Maybe my father found out they have me?
I wish.
The sight of all those weapons, even if they’re holstered, makes me nervous, and I can’t help trembling as my guards usher me forward. The attendees probably think it’s just the usual wedding jitters.
I walk down the aisle alone. I don’t listen to the traditional music that’s playing. I didn’t pick it. The song means nothing to me.
A few people in the front rows whisper, probably wondering where my father is. I guess they’re starting to realize this wedding is against my will, and his. Then again, a bride walking the aisle alone, while uncommon, isn’t unheard of. It’s supposed to be a symbol of independence. Or something.
When I see The Cleaver at the altar, I freeze. He’s leering openly. Meanwhile his father, standing beside him, scowls at me. I notice that despite the tuxedo, Achille is still openly wearing a pistol at his hip.
I remember his threat.
You will exchange vows with my son, and you will kiss him as if you love him. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you in the head in front of the entire congregation.
I shut my eyes.
Just get this over with. It’ll be done soon.
I open my eyes and continue. I do my best not to look at the pistol Achille carries, nor at either his face or his son’s. I concentrate on the sea behind the altar, between the columns. Those waves almost seem to beckon, calling to me. Maybe if I make a run for it I’ll reach the water.
Doubtful, with this damn dress clinging to me.
Besides, the moment my feet hit the sand beyond the chapel, The Cleaver or his father will shoot me in the back.
The priest addresses the guests. “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. We—”
“Just get to the vows,” The Cleaver interrupts. “We don’t have all fuckin’ day.”
The nervous priest glances first at him, and then at his father. Achille hesitates, then nods.
The priest clears his throat. “Do you, Vittorio Rizzo, take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her—”
“Yeah,” The Cleaver interrupts again. “I fuckin’ do."
Achille is openly scowling at his son now, but The Cleaver doesn’t notice. He’s too busy leering at me.
The priest continues. “Do you, Angela Amato, take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"
“I…” I glance at The Cleaver, who’s smirking. Then I look at his father. Achille gestures curtly with one hand, motioning for me to continue. “I…”
I look at the ocean waves beyond the colonnade. At the sky, almost seeming one with the sea. I spot a seagull, circling overhead. Free.
Free.
I make my choice. I don’t care if they kill me.
“I can’t,” I reply.
I wait for the bullet to come. Achille is going to shoot me in the head. Good. Better that, than this.
Sure enough I hear a gunshot. I don’t even flinch.
Strangely, I don’t die.
The gunshot was too distant to be directed at me. Then what…
More gunfire comes, closer this time, and I can’t help but tense up. I hate that sound.
