1
Giovanna
Three sharp knocks sound at the door.
I immediately smile. I’m expecting Antonio, but that’s mine and Tommy’s special knock, the one I taught him more than a decade ago now: the first person does three hard knocks, the second person responds with two soft ones, then the third ends it with a drum roll of short taps.
I stand from the vanity chair and pull at my dress, wishing I didn’t look so wrecked. It’s Tommy’s fault, so he won’t care, but I do. I’m expecting Antonio any minute, and I would prefer not to look freshly fucked when I talk to him. Having Tommy hovering behind me while I tell Antonio that I can’t marry him isn’t ideal, either, but this conversation has to happen now, and I’m not sending my man away.
But when I open the door, it’s not Tommy. And it’s not Antonio.
Aurelio fills the doorway like a storm, huge shoulders in his tailored suit, belly overflowing his belt. Cigar smoke and anger hang around him like an aura. He steps into the room, and his men follow, fanning around me with guns pointed.
Cold air from the hallway pours in with them, and a chill runs through me. I feel trapped, like an animal, like prey. It doesn’t help that Aurelio notices and bares his teeth like a dog about to bite.
“Mia dolce,” he snarls, his accent thick and rough. “Such a pretty mess you are. Who did this to you? No, don’t answer. I know who did this to you.”
He steps in close to me and rubs his thick thumb over the smeared makeup on my cheek, and I lean back out of his reach. “And I knowhowhe did this to you….”
“I was just waiting for Antonio. You should probably go before he arrives,” I say with absolutely no conviction. As if Antonio would ever stand up to Aurelio for me. He had his chance to do that when Aurelio was at our apartment with my parents. He didn’t.
Aurelio raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Antonio is coming. He will no doubt wonder why his little bride is not, how shall we say, presentable on the most special day of her life?”
“Get out,” I say, my voice shaking. Tommy is here in the building somewhere, isn’t he? I try to use my peripheral vision to locate my phone. “You have no right—”
He laughs, a sound like rocks falling down a chute. “The right? Without me, you wouldn’t be here,ragazza.”
What does that mean?
Before I can ask, he swipes his hand over the vanity, knocking my makeup, perfume, and a small vase of wilting roses onto the floor with a crash. One of the bottles flies across the room and shatters a lamp. His men prowl around me like trained wolves, systematic and casual.
“You promised me obedience,” he says. “You promised to behave. Instead, you spread your legs for the one man I told you to leave alone. You distract him. You make him weak. Weak is dangerous for him. And more importantly, for me.Che vergogna.”
What a shame?
“The shame is you thinking it’s appropriate to accost a bride a few minutes before her wedding. My future husband will be here any minute, and he will not be happy if—”
Aurelio lunges toward me, leering. “Your future husband is standing at the altar, waiting for you while you bend over for another man. I do assume you mean Antonio Abbiati. Because my Tommaso will never be your husband.”
I can feel the color drain from my face. How does he know that?
“I am marrying Antonio. I’m doing what you wanted,” I say, my voice small and ridiculous. “Please don’t hurt Tommy—”
“Tch, tch,” he interrupts, shaking his head like he’s talking to a child. “Do not be sloppy with me. It is unbecoming of a woman to lie. It is also unbecoming to let a man tear up your pussy in public. Your little charade ends today.”
My hands start to shake, and panic flutters under my ribs. I back away from him, and accidentally hit the vanity with my hip. The mirror shivers. The phone is there on the ground, right next to me. I step over it so that my dress covers it, but one of Aurelio’s men notices and growls.
Motioning to another of Aurelio’s guards, he leaps at me. I throw the vanity chair at him and bend down to grab my phone, but the other guard tackles me to the ground. Aurelio waves his hand and one of his men snatches my phone and hands it to him.
In one swift motion, Aurelio slams it against the edge of the vanity and then into the mirror. The glass splinters into athousand fragments all over me sprawled on the floor, and the phone lands next to me, screen shattered.
“Pick her up.” Aurelio snaps his fingers, then pulls a cigar out of his pocket. Clipping off the end, he lights and puffs, watching with beady eyes as his men haul me to my feet.
I’m shaking, cut and bleeding from the glass, but I’m not crying. I refuse to cry in front of this asshole. I’m blinking hard, trying to focus, trying to think about what I can grab, where I can go, if my scream will be loud enough to be heard.
I open my mouth and let out a high-pitched shriek as loud as I can, but it’s abruptly cut short when the guard who broke my phone punches me straight in the face.
Pain ricochets through my jaw, and my brain feels like it’s rattling against my skull. My vision blurs, and for a moment I can’t hear anything but a loud buzzing in my ears. I taste copper and panic as my mouth fills with blood, and I spit, watching the red glob stain the white silk of my dress.
