Page 18

To survive being married to a Rossi and having the backstabbing Griselda as a relative, I had to make a stand now. They would not see a De Lucci cower.

I put on foundation too pale for my skin. I had on red lipstick too harsh for my coloring. Not bothering with concealer, I let my under eyes resemble overstuffed luggage. I overdid the black mascara and liner. My eyes were bloodshot. Renz was right when he said I looked like the bride of Dracula. I certainly felt like it.

Gian Rossi will rue the day he asked me to be his bride.

I didn’t know what time it was, but the sun had set and the whole house was lit up with eerie old-world light fixtures. An elaborate crystal chandelier that probably cost hundreds of thousands hung in the middle of the foyer tiled with Carrara marble.

The area crawled with soldiers wearing suits and communicating with comms. One would think they were the Secret Service guarding the president.

“Where’s the ceremony going to be held?”

I clutched Tommy’s arm as we descended the staircase. As much as throwing myself down the steps to end my misery was an option that crossed my mind, the fighter in me refused to give up.

It was hours closer to my wedding night. If I had a sharp object, would I stab Gian Rossi in the neck before he got the chance to fuck me? I hadn’t thought that far yet. What if he tied me up so I couldn’t fight him? He should know by now he wasn’t getting a meek wife.

As the light in the house grew brighter, my thoughts dimmed. We walked along a narrow hallway lit by elaborate sconces reminiscent of haunted houses. The ones that flickered. The ones that made static sounds. Wood panels and chipped-off paint added to the gloomy atmosphere.

“I don’t hear any music.” I mocked because the sound of my heels on the flooring sounded too much like a march to my doom. I had to break the rhythm before I crumpled and cried.

“Ah, there wasn’t enough time to secure a string quartet.”

“Fully booked, huh?”

“The ones we trust,” Tommy said. “The family is leerier now after what happened.”

“What’s the matter? The news of our disappearance making everyone nervous?”

Tommy’s non-answer was answer enough. Gian Rossi had bitten off more than he could chew, and it had become a matter of pride.

We arrived at the double doors. I stilled myself. I wasn’t going to run. He looked at my hands. “You don’t have your bouquet.”

I glared at him. “We don’t need one for this dark comedy.” Griselda brought one into the room earlier. Red roses and baby’s breath and ferns. I detested baby’s breath and ferns in flower arrangements. They were fillers.

He shook his head and opened the door.

The room appeared sparsely occupied. Rows of foldable chairs. More men in suits and a few women in cocktail dresses were in attendance. I recognized faces from the party two nights ago, but I was shocked to see the man standing at the end of the line.

Sandro. He was standing beside the priest.

“Is he going to be the best man?”

My heart plummeted, past my gut, straight to my feet that refused to budge. Could his betrayal run deeper?

“Come on,” Tommy urged, grabbing my arm and whispering in my ear. “Don’t fight it, for God’s sakes.”

My feet inched forward. Lack of sleep, days of despair, and hours of anxiety were catching up with me. The room was tiltingone way and then the other. No. It seemed like the walls had curved over me, shrinking the room. My heart rate skittered.

“Breathe, Bianca. Don’t faint now.”

I spotted Gian Rossi. He was glaring at me and then at Sandro. He was standing beside a much older gentleman who they referred to as the Blind Don, the elder Rossi, the most revered member of the Rossi crime family. Sandro’s uncle. Gian’s adoptive father.

It didn’t take long for us to get from the door to the front of the room since the space was small, and Tommy, sensing that I was about to bolt, hurried me along. Griselda was standing beside the elder Rossi and several women with perfectly coifed hair. Just like Gian, she was staring daggers at me like she wanted to flay me alive.

What happened? Was I marrying Sandro?

The somberness in the room made it look like a funeral instead of a wedding.

Not a wedding.