I was just a woman, desired and wanted.
But then reality crashed back. Cesare dismissed me like I was nothing, his expression unreadable. In the two weeks since, we've barely spoken beyond wedding preparations. The tension between us is suffocating, and I'm constantly on edge.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Come in," I call out, grateful for the distraction.
My mother enters, eyes immediately welling with tears as she takes in my appearance. "Oh, Vittoria," she breathes. "You look absolutely beautiful."
I force a smile, trying to ignore the anxiety twisting my stomach into knots. "Thank you, Mam."
She crosses the room and takes my hands, expression serious. "Are you ready for this, love?"
Am I ready? To marry a man over twenty years older? To become wife to one of the most powerful and dangerous men in Boston? To leave behind everything I've ever known? To become stepmother to six kids who already hate me?
Fuck no, I'm not ready. But I don't have a choice.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, squeezing her hands.
Mam's eyes search mine, and I know she can see the turmoil I'm trying to hide. "Remember what I told you," she says softly. "You're stronger than they know. Don't let them extinguish that fire inside you."
I nod, feeling the weight of the key she gave me, now hidden in the back of my phone case. It's a reminder of who I am, of the strength that runs through my veins.
"It's time," the wedding planner announces, poking her head into the room.
My mother gives my hands one final squeeze before stepping back. "I love you, Vittoria," she says, voice thick with emotion. "No matter what happens, remember that."
"I love you too, Mam," I reply, fighting back my own tears.
As I make my way to the doors leading to the decorated gardens, my father appears at my side. His expression is stern, eyes filled with warning.
"Remember your duty," he says low, grabbing my arm and digging his fingers into my flesh as he curls my arm around his. "Don't embarrass our family."
I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. The wedding march begins, and the doors swing open. Hundreds of faces turn to look at me as my father leads me down the makeshift aisle.
I force myself to smile, to play the part of the blushing bride.
The gardens look incredible. It's been snowing all week, and white covers everything like a fairy tale. Lights twinkle from the trees and snow crunches beneath the white carpet under my feet. I hadn't expected something so beautiful. Mrs. Rossi outdid herself.
It's breathtaking and heartbreaking at the same time.
At the end of the aisle stands Cesare, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored black tuxedo. His eyes lock onto mine as I approach, expression unreadable. For a moment, I'm transported back to that night in his study, remembering the heat of his kiss, the feel of his hands on my body.
I push the memory away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
As we reach the altar, my father places my hand in Cesare's. His grip is firm, almost possessive. "Good luck," Father says, tone cold and impassive.
Cesare's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he turns his gaze to me. I hate that I can't read him, hate that he's so good at hiding his emotions while I'm drowning in mine.
The ceremony passes in a blur. I recite my vows on autopilot, promising to love, honor, and obey a man I barely know. When Cesare slides the ring onto my finger, I feel its weight like a shackle around my soul.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declares. "You may kiss the bride."
Cesare leans in, lips meeting mine in a kiss that's far more chaste than the one we shared in his study. But even this brief contact sends electricity through my body. As he pulls away, I notice his eyes are darker than usual, but he blinks and they're back to that cool, calculating look he always wears.
We turn to face the applauding crowd, Cesare's hand firm on my lower back. As we make our way down the aisle, I catch sight of his children. Lorenzo's expression is carefully neutral. The rest can't hide their pain. They lost their mother not long ago. This is too much for them.
I can't blame them for hating me.
Cesare leads me into the house where the reception is being held, hand firmly on my back. My stomach fills with dread. I have no idea what to expect. With my father, I can gauge his moods, know when he's about to lash out. But Cesare? He's an unknown, and I fucking hate that.
