Because that’s what everyone will think, isn’t it? That I seduced Giovanni, that I took advantage of his obvious mental instability to get what I wanted. No one will believe the truth, that a twenty-one-year-old femboy overpowered a seasoned capo and forced him into this situation.
My reputation will be destroyed. Everything I’ve built, every relationship I’ve cultivated, every ounce of respect I’ve earned, all of it will disappear the moment people find out about this.
Wait. Online ceremony. Tomorrow. With a celebrant.
“Ginni,” I say carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. “This online wedding... it’s not going to be legally binding, is it? I mean, it’s just ceremonial, right?”
He pauses in his twirling, giving me a look that’s part confusion, part pity. “Of course it’s going to be legal, silly. I’ve done all the research. The celebrant is registered, the paperwork is ready to be filed. We’ll be properly married by tomorrow evening.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Legally married. To Giovanni Torrini. There will be documentation, records, proof that I participated in this insanity.
Even if I escape, even if I somehow get out of this basement, I’ll be married to him. Legally bound to the most unstablemember of the Torrini family. The scandal alone will destroy me, but the legal complications...
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper.
“Of course I’m serious,” Ginni says, looking genuinely hurt by my doubt. “This isn’t some game, Carlo. This is our wedding we’re talking about. The most important day of our lives.”
He moves to another dress, this one with intricate beading that catches the light like stars. “And for the honeymoon, I was thinking somewhere tropical. The Maldives, maybe, or Bali. Somewhere private where we can really get to know each other as husband and wife.”
Husband and wife. He said those words with pure conviction. He’s not just talking about a fake ceremony to satisfy some deranged fantasy. He genuinely believes this is going to happen. Genuinely thinks that tomorrow he’ll put on one of these dresses and marry me, and we’ll live happily ever after.
The collection of wedding dresses suddenly takes on even more of a sinister meaning. I know this isn’t recent planning. And these gowns are expensive, designer pieces that would have taken months to acquire. Some look like they’ve been tried on repeatedly, the fabric slightly worn from handling.
Cristo. Just how long has he been fantasizing about this? How many nights has he stood in front of this mirror, imagining himself as my bride? The obsession runs deeper than I thought, rooted in years of planning and preparation.
“I’ve already found the perfect celebrant online,” he continues cheerfully, adjusting the beaded dress so it falls perfectly around his ankles. “She does virtual ceremonies, very discreet, perfect for unconventional situations. Five-star reviews, completely professional.”
I pull against the restraints with renewed desperation, not caring that the metal cuts into my wrists. The pain is better thanthis creeping sense of inevitability, better than the way part of me is starting to accept that maybe this is just my life now.
“The flowers will have to be white, obviously,” Ginni babbles on, completely oblivious to my growing panic. “Roses, maybe, or peonies if I can get them on short notice. And candles everywhere, just like tonight. Oh, and we’ll need someone to take photos! I want to document every moment of our special day.”
I have no fucking clue how he is going to bring a photographer to his basement boudoir and get them to ignore the fact I’m an unwilling prisoner. But this is Ginni. He will find a way.
There are going to be photographs. Evidence. Permanent proof of whatever ceremony he’s planning to put me through. Even if I escape eventually, even if I find a way out of this nightmare, there will be photographs of Carlo Benedetti participating in a marriage ceremony with Giovanni Torrini.
“Later, we can have a proper reception,” he continues, lost in his fantasy. “Maybe at the Savoy, or somewhere equally elegant. All our friends dressed in their finest, celebrating our love. Dancing until dawn, just like in the movies.”
The easy way he switches between tomorrow’s basement ceremony and some impossible future celebration makes my skin crawl. He can’t distinguish between what’s real and what’s fantasy, between what’s possible and what’s completely delusional.
“I need to get out of here,” I whisper, the words barely audible even to myself. “I need to get out of here right fucking now.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s impossible. The basement is soundproofed. The restraints are professional grade. Ginni has planned this too well, thought of too many contingencies.
And the worst part, the thing that makes me want to scream until my throat is raw, is that he looks absolutely radiant in every single dress. Like a fairy tale princess, like something froma dream, like the kind of beautiful creature that men go to war over.
“This is the one,” he announces suddenly, stopping in front of the mirror in the beaded gown. “This is perfect. Classic but not boring, elegant but not stuffy. You love it, don’t you? I can tell by the way you’re looking at me.”
The way I’m looking at him. Like a starving man looking at a feast. Like someone drowning in sight of salvation. Like a man watching his own destruction and finding it beautiful.
“Ginni,” I start, my voice hoarse with desperation. “We can’t get married. This isn’t... people don’t just...”
“Of course we can,” he interrupts, his voice bright with certainty. “Everything’s arranged. Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock sharp. Our new life begins.”
And looking at him standing there in white silk and pearls, surrounded by enough wedding dresses to stock a bridal boutique, glowing with years of accumulated fantasy and absolute certainty, I realize with crystal clarity that Giovanni Torrini isn’t going to let me leave this basement unless I’m his husband.
But the fairy tale wedding he’s planning isn’t the beginning of our happily ever after.
It’s the end of my life as I know it.
