The Bloody Bride (The Rocchetti Dynasty)

by Bree Porter

  I felt more warmth from my sister’s grave than I did from Alessandro Rocchetti’s apartment.

  “Cesco will show you to your room.” Alessandro said, before turning on his heel and striding for the study. Beppe followed him.

  “This way, Mrs. Rocchetti.”

  I followed Oscuro up the stairs. From the second floor, I could see Alessandro in his study, phone in his hand.

  Upstairs was just as cool and modern. There was a few dips in the wall, with doors at the end of the short hallways. Oscuro led me to the door at the very end.

  “This is your room, ma’am.” He gestured to it. “If you need anything, just come downstairs.” “Thank you, Oscuro.” I smiled tightly at him. “For showing me around and for saving my life today.”

  He ducked his head. “It is my job, ma’am.”

  I glanced at the door, then down to the study. “Do you know if Mr. Rocchetti will be long?”

  Oscuro rocked on his heels, looking a little uncomfortable with my question. “There is still a lot to be figured out, ma’am.”

  I thanked him once more, before opening the bedroom door and disappearing inside.

  The bedroom was just as pristine as the rest of the house. The large bed was in the middle, overlooking the beautiful city. A fireplace sat to the side, with a small set of lounge chairs in front of it. An empty bookcase rested on the other wall. Behind the bed, a small alcove led to the walk-in-wardrobe and modern bathroom.

  I went straight into the bathroom and clutched onto the sink.

  I was here.

  I was in Alessandro Rocchetti’s house.

  As his bride.

  Months ago, when Papa told me what was to happen, there had still been a slight disbelief. I hadn’t even truly believed it when Alessandro gave me my engagement ring or when I had to pack up a few boxes to be sent to his residence.

  But now…

  I was Sophia Rocchetti. Bride of The Godless.

  And I was covered in blood.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Blood was everywhere. My skin was covered in it. My hair, my face, my nails.

  I looked down at the sink and vomited.

  This once beautifully clean bathroom now bore the marks of blood and vomit.

  I’m sure it would see much worse things during my stay.

  It took me a while to rip off my dress, but through a rare spurt of anger, I managed to tear my way out of it. I left it on the floor with my veil as I stumbled into the shower and turned on the water blindly. Icy water splattered on me but I didn’t even really feel it.

  All I could pay attention to was the blood sliding down me and towards the drain.

  In that moment, all I wanted was my sister. Cat would’ve been beside me, helping me out of my dress and washing me up. She would’ve soothed me the best she could, making me laugh and breaking up the silence I hated so much.

  I pressed my forehead against the cool tiles and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Cat.” Her name came out a sob.

  I wanted to know what I had done to deserve this. I had lost my mother, lost my sister. I had been raised in pretty cage, every move I made watched. And now I had been sold off without a second thought to The Godless. The Principe of Chicago.

  Alessandro Rocchetti who had been made a Made Man at thirteen after he killed three men with a single knife. He had been Capo at age 17, he had taken care of traitors personally and tore a man’s tongue out with his bare hands because he challenged him for power.

  When I had been practicing cheerleading routines and dreaming about Leonardo Di Caprio, my husband had been torturing and bleeding for his family and the Chicago Outfit. He had been bathing in blood and falling asleep to the screams of his enemies.

  Deep breaths, Cat’s voice said in my mind. Deep breaths.

  I don’t remember stumbling from the bathroom, or drying my wound, but I felt no inclination to sleep. Instead of feeling the aftermath of adrenaline, my body seemed to reignite its survival instincts in order to handle the wedding night.

  I clutched my dressing gown to me and waited.

  An hour passed in a blink of an eye. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t show up. Maybe he didn’t like me or was even attracted to me.

  But as soon as the thought entered my head, someone knocked on the door.

  Alessandro may not like me but duty was inescapable.

  “Come in.” I called.

  The door opened and Alessandro slid into the room. He wasn’t the handsome groom or the murderous prince, instead he seemed to be slightly more casual. His hair was ruffled, not perfectly pushed back, and he wore simple drawstring pants and a t-shirt.

  There wasn’t even shoes on his feet.

  But relaxed was not a word I could say about Alessandro. He couldn’t be characterised as calm or casual. Not when there was an itch under his skin, a dangerous strike behind every move he made.

  Alessandro’s dark intense eyes settled on me. They held no excitement for tonight’s activities.

  That makes two of us, I thought.

  “Sophia.” He greeted. Hearing my name from his mouth was dizzying.

  “Si—Aless—“ I stopped myself talking. I had no idea how to address him. “Hello.”

  Alessandro looked at me darkly. “You can call me Alessandro. We are husband and wife, after all.”

  I tried to make myself smile but it felt more like a grimace on my face.

  Silence grew through the room.

  My nerves got the best of me and I blurted out, “Is the Don okay?” “The Don is fine.” He said crisply. “Why do you care?”

  I opened my mouth then closed it, not really sure how to answer. The Don was the godfather of the Outfit, shouldn’t I care about his wellbeing? But he had had a helping hand in my marriage. So maybe I should dislike him. I feared him enough, however.

  “My wound hurts,” I whispered. “I can’t imagine how he feels.” Alessandro made a dark noise. It could’ve been a laugh. “He has survived much worse.” Like a panther setting up for the kill, Alessandro leaned closer to me, eyes intense. “I hope you don’t plan on liking the Don. You are my wife, not his.” “I know.” I answered. The shift in his posture and tone had my nerves rising like alarms.

  His dark eyes pinned me in place. “You should know not to confuse your loyalties. You are in a very informative position, wife. Playing go between the Don and I is not in your best interest. Playing go between with anyone is not in your best interest.” Violence flickered in the depths of his eyes. “Because I will catch you, Sophia.”

  “And kill me?”

  Alessandro cocked his head to the side.

  “That’s the end of your sentence. Catch me and kill me.”

  “Perhaps.” Which really meant yes.

  I swallowed harshly. Alessandro would no doubt be a suspicious man, a man full of paranoia at all times. Papa had been the same—as were all the other Mafia men I had grown up around. They were suspicious of the government, other gangs, each other. Being suspicious of your wife wasn’t that big of a jump.

  I said the words I had been taught my entire life, “I only wish to be a good wife to you and a good mother to your children.”

  Alessandro looked rightfully suspicious but inclined his head.

  My eyes flickered to the clock. It was only seven o’clock at night. I felt a million years older than I had this morning when I had been pulled out of bed by my family and friends. I had been married, become a murderer and been shot all in one day.

  And now you’re about to lose your virginity, a voice in my head said.

  I tried to make myself sound braver than I felt as I said, “We had better get on with things.” My cheeks heated up. “You know…so we don’t get into trouble.”

  “Trouble.” Alessandro murmured the word with unfamiliarity. “For not fucking? What an interesting concept.”

  I hadn’t heard such vulgar words since my time at Catholic high school. “Oh.” I said because I wasn’t sure how t
o reply. “I think…we best get it over with. So we can go to sleep…I’m sure you’re tired, after you know…killing those people.”

  “You killed some people too, I hear.”

  Nausea gripped my stomach hard and fast. “Only one.”

  Alessandro regarded me with an unreadable expression. Then he gestured to the bed, “Do you know what to expect?” He was still standing in front of me, whereas I perched nervously on the edge of the bed. I nodded.

  When I was seven, I walked in on the remnants of a wedding night. I had had a bad dream and went to seek out my father. I had known I wasn’t allowed to enter his room, especially without knocking, but the nightmare had sent me into a state.

  I had opened the door and paused. My stepmother had been on the bed, blankets pulled back and legs spread. She had been using a cloth to clean the inside of her legs, and on the sheets before her, spots of blood were visible. Her face had been contorted in pain.

  I remember asking her if she had had a nose bleed.

  Papa had seen me then and dragged me from the room. Never before had he been so angry with me. He had given me a slap on the bum, sending me sprinting to my bedroom. The next morning, everyone had acted like nothing had happened.

  But whenever my friends spoke of their wedding nights all I could think about was the blood on the sheets. My stepmothers expression of pain.

  Not that my friends gave accounts that contradicted my knowledge. Beatrice had gone shades paler when we had asked her about her wedding night. Sex was not always discussed, but when it was, the older women always seemed to have the same ideas about it. Lay back, endure it and pray you get pregnant.

  You can do this, I told myself. You’ve watched porn and masturbated. Hopefully, he will finish quickly and you can go to sleep.

  Papa’s words rang through my head. Do not give him a reason to hurt you.

  I rose and untied my robe. My hands were shaking but I managed to undo the knot. The silk slid to the ground, revealing my short undergarments. They had been gifts from the other ladies in celebration of my wedding night.

  I looked up to see Alessandro’s gaze latched hotly onto me. A dark predatory look had taken over his face.

  For a moment, I almost pretended this was a normal night. That I was a normal girl and Alessandro was a normal boy. We had probably been together for a while before having sex, we probably both trusted each other and maybe even loved each other.

  I would’ve probably dated him in the outside world. Alessandro was gorgeous, it was undeniable. He would’ve been a handsome normal boy and I would’ve been smitten.

  But no normal boy would ever wear such an expression. No normal boy would move with such lethal grace or would bare knife-scars all over his hands and fingers. And just like that my fantasy disappeared from my mind, never to be given another thought.

  I wasn’t sure what to do so I laid back on the bed and spread my legs. Alessandro positioned himself in front of me, giving me a scrutinising look.

  “I won’t be long.” He said. “Then you can go to sleep.”

  I nodded, too afraid to speak.

  “It is going to hurt.” He warned me.

  “I know.” I squeaked.

  Alessandro surveyed me once more before slowly sliding down his pants. I looked away, suddenly embarrassed. I stared up at the roof, trying to even out my breathing. Think about something else, I told myself. Think about England.

  His warm hands ran up and down my thighs. I tensed, feeling my skin prickle. Alessandro went to remove his hands, but I chirped, “It’s okay. I’m just not use too…”

  “Hands near your pussy?” He inquired.

  I flushed and buried myself deeper into the bed. “Yeah.” I flexed my toes. “Are you almost done?”

  “Haven’t even started yet.” He muttered. “Sophia, your body is not ready for me. It is going to hurt.”

  “It’s going to hurt no matter what.”

  “That’s not true.” Alessandro leaned over me, forcing me to look into his expression. “We could use lube. Or I could get you wet.”

  I fidgeted beneath him. I felt like I was about to crawl out of my skin. “What do you care if you hurt me?” I blurted then. I instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry, I should not of spoken to you that way. I’m just…tired. It won’t happen—“ “I don’t care.” He told me simply. “I’ll use lube. Then I won’t have to touch you.”

  Alessandro disappeared within seconds. Cold air skidded along the skin he had been warming only moments ago.

  I sat up quickly, pressing my knees together. I won’t have to touch you. The words hurt but I understood. Alessandro hadn’t chosen me to be his wife, as much a pawn to his Don as I was. Perhaps I was just lucky he wasn’t punishing me for not being of his tastes.

  Alessandro was a very sexually active man, that I knew. The rumours of his bedding half of Chicago had followed me ever since our engagement was announced. Even Beatrice—lovely soft Beatrice—had heard of these sexual conquests.

  If he doesn’t like me, he might go back to that, I thought. Maybe if he really doesn’t like me we can do IVF and we never have to touch again.

  Alessandro returned quickly with a bottle of lube. “This will make it easier.” He said.

  To avoid touching me, I added in my mind.

  I went back to my original position and Alessandro stood between my thighs. I heard him uncapping the lube and silently applying it. Not a moment later, he held himself at my entrance, pressing delicately into my folds.

  It did hurt. I hadn’t been prepared for how invasive, not only painful, sex actually was.

  I swallowed down a cry of pain, biting down on my tongue.

  Deep breaths, deep breaths.

  Thankfully, it was over quickly. Alessandro drew out after his shuddering breath. He didn’t say anything as I pushed myself up onto my hands. He cleaned me and himself up quickly with the edge of his shirt.

  I was too busy staring at the spot of blood on the mattress to fully notice his presence.

  “Goodnight, Sophia.” Was all he said.

  The door clicked softly behind him as he left.

  Chapter Three

  I woke up gasping.

  It took me a moment to realise I was drenched in sweat and that blankets were twisted around my legs. I unraveled myself before taking another moment to gather where I was.

  Alessandro Rocchetti’s apartment.

  Outside, the sky was pitch dark. The lights of the city sparkled below me and I could make out the cars zooming through the streets.

  I hadn’t been asleep very long, only for a few hours, according to the clock. It hadn’t even hit midnight yet, but it was close.

  For a moment, I considered rolling back and falling back asleep but my stomach gurgled furiously, my side ached and there was tenderness between my legs. I needed something to eat and some paracetamol.

  Hopefully, Alessandro would be asleep.

  I found my boxes in the closet and tipped them over, spreading them out and picking through them like a dog going through the trash. Eventually I found some leggings and a shirt. Plus my favourite fluffy socks. Comfy but modest enough.

  The penthouse was cold and quiet. The only light spilled from the kitchen, lighting up my path as I made my way downstairs and towards it. Outside the city was bright but the sounds didn’t reach us, giving me an eerie feeling of being disconnected from the city, despite being in the middle of it.

  I dug through the kitchen. There wasn’t a lot of food but enough to make myself a sandwich.

  It didn’t look as if Alessandro cooked. There was no flour, or pasta. Even vegetables seemed to be missing. The most promising thing I found was the bread and butter. Was bread and butter Alessandro’s staple food? I’d thought his palette was a little more complex.

  Though I’m sure if he was able to, the man would probably just fill himself up with screams like some hellborn demon instead of bothering with food.

  I couldn’t find the medicine. Pe
rhaps there was some in the bathrooms? My bathroom was empty except for a few spare towels.

  “What are you doing?”

  I shrieked and dropped the butter knife I was holding.

  I pressed a hand to my hammering chest and looked up. Alessandro was standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching me coolly. He was dressed in simple grey pyjama pants and nothing else. I noticed his bare feet before I noticed his bare chest again, strangely enough.

  I blushed at the sight of his chest.

  I had seen naked chest’s before, in magazines and online. But the sight of Alessandro’s ripped muscles, flecked with scars and tattoos, the trail of hair leading down…had me flushing into the roots of my hair.

  “I was hungry.” I answered, not looking at him and retrieved my butter knife. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  I only said, “Oh, that’s good.”

  I could feel him watching me as I continued making my dinner.

  “Do you want one?” I asked, because it seemed polite. In the movies, the couple who had just had sex always ate afterwards.

  “No.” Alessandro replied curtly. Almost as if he was offended by my question. “There isn’t a lot of food so you will have to go shopping tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” I said tightly. “Anything you fancy?”

  I met his hard gaze. Alessandro surveyed me for a moment before answering, “No.”

  I only smiled in response before turning back to my sandwich.

  Alessandro turned on his heel and began his ascent back upstairs.

  Before he went, I blurted out, “Do you know where the paracetamol is?”

  He paused on the step. “In the master bathroom.” Then he continued his way back into the darkness of the second story.

  I watched him disappear into his bedroom before sighing in relief.

  I spoke to my husband for three minutes and he didn’t kill me. That was a success. Even more of a relief, he hadn’t insisted on round 2.