Page 36 of The Mafia's Bride
Zia Maria, Alessio’s aunt and Nico’s wife of almost forty years, flints behind me like a buzzing bee. She fluffs my skirts, adjusting the straps on my shoulders, fixing my pearl teardrop earrings so they lay just right.
Pearl teardrop earrings, inherited from my mother’s mom, who gave them to her for her wedding. I don’t know where they’ve been this whole time, but Collins gave them to me when I woke up.
It’s a silent truce for our last fight, even though neither of us apologized. As is the way with sisters.
“Bene.” She nods once, pushing a stray curl back into the updo my hairdresser finished. My makeup is polished, my nails painted a fresh shade of burgundy. I can feel the excitement in the church, the atmosphere full of expectation with dozens and dozens of family members waiting to see me walk down the aisle.
My stomach twists with nerves as bile rises fast up my throat. My knees rock together as my blood pumps in my ears.
This is it.I’m getting married.
Something I thought I’d never say.
Especially toAlessio De Luca.
I can’t deny how my body seems to respond to him. How easily I allowed him to touch me, how I almost begged for it.
I’ve been finger-fucked before. But that? His words, his gloved hands which made everything feel dirtier, more erotic, was something else. No one had compared to that high. To that explosion.
Which deepens the confusion. He said he was my equal, he said he wasn’t walking away from this—that I wouldn’t be able to walk away from him. I’m starting to think he might be on to something.
I can’t focus on that right now. My last attempt to end the contract didn’t work, so now, I’m forced to go through with the marriage and aim for a divorce. That’s the only way I can get my victory.
“You look…” Collins beams coming into the bridal suite, her locks hanging over her shoulder in cascading curls. She’s in my bridesmaid outfit, a powder pink dress with capped sleeves which hits just below the knee in a demure way. Just the way I knew it would look on her.
I see the tears behind her glasses, the clumping of what little mascara she wears and the sad smile that makes my heart ache.
I know she thinks this should be her role—taking one for the clan while I get another path. God, I wish she could. I’d willingly let her marry in my place while I continue to do… well. I haven’t thought that far ahead.
But she can’t.
“That’s a lot of… white,” Maeve says behind her, voice dry. I didn’t bother asking her to be in the bridal party; she would have declined. It’s not proper for the Captain to be up there with the bride, she’d say.
At least Zia Maria said so when I mentioned it to her. The Captain stands apart, looking for trouble, protecting the family.
Maybe for the De Luca family. Here, in our clan, I’m not so sure.
Dressed in a simple black dress with thick straps that hits mid-thigh, she looks more done up for a funeral than a wedding. Her dark locks hang in straight strands across her back, a pair of gold earrings glinting in her ears, matching a chain down the front of her dress. I don’t bother to ignore the gun at her hip. She never goes anywhere without it.
If I’m going to be a Capo’s wife—for how little time that is—I better get used to it.
“It’s a Vivienne Westwood,” I pout, twirling in front of the mirror.
The dress is a beauty. Long, full skirt, made of heavy fabric with a cascading cowl neckline that shows off my cleavage, it’s exactly what I wanted. It doesn’t deter from my earrings but still has enough daring to cause heads to turn.
Zia Maria walks over to the table, grabbing Collin’s bouquet andmine; dusty pale pink roses, baby’s breath, and white calla lies with soft green accents.
Being a quick wedding, I was surprised at the ease we were able to get everything. I used my parents’ wedding album as a guide, not having my own ideas of what kind of wedding I wanted. I didn’t exactly grow up dreaming about it.
Maeve steps in front of me, seemingly unsure. “You’ll need this.”
Brow quirking, I open the black velvet box without taking my eyes off her face. She’s nervous, which can’t be a good thing.
When Collins gasps at my side, my eyes dart down, mouth dropping open.
Our mother’s diamond tiara.
It shines as if just buffed, catching the setting sun by my right, highlighting it with blazing oranges and red. White gold of an intricate setting, small and large pure diamonds sitting in every crevice. They remind me of balls of fire, lining the black setting, simmering and burning.
