Page 32 of Enzo
PENELOPE
Christmas came too soon.
A wedding should’ve been a time when two souls committed to loving each other for the rest of their lives. The day a man and a woman were joined in holy matrimony and bonded with vows spoken in front of God, family, and friends.
It was supposed to be the day your life began with your Prince Charming. Your knight in shining armor. It was the day that most girls fantasize about their whole lives.
I didn’t.
When I was seven, I accidentally overheard my nonno and Papà whispering behind closed doors about my arranged marriage to a complete stranger. The enemy.
And from that day forward, I dreaded it like it was my funeral.
My wedding, my whole life, was nothing short of a strategic move by the Marchetti family to secure their rule of Italy.
My papà had fought it, looking for any way out of the arrangement, but he failed. Nothing seemed to work when it came to getting me out of this predicament.
It was killing my poor papà, making him feel helpless. I could see it, and so could my mama. So I hid my disappointment and bitterness behind a mask of acceptance.
Hence why I stood here, ready to walk down the wide aisle of the most grandiose church in Sicily.
The church was filled with immediate family from both sides and the scent of flowers that made my stomach churn. My grandparents got married here, and so did my parents. It was the only win Papà was granted. Otherwise, we’d be in Rome, walking down one of the churches that the Marchettis funded.
When this farce of a wedding and reception was over, Enzo Marchetti—the devil bastard, as I liked to call him—had a honeymoon planned. We would have all the privacy we needed, according to the intel I’d snooped around for. No bride input needed, apparently.
We walked through the double wooden doors and into the chapel. The sight of it would have taken any girl’s breath away—the flowers, the decorations, the beautiful sunlight spilling through the stained-glass windows, the soft tunes of the church organs.
However, the only thing I managed to feel was dread. I tightened my grip on Papà’s hand, wishing I were anywhere but here while my stomach churned.
“I won’t let you fall,” he whispered softly.
I flicked him a glance, his form hardly visible through my red veil.
Did I mention my wedding dress and veil were bloodred? It was the only fitting wardrobe for the occasion, and I wanted the meaning behind it to be clear as day.
Of course, the dress was custom-made by Givenchy—I wasn’t a sadist who wanted to look terrible in front of her family. It was beautiful, but definitely insinuated the opposite of the bride’spurity. At least it did to me, knowing full well I’d given away my virginity to a complete stranger at Revelation a month ago.
Take that and shove it up your fucking ass, Marchetti fashion house.
Of course, Papà didn’t know that little piece of information.
I couldn’t help but grin, recalling my parents’ expressions when they first saw me put it on. Mama lost her shit, but Papà quickly got himself together and supported my rebellious move. He threatened and blackmailed all the staff today with torture, pain, and death to ensure that word of the dress didn’t reach the Marchettis. I really did have the best father in the world.
The first note of my procession song rang out and we stepped into the full view of the guests. Gasps traveled over the church like the most beautiful symphony, drowning out the music, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“It worked,” I murmured under my breath.
“I wish the whole world were here to witness this moment,” Papà grumbled just as quietly, and we both snickered.
The great Enrico Marchetti wanted the wedding to be as small as possible, probably sensing disaster looming around the corner. Papà was barely hanging on to the thin thread of sanity that remained, and if he reached his tipping point during this wedding, Enrico wouldn’t want an audience for that.
Obviously, he didn’t count on me.
Still, the audience was bigger than the Marchettis would have liked because Papà had a slightly bigger family thanks to his father, Benito King, who liked to fuck anything that moved and had spread his seed widely.
Inhaling a deep breath, I wondered if my destiny would send me a man like my paternal grandfather. Cruel. Evil. Unfaithful.
The rumors in the underworld were well known.
