembles me, but it isn’t really me. It doesn’t feel like me.

The girl in the mirror is groomed to perfection, as an instrument for her family's plans, but that’s not who I want to be. What scares me the most is the fact that I look so…empty. My eyes bleak, as if life had been drained out of them, and that’s how I’d been feeling the last few months, like I’ve been floating through life, not really living.

My heart aches, entire body aches, and existing alone hurts like a thousand knives. I fight the urge to cry as my eyes glaze and the familiar sting takes over. My throat tightens, and the noose that has been around it since I’d left…New Hampshire has finally become too tight to breathe, and my limbs feel too weak to stand. I don’t fall, I won’t fall. I’ll stand straight and tall, and whatever this fucking life throws at me I will take.

I don’t need anyone.

But I’m jolted within the next second, my emotion switching to shock.

My eyes widen as I look in the mirror again and see the only person I have wanted to see. He stands behind me in a black suit, his hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world. His face softens at the look in my eyes. I don’t turn around.

“You look breathtaking, ragazza mocciosa,” he whispers. My teeth grind together at the softness of his voice, at the adoring look in his eyes.

“What are you doing here? Today, of all days?” I ask, heart racing, and his eyes harden at the roughness of my tone, his tattooed hands sliding out from his pockets.

“I’ve come to take back what’s mine.”

I scoff at that, even as my stomach swoops like it’s fighting against me. His eyes narrow as he steps closer.

“And what would that be?”

---