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I nod to the men. “Finish it.” I turn to John. “Let’s go.”
I turn and leave the basement without as much as a backward glance. I hear the men's voices as they debate what to do with the traitor. As I round the corner to the hallway, the sound of a gunshot echoes. Good riddance.
Back in my room’s bathroom, I wash the blood off. I look at myself in the mirror and smile at the reflection staring back at me. Now, I can kick start this whole ceremony on the high that thrums in my pulse. Nothing than an attack or something similar to it to surge your adrenaline.
This is who I am—Serafina Rossi, not some blushing bride. Not some woman afraid of the attraction she feels towards a man, her enemy. Attraction is only trifling, and there's nothing that's above or even beyond me.
I return to my room and without wasting any more time, I yank off my coat and boots. I slip my heels on and smooth my dress. I smooth out my hair, making sure not a strand is out of place. I'm alive now. I'm ready for this.
“I’m ready,” I bellow out to Carlo who's standing guard at my door.
I take one last look at myself in the mirror and head out to the courtyard, Carlo a few paces behind me. The guests are gathered under golden lights, the villa’s stone walls looming like a stronghold.
All eyes turn to me. My gaze cuts to Aida, my only bridesmaid, waiting by the altar, her pink dress loud, eyes wet with tears. I take my eyes off her to look at my father who's appeared beside me. He's dressed in his signature navy suit, his gray hair slicked back, some of the lines creasing his face waning.
Today, he looks the perfect picture of the patriarch. No sign of the cancer eating away at his blood. He's leaning heavily against his walking stick, his wheelchair nowhere in sight. Today is a day of keeping up fonts and my father is taking his role too seriously. No one present would know just by looking at him of his ailment. I wonder what this whole act will cost him, but I know that whatever the costs, he deserves it for pawning me out.
“Sei bella, Fina,” he says in a clear voice as he holds out his arm.
I look from his outstretched arm to his face, searching for signs that he's having second thoughts about this whole thing, but his jaw is set. He doesn't regret it. I swallow a lump in my throat.
“Grazie, Papa,” I say, taking his arm.
Slowly, we both walk down the aisle—him with a subtly shaky gait, me with decided steps. The violin starts, soft and eerie as it accompanies our walk. Guest's eyes burn into me—Papa’s men, Enzo’s crew, watching this union like it’s a spark near dynamite.
We get to where the officiant's standing at the altar, and my father hands me over to Aida, but not before whispering “your mama would be proud to see you today.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. This wedding wouldn't be happening in the first place if she was alive.
I watch him walk back to his seat, a calm resignation settling over me.
Aida clutches my arm, her voice wobbly as she says, “Serafina, you’re stunning.” I glare at her. She's wailing. She's overdoing this whole thing on purpose. I don't know whether to laugh or berate her.
I settle on the latter. I pull free from her and mutter through clenched teeth, “enough.” She just sniffles, fanning her face. I scoff at her.
I scan the crowd, delaying looking at Enzo. I spot Adriano, Enzo’s advisor as I've been told, standing in as his father. He’s old—should be in the same age range as my father—silver hair slick, face beaming. I don’t trust that smile. There's something sinister about it that makes my gut twist. I don’t like him, not one bit.
Knowing I can’t delay the inevitable, I deliberately seek Enzo out. Even if I could avoid him, I can't. He's moved closer now.Jesus.My breath snags. He's in a black tux, tailored to every hard line. His dark hair is tamed, but those eyes, they're dark, piercing through my soul as he returns my stare.
The man's dynamite, and I hate how it stirs me in places that are forbidden. My pulse hammers in my throat as I continue to stare at him, unable to look at him. His presence is like a magnet, commanding me to keep my eyes on him and not look away. There's no acknowledgement in his gaze. His jaw’s set, lips curved faintly, like he knows I’m struggling. I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms as I keep my face blank.
I break the spell by looking away first, willing my racing heart to be still. Already, I'm failing at the first hurdle.
The officiant’s voice booms as he preaches peace and unity, and love.
I almost laugh.Love.If only he knew.
This unity is built on anything else but love. It's strategic. Two men had come together, and deciding they knew what was best for me, they brokered an agreement with me as the deal.
My eyes flick to my father who's staring straight at me, his expression emotionless. He has to feel something at least at giving his daughter away in this manner.Damn him.
Riccardo's nowhere to be seen. Papa had thought it wise to send him on a mission two days before. It's all the better, because if Riccardo was here, with his hot-headed nature, he could jeopardize the fragile peace that'd been brokered.
I shift my gaze to Enzo, my eyes catching the way his jacket pulls across his shoulders. His dark eyes molten under the bright lights that grace the courtyard. Shit. He’s smoking hot. My scalp feels prickly, my fingers cut deep into the skin of my palm as I try to keep my emotions at bay.
It hits me then, like a jolt, raw and deep—I’m attracted to him. Crazily, deeply attracted to Enzo Mancini, so much so that there's no wishing it or willing it away. And I want him again. And again.
It’s a punch to the gut. It twists hard and I almost double over as it threatens to nauseate me. How dare my body betray me like this? How dare I notice the faint curve of his mouth, the heat in his stare. My body's a traitorous bastard.