He’s been distant for the last week while the wedding has been being arranged. I made a promise to Vittorio; once we were married, I would be his and his alone and now this foolishness. If Vittorio finds out about this, Matteo will certainly lose his job.
Pulling up outside the house, a woman with a clipboard walks towards the car, but Luca jumps out, stopping her in her tracks. She shows him the board, and he steps back, opening the door. I climb out of the vehicle, and she smiles at me and reaches out her hand, informing me she’s the wedding coordinator and to follow her.
I turn to see Matteo staring out of the other window before Luca grabs my bag and steers me inside. I follow her through hallways and corridors before we reach a set of double doors at the end. When she pushes them open, the room is spacious, light and airy, simplistic but elegant. Marianne is waiting inside with a glass of champagne. She’s having her hair and makeup done as another person gestures me towards the empty seat next to her.
“I’m going to check on the groom. Have fun, ladies. I’ll see you all soon.” The planner smiles.
I see Luca standing in the corridor. He gives me a small nod, and I relax a little, knowing at least he has my back. She clicks the door closed when she leaves.
I survey the room. I wander around checking the main door, the bathroom, and the external doors and windows before I walk over to Marianne. I take her hand in mine and give her a tight-lipped smile as I squeeze. I want to say so much, but I also feel that if I let my walls down, they may crumble, and I need to make it through this.
I need to stay focused. Today isn’t the day to relax and enjoy life. I step over to the chair and get primped and preened, my mind keeps wandering while keeping an eye on the windows and the exits. I’m sure brides shouldn’t normally feel this way on their wedding day. Marianne coos over me like I’m the daughter she never had, and I’m probably the nearest thing to that for her.
My mother was never really a mother. I don’t think I even remember her anymore. And when I think of my father, the only fond memory I have is of him lying on the floor surrounded by blood with my bullet through him. Let’s hope my and my husband-to-be’s relationship is better than the majority of the others I’ve cultivated.
My phone buzzes, and Marianne hands it to me. I stare at it. It’s Vittorio. I take a deep breath. “Hello.”
“Well, don’t you look beautiful?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
I smile back. “How the hell would you know?”
“I know you do. So anyway, business first. The Syndicate are attending. There is security on the premises, and we’ve reached a truce, of sorts. There will be no bloodshed today.” There’s a pause. “That goes for us, too.”
I huff out a laugh. “You think they can be trusted?”
“Fuck no. That’s why I organised the security myself, and they’ve been given strict instructions to shoot to kill ifanyone dicks around. They’ll also be searched and stripped of weapons on arrival. Apparently, they still want to allow people the illusion that you’re trying to make it into the Syndicate, and they’re allowing you to try.”
“Well, how wonderful of them,” I chuckle.
He huffs out a laugh. “Well, there’s a gift from me at the bottom of your dress bag. I think it will go perfectly with your dress. I’ll see you soon. I’ll be the handsome one waiting at the end of the aisle.”
“Vittorio…” I’m cut off as he hangs up. I take a breath as the hairstylist wrestles my hair into an elaborate updo, with wispy tendrils skimming my face and shoulders. I stand staring at myself in the mirror, the makeup stunning, the hair gorgeous, but is it really me? I sigh as I walk towards the dress.
“Leave us,” I say coldly to the hair and makeup people and sigh as the room empties. “Have you seen it?” I ask Marianne, waiting for a reaction, but she shakes her head.
“That is all him.” I don’t know why the sentiment makes me feel nervous. He picked the dress. For most girls, it’s supposed to be a monumental thing, shopping for the dress with family and friends. It’s a whole ordeal. But for me, it’s just a dress, on a day that is irrelevant in my life, the way I live it’s a means to an end. I would have walked into the town hall and got married in my suit. What matters to me is whether this marriage will work. If he is on my side or if I am totally alone. If I’m alone against the rest of the Syndicate, I might not see tomorrow. It’s all a game of chance. Will they try to kill me today while my guard is down? Will they succeed in eradicating my lineage?
I step up to the dress bag, and I can see Marianne eyeing me. She’s holding her breath, waiting for me to open the bag and see the dress. Marianne gasps from behind me as I step up to the bag.
I turn and smile at her before turning back to the dress bag and slowly sliding the zip down. As I open the bag, layers of gown cascade out. I tug the dress from its confines and hang it on the door. It’s gorgeous—all white with sparkling crystals that twinkle in the sunlight as it streams through the French doors out onto the veranda.
I run my fingers over its obvious beauty before reaching into the bottom of the bag and pulling out a gift box. I take it to the table and blow out a breath before removing the lid. There’s a stark white card at the top with gold embossed letters reading “For You.”
I flip open the card.
Now you are mine, and I am yours. Together we are stronger. Divided, they will fall.
Love, Vittorio Bianchi
I stare at the handwriting and smile to myself. I place the card down and lift the tissue. Revealing a small handgun, a box of ammo, and a thigh holster. My smile turns into a devious grin. Maybe this won’t be the mistake I think it could be after all.
Marianne leans over my shoulder and chokes back a sob. “It’s beautiful.” Her fingertips reach out and brush the mother-of-pearl handle and the white barrel. The small handgun rests neatly against the palm of my hand,and I pull the holster out. It looks like it could pass for a garter. She chuckles and walks away to put her dress on.
I take out the holster and tighten it around my thigh, sliding my hand over the soft leather of it. Staring at the gun, it’s stunning. I turn it over, taking in all the minute details. The mother-of-pearl is breathtaking, and the rest of the gun is white. It’s pristine. It’s small and compact. I slip it into the holster and stare at myself in the mirror.
My understated white lace underwear hugs my hips, while the strapless matching bra cups my breasts, holding them delicately, leaving a stunning silhouette, and the gun against my tanned skin is mesmerising. I stare at the reflection of myself, stroking the gun. The feel of the smooth, cold mother-of-pearl feels symbolic against my touch.
This feels more like me. Maybe this match will be the be-all and end-all of everything. Maybe he will be my person. Only time will tell.
